There was a time, long ago, in ages past when a person dreamed of doing such things that resulted in accomplishing a life long dream. Some would grow desperate, delusional even, at the thought of being that person, that man, that success. A small group of people would take the ultimate step. They would sign a pack with Lucifer himself. Back in those times men would dream of exploring and returning with aid and information from a new land. Designed to help their fellow man. Other times they were greedy and wanted only power and status, but they believed they could be affective and more deserving an their predecessors. Today is a new story. And sadly, not one as nearly as noble.
Meet Benton. This young man grew up in Raynes Park, near Wimbledon. He is tall and skinny, with greasy black hair, a large roman nose and a pathetic collection of small hairs collecting under his bottom lip. Like many teenagers of this time he had a desire. This desire was not love, nor was it to help out his fellow man. He never dreamed of a family, or a cure for cancer. Benton’s passion was for being a media whore. There was a small problem for Benton, that being the fact his only talent was for chronically masturbating. Fortunately for him there was an answer to his crippling lack of ability. It wasn’t to train hard or learn a new skill such as singing, this was reality television.
All you had to do was send in a video of yourself being overly obnoxious and you’ll be on your first steps to becoming a tragic idol to a generation of talent less, deservingless, repulsive, repugnant, redundant and retarded children. Benton couldn’t resist. He stepped into his back garden and starting boasting all of his credentials that he had never really accomplished. Lines such as “I lost my virginity at the age of 11” despite being a virgin until he was 20, and then only losing it when he got the ugliest girl drunk as an enjoyable liberal democrat. “I am somewhat of a local celebrity already due to my crazy stunts” despite nobody caring about the time he tripped on a skateboard and sprained his ankle. “ I’m young, exciting, surprising and a real clever” despite… well, you can see where this is going. Benton was so excited to send off his video and to hear a response, until he talked to Charlotte. Charlotte was Benton’s cousin and she couldn’t stand him. Yet, out of a sense of family loyalty, befriends Benton. Benton explained his plan, to which Charlotte pointed out the only way to get on the show was to be an ethnic minority, homosexual, whore or to be diagnosed as having some mental illness. Benton, despite being a moron, was none of the above. He needed help. He knew that this was really his only chance at fame. Benton had no patience to learn and no natural talent. So, he resorted to desperate measures. He listened to Marilyn Manson, took the lamb chops out of the fridge to drink the blood of a sacrificial lamb (He was repeatedly dropped on his head as an infant.) and prayed to the Devil.
The next day, the television producers called Benton on his mobile and requested a small meeting regarding his audition. Benton wet himself. He stood with a huge grin on his face and a large puddle in his Nike trousers. Benton had made it. After a long time he realised that there was something oddly damped in his pants. Once he discovered what he had done he rushed back to his bedroom and opened his cupboard where he found something simply incredible. In the cupboard were a man, dressed in a black suit with a purple silk shirt and a woman, naked, on a lead and sobbing uncontrollably. The man had bright red hair, dark bushy eyebrows and wild, neon green eyes. The girl was very beautiful. Her skin was pale and she had long strawberry blonde hair. She had high cheekbones, pearl white teeth and eyes of the ocean.
“Who the hell are you? How’d you get in there?” shrieked Benton, feeling aroused at the sight of a naked woman. The man simply looked down at the girl. She sniffed and attempted to control her tears. She turned to Benton and squeaked “He’s your new master.”
“Bog off.” exclaimed Benton.
“He is Satan” stated the girl, more calmly than before.
“No way. The devil has… y’know, Horses feet”
“I assure you I do not Benton” spoke the devil.
“You know my name?”
“Yes Benton Harley Bailey Rose Elizabeth Campbell”
“ My parents were expecting a girl”
“I know. By all accounts you were a happy medium of genders” joked Satan.
“What’d you want?”
“I upheld my part of the deal. I can get you in the program of your dreams but I need something in return.” Benton sat on his bed with a bump. He looked up at Satan and noticed he was holding a sheet of paper with a pen in hand. Benton took the paper from him and saw the words “contract”, “ soul”, Benton’s name and a dotted line.
“You’ll definitely make me part of the show?”
“I already have my boy.”
“How? Voodoo magic or what?”
“Voodoo?” shouted Satan “Voodoo is a kid’s notion of control.”
