B) Continue stalling with the Devil hoping that maybe he will forget about the contract and invite you up to his room to check out his demo tape that he and his friends made in his garage.
“So, um, Satan… how about that Sammy Sosa bat thing? You think he was cheating all the time he was hitting those home runs?”
“I don’t know. Want to check out my demo tape?”
“Cool! It worked!”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. You made it in your garage, right?”
“No, in the room where we pour molten lead into people’s intestines. We open their crotches with toothpicks, and…”
“Let’s hear the tape.”
“Okay. Right this way.”
You follow Satan through a hallway exactly his height, which means that everyone else needs to bend to fit through. Even Rowena, who follows you while scribbling Diaphantine equations on a clipboard. “…where D equals centuries of damnation,” you hear her mumble. The Fox executive fondles Rowena, who complains until she is offered a mini-series.
Satan leads you into a small auditorium, with about 30 seats. He opens a closet and emerges with a large, complicated helmet with a bunch of industrial-strength straps, connected by tubes and wires to a loud machine still in the closet. “Put this on,” he says, “and you can hear my band.” The Fox executive snickers. Rowena seems to be doing some complicated calculation. Do you:
A. Put on the helmet.
B. Shoot Rowena. After all, it must be her fault.
C. Ask to see the Mont Blanc pen again.