Bedazzled Page #2

space at the speed of light?

How about you checking in to the nearest

loony bin for a few weeks' holiday?

O ye of little faith, Moon.

You're not wearing nylon

underwear, are you?

Why?

It disintegrates at high speeds.

Prepare yourself.

The magic words:
I.B.J.

Here, my ice lolly's melted.

You really must be the devil.

Incarnate. How do you do?

Oh. How do you do?

Where are we? Is this hell?

Just my London headquarters.

That's not your name, is it?

George Spiggott?

Come on in. It's one of my many

earthly pseudoplumes, or nom de nyms.

I thought you were called Lucifer.

I know. The Bringer of the

Light, it used to be.

Sounded a bit pouffy to me.

God keeps changing his

name too, you know.

He used to be called the Word.

Yeah."ln the beginning was the Word."

"And the Word was God."

Was there just a word

hanging about in space then?

I suppose so.

I wasn't there.

What's it mean,"the Word"?

What does"Stanley Moon" mean?

Evening, Anger.

It's all right, Anger.

He's with me.

Come in, Mr. Moon.

I'd like you to meet Anger.

He works for me.

How do you do?

Pleased to meet you.

Watch it, that's all.

This is the, uh, Club Room.

It's, uh, quite nicely decorated

and painted. Early Hitler.

Now, what about my

little proposition?

All I want from you is something you

probably don't even realize you have.

I'm talking about your soul.

My soul?

Yes.

Like you collect moths...

I collect souls.

I'd like to add yours

to my collection.

What are you doing?

Just a bit of routine mischief.

Now, then, what about your soul?

Well, uh, I don't know where it

is or how to get hold of it.

Exactly.

And all I want from you is the exclusive

global and universal rights to it.

But if you took it

out, wouldn't it hurt?

It's a painless operation.

And afterwards, you

won't feel a thing.

Besides, it's been no earthly

good to you, has it?

Like to look at the contract?

Yes, please.

There we are.

Your soul's rather like your appendix...

totally expendable.

There was a time when it

did have a function...

but nowadays the vast majority

of people never use it.

Looks a bit complicated.

It's a standard contract.

Gives you seven wishes in accordance

with the mystic rules of life...

seven days of the week, seven deadly sins,

seven seas, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

Look, if you're not interested...

I'm sure there's thousands of others

who'd jump at the opportunity.

No, it's just a bit

sudden, that's all.

Read it through on your own time.

"I, Stanley Moon...

"hereinafter and in the hereafter...

to be known as the damned..."

The damned?

It's a form of words. Legal jargon.

"Do warrant that I am the

sole owner of my soul."

But what about Margaret? Do you promise

that I'll have her all to myself?

Sign that...

and Margaret Spencer...

will be yours.

"Dear Miss Spencer, this

is just to say cheerio.

"Yours sincerely, Stanley Moon.

P.S. I leave you my

collection of moths."

Just how well did you know Mr. Moon?

Not at all, really.

I used to see him at Wimpy's.

Well, it does seem that, of all the people

in his life, you were the closest to him.

Why else would he leave you that note?

I suppose that must be true.

How awful.

Have you any idea why he

contemplated this rash act?

Can't say, really.

At work he always seems

so calm and quiet.

Sorry to be so blunt,

Miss Spencer...

but are you sure you're not concealing your

relationship with the would-be deceased?

Wasn't a relationship.

I scarcely knew the man.

What are you doing all

that measuring for?

Eh? Oh, we always do

this, Miss Spencer.

You'd be amazed how

often it pays off.

Now, did you say anything

that might have upset him?

Can you remember your

exact last words to him?

I think it was...

"Wimpy Burgers twice, one M.R.,

one well, heavy on the onions."

Yes, I think I'm beginning

to get the picture.

- It all seems to be quite straightforward.

- Good.

All we need do now, then,

is get it witnessed.

Sloth would be best. He's a lawyer.

Come on now, Sloth!

Wake up, you idle, great slob!

Here, are all your staff like this?

That's the trouble. I can't get

any decent help these days.

God's laughing, of course.

All he has to do is raise

his little finger...

he's got a thousand sycophantic,

prissy angels at his beck and call.

I'm lumbered with Anger and Sloth.

Wake up, you lazy, legal layabout!

Get up! Wake up!

Here, well, this is Stanley Moon.

He's selling me his soul, and I want

you to witness it on this document.

I want you to do some writing.

That's your forte, isn't it?

Writing.

Where it says,"ln the

presence of," your signature.

Your name. Remember that one?

Y... Yeah.

Sloth.

S... I...

S... I...

O... T...

O... T...

T... H.

Right. Very nice.

Now it's your turn.

Um...

there's just one thing, though.

You're not having second

thoughts, are you?

No. But shouldn't I sign in blood?

Blimey, you are a traditionalist.

All right then.

Let's use some of his.

He'll never notice.

There we are. Help yourself.

Well done.

Welcome to the club.

- When can I get started on my wishes?

- Soon as you like.

And if, by any chance,

you become dissatisfied...

all you have to do is go...

Just go...

You just go...

This'll terminate your wish and bring

you back to me, wherever I am.

Here we are. "M."

Let's see, um...

Machiavelli, McCarthy,

Masoch, Miller, Moses...

- Moses?

- Irving Moses, the fruiterer.

Here's Moon. S. Moon.

That's you filed away.

Now then, what would you like

to be first? Prime minister?

Oh, no, I've made that deal already.

Um, I don't know, really.

It's just that I'm not

very good with words.

I didn't have very

much of an education.

And... And I'm a bit, um...

Uh...

Um, I'm just a bit...

Inarticulate?

Yes, that's it... I think.

And you'd like to be the sort of person

who can use words like "inarticulate"?

Yeah! I'd like to be able to talk to

Margaret and tell her how I feel.

An intellectual who can get his

ideas across to the one he loves.

Yes, that's it.

Easily done.

Now then, you just stand

over here by the bird...

put your right hand

on its left claw.

Okay, lights out!

Take this!

Ooh! Ooh!

Am I gonna explode?

No, no, it's quite safe. I just put it

there for a bit of visual excitement.

It's not gonna hurt, is it?

Not a bit.

Hold tight!

The magic words:

Julie Andrews.

I could stand and

watch them for hours.

They've such beautiful hands.

Mmm.

Such fantastic delicacy, you see...

but combined as well with this

almost preternatural strength.

Doesn't it make you sad to see

animals caged up like this?

Well, in a way, but, uh...

quite honestly, they're really

no worse off than most of us.

How do you mean?

Well, metaphorically speaking...

and in a very real sense...

society creates its own cages.

You know, cages of the mind.

Yes. Yes.

A curious kind of

cerebral captivity.

Buy a flower, madam?

Oh! Um, what's it for?

Depraved criminals.

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