“So how did you do it?”
“I’m a member of the production team.”
“WHAT?”
“I created the whole concept. Best thing I’d done since I shot JFK.”
“WHAT?”
“That’s another story. Now will you sign the contract?” Benton grabbed the pen and signed the contract in a rush. He was scared and confused. When he looked up, they were gone. The contract had gone. The pen had gone. The wet patch had grown significantly in his £3.99 trousers. It was a strange and eerie experience that Benton would never forget, instead he suppressed it. The focus eventually turned to the phone call that was made previously, the one that said they liked his audition tape. After the interview he soon started packing for the show which would be aired live in a month.
Soon that month came. He went in listening to a bunch of idiots screaming with excitement, anticipation and plain lack of intelligence. Then the problems really started. All participants had to stay in the place for 2 weeks before the evictions would start, and those two weeks were torture, even for the brain-dead contestants. As stated, the people elected to be in the show were gay, whorish, ethnic or retarded, but none had the problems of poor Benton. At first he was unnoticed. The exact opposite of what Benton wanted. He didn’t want to blend in the background, he wanted to be the foreground. Unfortunately, on the third day, that’s exactly where he was. Benton had gone two days without pleasuring himself, and it was more than he could handle. After all the other contestants went out to do something mundane or ridiculous or equally unimpressive after drinking booze to show their personality (or would if they had one that didn’t resemble a dull brick). Benton went into the bedroom to fondle himself to ecstasy. Unfortunately, the people controlling the cameras decided this was more popular than the rest of them talking about their families and showed it on television. Benton was exposed. It doesn’t get any better. The producers told the rest of the housemates and they teased him about it constantly. Worse, the pathetic little challenges they were assigned involved Benton climbing high up a pole. When he suffered crippling vertigo once he got two feet off the ground. Benton then got drunk and streaked around house in the middle of the day, followed by him crying when all the girls turned him down at the proposition of sex. By the end of the two weeks Benton was humiliated and evicted. Benton stayed in bed for a week after this until he decided to confront the man responsible for this humiliation. Satan.
He went through the same rituals as he done the previous time. He turned around and the girl was there. She was still naked but she wasn’t crying this time. She looked upset and traumatised, but not sobbing.
“Where the fuck is he?” yelled Benton.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here” she replied.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Vixen. Or one of them. I was inducted when I got to hell.”
“I’m going to hell as well,” replied Benton “and I’m a flop. I’ll never be famous”
“You could train. Become an actor or a singer or something.”
“I’m the guy who spunked off on national TV.”
“Well, you are famous”
“But I didn’t want this. Why would he do it to me? What have I ever done?”
Vixen stared at him. She walked over to him and sat on the bed beside him, making sure there weren’t many stains under her. She lifted his head to make sure he wasn’t looking at her body.
“Did you ever hear of a man named Charles Moreton?” she asked. Benton shook his head. Vixen continued. “Back in 1689, he made a barter with the devil. He wanted to be an explorer so he could help his country. He saw it raped and pillage and ravished by disease. He wanted to go off and find something that would solve his country of disease. He travelled to the west coast of America and found something. It was a plant. The earliest form of aspirin.”
“That’s great.”
“Well it would’ve been if he made it back to England. A freak storm in the ocean killed him and his whole crew. Of course that was orchestrated by master. He upheld his deal. Charles found explored and found something of great use to his fellow countryman.”
“Why wasn’t he allowed to deliver it?”
“In Charles’s case, it was simply the master being the master. You see, Charles was a loving man who cared about helping those around him. The master had to do what he was expected to do.”
“So where does that leave me?” asked Benton.
“You are selfish, arrogant and above all else oblivious. You seem to think the world owes you every thing because you are a product of a broken home. You want all the attention but unwilling to do the work. Satan rarely takes pleasure in his work, he’s forced you know. But in these recent times, people like you who are more determined to talk about yourselves and don’t care about those around you, it’s fun to watch you stumble and fall. Try and fail. You don’t care about the way your world acts or how you can help it. You only care about you. It’s sickening.” Vixen then stands and walks out of eyesight while Benton stays sat on the edge of his bed. He knows he deserves it.
If you sell your soul to the devil, please don’t make it easy by being a self-indulgent cunt. Help those around you, and maybe, just maybe, you might be thankful you did it.
