A Deal with the Devil: If a Thousand Girls Turn Me Down, I'll Be a Millionaire

WHO WOULD EVER DATE YOU, CREEP?!"

The buxom blonde tosses the resplendent red rose on the sidewalk and crushes it beneath her six inch Michael Kors heel.

“H-hey,” her 19-year-old suitor stammers. “That was 2 bucks…”

His name is Hank Fouts. She pivots on the petals and storms off in a huff.

“…you could have given it back…” He mutters.

“Cheapskate!” She shouts before rounding the nearby corner.

Hank stands alone. Demoralized. Defeated. He bends down and cradles the crumpled flower in both hands.

“Look at that,” he sighs. “It’s like a metaphor. For my heart. Broken and torn, a wilted victim of spited longing, tossed aside like yesterday’s trash, left to ro- "

A cane swishes through the air and knocks the flower off his palms.

“Enough ruminating, my boy!” A Southern voice declares.

“Ah!” Hank falls back.

“Opportunity is a foot!”

Startled, he looks up. “Who are you?”

The stranger wears a top hat and monocle. He clicks his polished white heels together. “The name’s Baphisto.” He spins his gold-capped cane. “Mr. Baphisto.”

He flashes his gold capped teeth.

“Oh no,” says Hank. “A LARPing Hot Topic Hick Hop weeb.” He put up his hands. “Look man, I don’t want any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, my boy. None at all!” The man in the van dyke ‘stache taps his cane on the pavement. “What I offer you is a business opportunity. A deal of a lifetime!”

“Oh Christ.” Hank stands up. “Look, I don’t want any solar panels or whatever it is you’re trying to hock.”

The 19-year-old turns to leave and finds the strange man already standing in front of him.

“Ah ah ah! Not so fast!”

“How did you-” Hank looks back.

“You’ve got a gift, son. A talent for inspiring virulent disgust in women.”

Hank narrows his eyes. “Say what.”

“I’ve watched you for months. You’re a savant at what the kids call…” Baphisto raises and curls his fingers. “Scaring the hoes.”

Hank smacks his lips. “Man, today is not the da-wait, you’ve been stalking me?”

“So I’ll make you a deal.”

“Yeah, I got a deal!” Hank steps forward and seizes the man’s garish scarlet tie, raising his fist. “How about you fuck off before I shove that cheap cosplay cane up your weird ass.”

Baphisto grins. “A delightful proposition, but I’ve already had three prostate orgasms this morning alone.”

“EUGH!” Hank lets go.

Baphisto straightens his tie. “Here’s my offer.”

“Freak!”

“If you can get turned down by 1,000 women—in person—before the end of the week, I’ll make you…” Baphisto flicks his wrist and fans a wad of cash. “A millionaire.”

Hank’s eyes flick between the strange man and the cash. “Are those Bennies? Is this a prank?” He looks around. “Are you a Mr. Beast biter? Where’s the camera?”

“There are no eyes upon us except the pitiless, judging gaze of the wretched Almighty.” Baphisto sneers. Then he grins again. “So.” A single $100 bill lights on fire and burns up in a flash. “What will it be?” A second bill lights and burns up.

Hank’s eyes go wide. “W-wait!”

A third bill flares. “Tik Tok.”

“Fine! I’ll do it!”

“Wunderbar.” Mr. Baphisto flicks his wrist and stuffs the cash in his vest pocket.

“Even if it is some stupid Mr. Beast video, a millionaire dollars would be crazy.” Hank mutters aloud. “No woman would resist me then.”

“That’s the spirit, lad! The world is your oyster and it’s filled with trifling, gold-digging thots.”

“Still,” Hank eyes the strange man. “They could have gone with a less gay show host.”

Baphisto leans in. “Weren’t you the one offering the prostate massage?”

Hank grimaces. “I’m good.” Ω