Chips And The Dip

short story, potato chips, humor, Modern Philosopher“Do we have any more potato chips?” The Devil asked as he leaned against the entrance way to the living room.

He was well dressed in an impeccably tailored suit.  This week’s outfit was sky blue, which made me think of Heaven.

Pretty ironic, when you consider that the wearer was the antithesis of Heaven.

“I’m amused by your use of the pronoun ‘we’, as if you also owned The House on the Hill and were responsible for stocking the shelves and filling the fridge,” I snapped back as I grabbed one of my Snapples from my cooler.

See what I did there?

“Pardon my grammatical error,” Lucifer grumbled.  “Do you have anymore potato chips in your house, which you own, you rude prick?”

I smiled and put down my Snapple on the living room table.

“If you finished that bag of sour cream and onion, then there are no more chips,” I broke the bad news gently.

“No problem,” The Prince of Darkness replied with a shrug.

He snapped his fingers, and a bag of potato chips magically appeared in his palm.  A sly grin grew on his handsome face as he walked over to the couch.

“If you can just conjure up food and drink with your dark magic, why do you eat me out of house and home every week?” I demanded.

short story, potato chips, humor, Modern Philosopher“Because I assume you were raised to be an excellent host, who always provides for his guests,” Satan answered as the sly grin transformed into a devilish one.

“But you know I’m working with a tight budget,” I countered.  “You could at least kick in a little, seeing as how it doesn’t cost you anything to snap your fingers.”

The Devil made a big play of opening the bag of chips, selecting one, and then depositing it into his mouth.  He proceeded to chew it for way too long before washing it down with a Snapple that he conjured up with yet another finger snap.

“You’ve sworn to never make a deal with me, so I thought that covered my supplying snacks,” Lucifer explained and then shoved another chip into his mouth.

“That’s just ridiculous!” I growled and fought the urge to slap the bag of chips out of his hand and halfway across the room.

“You know what is ridiculous?” The Prince of Darkness retorted.  “The content of your Sunday blog posts on weeks when you are clearly distracted by Hollywood business.  I wouldn’t mind the lame plot and flat dialogue of this post as much, if you filled me in on what was going on.”

short story, potato chips, humor, Modern PhilosopherAnd just like that, we were besties again.  He held out his bag of chips, and I took a handful.  Then I got all cozy on my side of the couch before spilling the beans.

“Remember how I told you my producer wanted to turn one of my short stories into a short film?  Well, we talked about that more yesterday, and now he wants to make it at least a thirty minute film, so we can enter it into film festivals.  That means I’m definitely going to have to expand on the story.”

“But the story is perfect as it is,” Satan gushed.  “If you try to stretch it out, you’ll mess with the pace and the surprise reveal.”

I tap my nose to let him know he is correct and I agree one hundred percent.

“I pretty much said the same thing,” I assured him.  “So we talked about adding more characters and scenes leading up to the twist, which I’d be find doing.  I’ve already come up with some ideas.  But then I pitched him something that I think is even better…”

I paused both for dramatic effect and because I was thirsty and needed a giant gulp of Snapple.  But mostly, I paused to annoy my guest, who takes such joy in annoying me.

“Tell me now, or I will see to it that you spend all eternity pitching screenplay ideas in Hell!” The Devil threatened, but with a smile.

“I told him I had a few other short stories with a romantic comedy bent that I’d like to fold into this script, and then figure out a way to link the story lines,” I finally revealed.

short story, potato chips, humor, Modern Philosopher“So what did he say?” Lucifer asked eagerly and then threw a handful of chips into his face hole.

“He liked the idea, so I immediately emailed him my three favorite stories,” I revealed.  “I already know which one I want him to pick, and have been plotting out how to intertwine it with The Blind Date.”

“I checked with him today, but he hasn’t decided yet on how he wants me to expand the story,” I continued.  “I just hope he tells me soon because I need time to write the screenplay.  Unlike some people, I can’t just snap my fingers and make whatever I want magically appear.”

The Prince of Darkness held up his Snapple in a toast, and I quickly tapped it with my bottle.  Then we chugged the rest of the contents.

“Cheers to having a very good reason for writing such a lame Sundays With Satan Short Story this week!” he exclaimed.

“Thanks,” I answered with a proud smile.  “But you still really need to stop eating all my food and drinking all my Snapple!”

Satan then snapped his fingers, and we faded to black…

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About Austin

Native New Yorker who's fled to the quiet life in Maine. I write movies, root for the Yankees, and shovel lots of snow.
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