Hey.  How ya doin’?  My story?  I’m the devil.  No.  Seriously.  Believe it.  I mean, not the devil.  I met him once.  We were at one of those yearly staff meetings and he was there to do the welcome address.  I mean, heck, he did that every year.  But one year, between sessions, I was standing there and my immediate supervisor walks by with Satan.  The Guy.  And he stops and introduces me.  In person.  You know...  Ya try not to act like it’s any big deal, but who are we kidding?  To tell the truth, it was kind of weird.  I mean, if you had the chance to shake Hitler’s hand, would you?  One part would be sayin’, “This is really the guy!”  And another part would be sayin’, “Dude, this is so wrong.”  You see, I’m a Minion.  It’s really a good gig if you have to be in hell.  Don’t get me wrong.  Hell’s not as bad as the other guys make it out to be, but it’s not exactly Club Med, either.  Mostly you sit around and do nothin’.  Nothin’.  But being a Minion is OK.  We’re the guys who... well, I’m kinda like an Army Recruiter who goes into the high school and tells those dumb kids any stupid thing they’re willing to believe so they’ll sign up.  Pretend to be their friends.  Pretend that you really know what’s best for them.  Talk to their parents.  Offer them money, chicks... whatever.  And do you think that Recruiter gives a rat’s ass once your name is on the line?  Yeah, right!  But, yeah, that’s pretty much a Minion.  I do a lot of schools.  I’m partial to discount outlets, too.  Believe it or not, bars are really lousy.  They’re there, sure, but not worth your time.  You get to thinkin’ that way.  You can’t help it.  The thing is, I really like some of these people.  They’re good folks.  A bit dumb, maybe, but that shouldn’t make you bad.  And they’re not bad.  There was this guy, see, and he would give you anything you wanted... if he had it.  And he really didn’t have squat.  This guy even got in a fight for me.  It was a silly fight, but... yeah.  That’s somethin’.  No one ever did that for me before.  So, ya know, though, we got this quota.  They call them Credits.  Not everybody’s worth a whole Credit.  You take some real asshole.  He may only be worth a quarter Credit, if that.  Your neighbor who got drunk and ran over the kid.  He may be a half.  And you only need to get three a month.  Three.  It’s not that much.  When you start, it’s easy.  I was nailing 7 or 8.  But... I dunno.  The fire’s gone.  It’s just a job.  But you see, as long as you’re a Minion, you get to stay up here.  Man, I’m tellin’ you.  Don’t take this for granted.  Sunshine.  Breezes.  Rain.  I love rain.  Birds.  Traffic noises.  So... So I have to make my quota.