The devil walked down my driveway today in the odd shape of a redneck woman, her spindly legs barely able to manage the weight of her enormous gut that protruded from her skeleton frame. She was after the soul of my Maltese mix Freddie, who died earlier this week. I stopped the devil by refusing to open the front door. “You have some Brass balls coming here, you cannot have the soul of my dog, he is already in Heaven,” I said. The devil, unable to see her own crotch, walked away not knowing if she had brass balls at all.