After hearing so much about Robert Johnson, the man who sold his soul to the Devil, Charlie Conklin called upon the Devil himself. Struggling for years, playing the afternoons at jazz clubs to empty rooms, Charlie had come to know the silence of the applause all too well. If Robert Johnson could become the greatest guitar player to ever play the blues, he could become the greatest jazz player to ever lay his lips to a trumpet. He asked the Devil, "I'll sell my soul to you, if only I can become a musical legend". So, the Devil made it so, and when Charlie brought the trumpet to his lips, he tried to cry, he tried to yell, he tried to banish the devil back to hell.
But he couldn't say anything. He couldn't play anything.
For he had the head of a pumpkin and was just as orange. He will never be forgotten for just how terribly he worded his wish. If only had he known that the devil imbued in him that miserable day, the ability to play the very best bass.
I am going way too slow lately. Way too slow. In other news, Resident Evil 5 is amazing, and now I can't finish it. It's driving me mad. Hopefully gonna catch up a bit over break.