2007: The Year I Lost My Soul

Share this:Share on Facebook0Tweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+0Pin on Pinterest0
2007, what a stupid year. Last year at this time I wrote about how much I hated Christmas and New Year’s Eve (amateur drinking night). But for me, this whole year has sucked so bad. I can’t wait for New Years just because it will mean that 2007 is finally fucking over. I know that no one likes a complainer, but after four funerals, one black eye and numerous fistfights with trees, 2007 has really harshed my mellow.



And it’s not really anyone’s fault, just a string of coincidences of life’s special blend of dog shit that gets stepped in repeatedly from time to time. Normally, I deal with such emotional defeats by making a special “Fuck You” list in my zine [The Leviathan]. The fuck you list is kind of like a thank you list but instead of people and things you’d like to thank it’s for people and things you’d like to see go get fucked. The list was too depressing after I wrote it up so I decided to leave it out of issue #8.

Instead, I decided I might as well sell my soul. Literally. Seeing how after this year I wasn’t using it much anyway. Between atheism, not believing in karma (not one tiny bit you stupid hippies, so please don’t try to convince me), just plain wanting an extra eighty bucks, and having a bad year, how could I not sell my soul?

It started last night, while I was hanging out with my buddy Ryan (whom I work with at the bar) and our other friend Abu. Green Street has been closed for a couple weeks, and since the bar I work at is close, we’ve been getting a lot of Green Street rejects, or Chad’s as I like to call them—drinking Jaeger-bombs and Heinekens in our bar instead of trying to date rape under age sorority sisters at Green Street like they normally do on Friday nights. So after a long Friday night, me and Ryan and Abu were stone cold kickin’ it at Ryan’s house, putting a dent in a PBR twelver, and talking about how stupid work was.

Somehow the topic of Ryan buying souls came up and how someone who shall remain nameless, but is an atheist as well, would not sell his soul to Ryan. Then Ryan pointed to one of his walls and I noticed he had eight different contracts, some of which were framed, hanging there. Each contract was a soul that Ryan had bought at one point or another.

The contract briefly explained that after signing at the bottom, Ryan officially owned your soul. The seller has to sign it as does Ryan and one witness. And of course the contract was dated. It was pretty much just like that Simpson’s episode where Bart sells his soul to Millhouse. I looked over these contracts and was surprised to see what the going rate for a human soul was these days.

In case you were wondering, the human soul market is at an all time low and now is a good time to buy as the market could explode at any moment. Most of the contracts were for only $20 US dollars. Resale value could quadruple by the time the apocalypse hits. At that time, all the non-believers will want their souls back. Fuck the stock market; Ryan’s got it right for playing the soul market.

The first soul that Ryan ever bought was from some dude named Mike Christian. According to the contract, Mike Christian was so hungry on September 21, 2001 that he sold his soul for two cheeseburgers and half a bag of fries. I can’t remember who the witness was, it could have been the hamburgler for all I know.

So me Ryan and Abu were talking about these human spirit transactions for a little while, and I was thinking in my head, “why wouldn’t I sell my soul?” I honestly couldn’t think of a good reason NOT to do it and I could think of eighty good reasons to do it.

I told Ryan that I’d sell my soul to him right now for eighty bones, sixty bucks higher than any soul he had ever purchased before. I was mostly making conversation, thinking he wouldn’t pay three times as much for my soul than for anyone else’s. Without a second of hesitation Ryan said, “You got a deal!” And, quite honestly, the fact that he didn’t hesitate on my offer … well, it made me feel special. No offense to anyone else that sold their souls to Ryan, but HA HA! My soul is worth three times as much as yours!

While we are speaking of the value of the human soul, I asked Ryan what he would pay for James Brown’s soul, seeing how he’s the godfather of that shit. Since he’s dead and can’t sign a contract, Ryan said he’d pay at least 3,000 big ones to have James Brown exhumed so Ryan could get his thumb print on a contract. Soul Coughing on the other hand, would have to pay Ryan for him to get their contract. And while we are on the topic of souls in the media, Ryan pointed out that he plays a lot of Soul Caliber and that he has Freddy Krueger’s autograph, who steals souls instead of buying them. What a jerk.

But one problem with getting James Brown’s soul now that he’s dead and all is that each contract Ryan has signed specifically states that the souls are willfully and eternally given to Ryan and are eternally his. This was another reason I was comfortable selling Ryan my soul; Ryan is a good guy and he is actually a state-licensed ordained Minister of one of the coolest churches ever: The Real Church of the Eternal Andy Paulson (who is the drummer for Fuck the Informer). I feel more comfortable with Ryan having my soul than I do with myself having it, seeing some of the bad life decisions I’m prone to make. I can make those bad decisions and not worry about how it’s going to affect my soul … that’s Ryan’s problem now!

Also, if the devil is real and one day the motherfucker comes for my soul, I can be all, “Sorry Lucifer, if you want my soul you’re just going to have to find Ryan. And I don’t know where he is. HA!”

Now if I ever find my soulmate, and I’m not counting on that happening anytime soon, they are going to have to understand what I did. I sold my soul for eighty dollars, went and bought some drinks and records with the money. And here’s why: many believe that alcohol destroys the soul, so now that I don’t have one, I plan on drinking more. And since music fills the soul, I figure I can replace all that I “souled” to Ryan with a needle dropping onto some vinyl creating a crackling ecstasy that no spiritual guru can fuck with.