Satan came home from a long day of drinking coffee and reading the paper. His girlfriend was watching TV and painting her toenails.

“Girlfriend, I want you to make me the best tofu salad ever made, or I’ll eat you whole and spit your bones into the the four winds and the seven seas,” Satan said, “now I’m going to lie down, and it better be ready by the time I wake up.”

Satan left the room and his girlfriend was peeved. “Is there such a thing as the best tofu salad?” she thought, “or is this another of his stupid tricks?” She’d never made egg salad, much less tofu salad. So she did what she always did in these situations. She called Farrell. Farrell came over as fast as he could, because this was Satan’s girlfriend, after all. Farrell had dated more waitresses than there are angels on pinheads, and he knew a thing or two about tofu salad, but only from watching his various waitresses eat it. He never touched the stuff himself. As far as anyone knew, he lived on gin, Camel straights and starched linen.

Farrell assessed the situation and Satan’s girlfriend. He just happened to have a recipe for the best tofu salad ever made and gave it to the woman, with his phone number written on the back. He made his apologies and left, as he had a previous engagement elsewhere. He also wanted to be gone before Satan woke up, as Farrell had reneged on a deal with the fellow many years before.

Satan’s girlfriend followed the recipe and to her surprise it was the best tofu salad ever made. She began to eat it and before she could stop herself, she’d eaten it all and the recipe with it.

“Now I’m really in the total animal soup of time,” thought Satan’s girlfriend, “I’d better get thinking.”

So Satan’s girlfriend went back to painting her toenails while the TV blathered on about itself. And she came up with a plan, knowing that Satan was a man of his word.

Satan woke up, which one could always tell by the way the wind shifted from the South and the market took a slight dip. He scratched his ass and honked a looger at a hapless mortal, who died of pneumonia. Satan poked around the kitchen and saw no tofu salad.

“Girlfriend, did I not say I wanted you to make me the best tofu salad ever made?” asked the annoyed singularity.

“I did, and it was delicious,” replied his eternal mate.

“So where is it? Why is it not here?” he asked. Satan always got peeved when hungry.

“You didn’t say you actually wanted it. You just said to make it for you. And it was THE best tofu salad ever made. I even ate the recipe, it was so good.”

Satan was a man of his word, and saw the logic in this. He was so moved at having been tricked by his beloved that a thistle bloomed in a parking lot and a priest got an honest job. Satan went out for a burger instead, and Satan’s girlfriend finished painting her toenails with the blood of the saints.