N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Everett: How you doin', son? My name's Everett. These two soggy sons of bitches are Pete and Delmar. Keep your fingers away from Pete's mouth; he ain't had nothing to eat for 13 years, except prison food, gopher, and a little greasy horse.
Tommy Johnson: Thanks for the lift, sir. My name's Tommy. Tommy Johnson.
Delmar: How you doin', Tommy? Say, I haven't seen a house out here for miles. What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere?
Tommy Johnson: Well, I had to be up at that there crossroads last midnight, to sell my soul to the devil.
Everett: Well, ain't it a small world, spiritually speaking. Pete and Delmar just been baptized and saved. I guess I'm the only one that remains unaffiliated.
Delmar: This ain't no laughing matter, Everett.
Everett: What'd the devil give you for your soul, Tommy?
Tommy Johnson: Well, he taught me to play this here guitar real good.
Delmar: Oh, son. For that, you traded your everlasting soul?
Tommy Johnson: [shrugs] Well, I wasn't usin' it.
Pete: I've always wondered, what's the devil look like?
Everett: Well, of course there are all manner of lesser imps and demons, Pete, but the great Satan hisself is red and scaly with a bifurcated tail, and he carries a hay fork.
Tommy Johnson: Oh, no. No, sir. He's white, as white as you folks, with empty eyes and a big hollow voice. He loves to travel around with a mean old hound. That's right.
Pete: And he told you to go to Tishomingo?
Tommy Johnson: Well, no, sir, that was my idea. I heard there's a man down there. He pays folks money to sing into his can. They say he pays extra if you play real good.
Everett: Tishomingo, huh? How much he pay?
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