The Soil Satan Goes out of Business

A bald man of middle-age wobbles in front of a cameraman, a director, and his crew. The onlookers are hushed and awestruck by the spectacle. The man is shabbily dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt with fringed edges and suspenders that pinch his flabby upper-body. Atop his head is a crudely assembled dunce-cap with the word “Bangkrupt” (sic) printed on it in black marker. A display of red and black vacuum cleaners are racked behind him. He blows into a noisemaker, causing a flair of short, colorful tassels and a high-pitched, outrageous toot.

Howdy-do, cruel world, it's Vince Wally Vincent, the Vacuum Guy, owner of the Soil Satan Outlet—which is bad news for me, 'cause the place is going out of business! My future ex-wife had her doubts when I spent most of my rich uncle's inheritance on funding the Soil Satan Outlet. Well, honey, I sure hope you can pry your head out of your gay lover's lap long enough to look at the TV screen and say, “I told you so.” How the hell is Fran, anyway? I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she's doing just swell. You tell her I'm expecting her to give nothing but straight A's to little Vance in gym class. Hell, the kid's life is pretty screwed-up now. Might as well grant him at least one perk, right? Ha, ha! Only kidding, ya carpet queens.

By now, you have all read enough newspapers and seen enough local news segments to know the origins of the Soil Satan Outlet. In 2007, yours truly, Vincent Wally Vincent, a lowly worker of the Dirt Devil corporation, worked up the balls to start his own line of vacuum cleaners. I designed and crafted a mechanism to enhance the suction power of the standard Dirt Devil. Having one-upped my ungrateful employers, I decided on a name that sounded similar but was more emphatic. I mean—if you really want to clean that dog-barf stain spotlessly before the company arrives, which seems like a stronger option: The Dirt Devil or the Soil Satan?

I had faith that American consumers would salute my clever touch of wordplay, that the gag would be understood and nobody was going to protest my very existence with charges that I'm an “Occult Monster” or a “Doomed Heathen.”

Having faith really backfired on me that time.

Vince blows a concerted gust of air into the noisemaker.

In the early days, my business attracted a great number of Satanists. The Godless hooligans clamored in vain for black cloaks, jugs of goat's blood, and Slayer albums. Few showed any interest in buying a vacuum cleaner. Some purchased key chains and spare parts on occasion—and I shudder to think of the horrible things those degenerates did with all those extension tubes.

Well, those sales kept us afloat for awhile, but you know Satanists: They're magnets for spats and scuffles with angry Christians. There's nothing quite like going into work past protesters with picket signs that predict your eternal damnation. Oh, boy! Just give me a daily dose of Jesus freaks and devil-worshipers spitting on each other, nut-jobs from both sides jabbering in tongues, and a lowlife with “666” tattooed on his forehead stumbling about the parking lot with an ether rag. “No coffee for me, honey,” I'd say, once I made it inside. “Walking through that heinous mob is all the morning pick-me-up I need!”

My son was nearly hit in the head when one of the picketers pitched a stone through our front window. The guy must have been without sin. What can you do?!

Then came the boycotts. Right-wing yahoos got involved in the fray, taking a moral stance against superior and cost-effective vacuum cleaners. Our state's governor denounced my company because of its name and raved about the evils of a harmless pun, all the while shortchanging teachers and students and making life worse for poor people and the middle class. America. What a country!

He further punctuates this message by blowing into the noisemaker.

In the meantime, profits soared for Dirt Devil. Nobody hassles the owner of that vacuum company, even though “Devil” and “Satan” mean the same thing—just like “Dirt” and “Soil.” It's funny how one man can become a respectable millionaire while another is ruined for boldly trying to raise the stakes... Maybe I'll laugh about it later.

Until then, the Soil Satan Outlet has a lot of sh-- we need to get rid of before our pulse truly flat-lines. Hell, we're going out of business—might as well have a sale, right? My God, I whack my noggin with a stapler every time I think of how little we're charging for these vacuum cleaners! The Soil Satan Six-Sixty-Six Thousand, for example, is being sold for a third of what it's worth. These prices are so low you'll think I've gone crazy! ...Which is not really the case; I'm just broke and desperate and trying to raise enough cash for a one-month stay at a crummy motel.

What's next for Vince Wally Vincent, you ask? Does the captain have any plans, after the shipwreck? Indeed, I do. First I'm gonna rain tears of despair into a bowl of cold Spaghettio's and listen to some country music—and I'm talking about the real country, the depressing shit, not that happy crap that sounds more like Bon Jovi than Hank and Cash.

After that, I plan to stop acting like a p--sy and drink a lot of beers. Then I'll carouse with the neighbors at the crummy motel, maybe even find a sweetheart I won't later turn into a lesbian.

Hell, in my 20s and 30s, I failed as a violinist and a ventriloquist. Maybe I'm just being too superstitious about having a job title that fits well with my first and last name. Maybe I've been going about my career path the wrong way. Maybe I need to focus on my middle name and take up a profession like watchmaker, or owner of a Winnebago dealership.

Well, I've kept you from watching Two and a Half Me long enough. The point is: Don't worry about Vince Wally Vincent, you bunch of dumb hypocrites. I'll be glad to get this albatross off my neck and transition into a new era of letdowns. Take it from me: The Vacuum business sucks. It's time for me to move on to something that blows.

With that, Vince Wally Vincent blows into a noisemaker, causing a flair of short, colorful tassels and a high-pitched, outrageous toot.