Part One of a short story about Johnny and the Devil

My Daddy played poker on a stump in the woods back when the world was gray
17.
Johnny took another swig of his rotgut and looked the Devil right in the eye.
“I ain't gotta agree to none o' yer bets, pal. I know y'can't do nothin' to me if I jus' walk away.”
“Ah, this is true my boy. But a bet must always be matched. Whatever you offer me, I must make an equal offer.” The Devil looked like he could be any one of Johnny's neighbors, just a man making his way in the world the same as anyone else. But the way he spoke, that was just how Johnny knew the Devil would talk. Smooth and cold like moonlight, but underneath it was something old and rough. The Devil sounded like a man trying his hardest to hide an embarrassing accent.
“Yeah, but momma takes me to Church every Sunday, an' I know the only thing yer after is m'soul. And ain't nothin' in the world worth a soul.” Johnny himself spoke with all the confident arrogance that 17 years of life afforded a boy, and continued to look the Devil right in the eye.
“My boy, I do not think you quite understand me. I am the Devil. You and I both know there is nothing in the world worth your soul. But I am the Devil. I can get you anything you want, and you know it.” If the Devil thought anything of a mortal boy trying to stare down the Devil, he didn't indicate it. His eyes wandered over the trees and the dirt path they enclosed.
“What are we gonna be betting on anyway? Fiddle-off?”
“Far be it for me to take my behavioral cues from country songs. I had hoped you would agree to something more along the lines of a poker game.”
As far as ordinary goes, Johnny almost fit that description perfectly. There was nothing that stood out about his height, his hair, his eyes, his nose, his ears, his manner or his posture. There were only two things about him that were special. The first was that he was staring down the Devil himself on a dirt path in the woods. The second was that he was the best poker player in the world. He'd never drawn a bad hand in his life, and he knew it. Now he had good cause to stare the Devil down.
“I guess I can take y' up on that one, Devil. I ain't never lost at poker in my life.”
“While I can always admire a man with the confidence to challenge me, you are a fool for that. I invented the game of poker, boy, and you have just signed away your soul.”
“I don' think so, pal. We still gotta draw them, and I still ain't gonna lose.”
“Very well. You already know what I expect as payment. But in the interest of fairness, I will let you set your payment from me.”
“Well... I say, in the interest of fairness, we make it an even bet. Your soul against mine.” Johnny took a pull from his jug and wondered how the Devil was going to respond.
For the first time since he was cast down to Earth, the Devil was surprised. He'd been doing what he did for thousands of years, and never once had anyone ever tried to play his own game against him. Wealth and fame and power, the life of a loved one, these were things he was used to paying. But he'd never had to bet his own soul against anything, and it made him scared.
Still, a bet is a bet, and the Devil always honored his bets. So he laid his soul out on the line, and shuffled up his deck. Johnny cut, and the Devil dealt out five cards to them both. The Devil picked out two more cards, and Johnny just grinned. With the powerful, potent unease that can only come from being truly scared for the first time in 6,000 years, the Devil laid out his Full House, king high. A split second of a hundred years passed, and Johnny showed his four aces, smiling like a man who'd just beat the Devil at his own game. The Devil set a big, tarnished silver cross with a chain around the wrong end in Johnny's hand without a word and walked off into the trees. Johnny finished off his rotgut and watched the Devil walk off. When he was sure the Devil had gone on his damned way, Johnny slipped the Devil's soul in his pocket and set back off down that little dirt path.

The Ballad of the Doctor

Oh baby just me and you and a TARDIS

We can fight Daleks in Paris

With their cries of "EX-TER-MIN-ATE

My scarf and Sonic screwdriver will save our daaaaate~

Parliament has been taken over by giant piiigs

We'll blow them up and then have delicious fiiigs

It doesn't make sense but at least it rhymesss

We'll eat figs through all space and tiiime~

It's a work in progress.

For Halloween- A Zombie Poem

Shuffling and thumping outside the door
Moaning and groaning, hungry for gore
No one knows from whence they came
We only know they want our brains
We've nailed up all our wooden boards
Trying to slow the zombie hordes
Every man, woman, and child clutches a gun
Praying they all live to see the next sun

Surreal

The outtakes on animated movies are quite strange. No matter how bad the actors screw up repeatedly, the characters on-screen never react, never change expression. This usually leads to one of two things: 1) Strangely appropriate reaction shots that were never meant to be; or 2) Completely disconnected words and actions, such as a man with giant eyebrows studiously sniffing a dissected loaf of curry bread while his assistant swears out the director for messing up a synch.

Erwin Schrödinger

Curse you and your orbital models.

I swear this owl is making up numbers.

Whoever thought to put black pepper in black tea is a mad genius.

This stuff is like crack.

Except without the whole teeth-rotting out thing, that is.

Unless I forget to brush...