GARY GRIMBLE AND THE DEMON'S CURSE

Once upon a time, a man named Gary Grimble lived in the not-so-enchanted town of Gumbleton. Gary wasn't your typical knight in shining armor, nor was he a dashing hero with a secret identity. Nope, Gary was more like the human embodiment of a "Wet Paint" sign—easily ignored and generally avoided.

He was an average, run-of-the-mill pessimist who wore his gloom like a comfortable old sweater. If there was a silver lining, Gary would find the tarnish. He believed Murphy's Law was written exclusively for him, like some twisted daily horoscope from the universe. If a bird pooped on someone in Gumbleton, you could bet your bottom dollar it was Gary.

He never complained about his misfortune and wished for his life to improve. Gary had problems with wishes. They all backfired on him.

"Be careful what you wish for," Gary murmured each time he was asked.

One day, Gary was trudging through his usual routine, muttering about the weather, the economy, and why his toast always landed butter-side down, when he stumbled upon something that would change his life forever. And not in the "win the lottery, buy a yacht" kind of way. No, this was more in the "accidentally sell your soul to a demon at a yard sale" way.

Gary had a knack for attracting trouble, as cats attract weird places to sleep. But nothing and I mean absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for the eternal nightmare about to unfold. It all began on a particularly dreary Tuesday (because, of course, it was a Tuesday). Gary was taking his usual shortcut through a back alley, avoiding the local library where the librarian, Mrs. Pinsk, would lecture him about overdue books from 1987.

As he shuffled along, eyes glued to the ground to avoid eye contact with any overly friendly street pigeons, he kicked something with his foot. It was a dusty, ancient-looking book. Now, any sensible person would have just kept walking, but Gary, being Gary, picked it up. The cover was emblazoned with strange symbols resembling a toddler's attempt at drawing spaghetti. Intrigued (and let's face it, Gary's life was so mundane that even a dust bunny could be considered exciting), he opened it.

Big mistake. Huge.

Out of nowhere, the skies darkened, the wind howled, and a chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with his questionable burrito for lunch. Before he could say, "Why me," a figure appeared. This wasn't just any figure; this was a demon with an apparent love for the dramatic.

"Congratulations, mortal!" boomed the demon, with a voice that sounded like a thousand broken vacuum cleaners. "You have unleashed the curse of eternal misfortune!"

Gary blinked, hoping this was just another one of his stress-induced hallucinations. "Uh, can I take a rain check on that?" he stammered.

But the demon, clearly a stickler for protocol, handed Gary a scroll and a pen made of what looked suspiciously like a chicken bone. "Sign here," it demanded.

Gary, always the skeptic but also a bit of a pushover, scribbled his name. The demon cackled and vanished in a puff of smoke that smelled oddly of burnt toast. Gary stood there, holding the scroll, feeling a sense of impending doom.

And thus began Gary Grimble's new chapter of life. Or so he thought. The next day, Gary woke up, stubbed his toe on the bed frame, spilled coffee on his shirt, and missed the bus. "Business as usual," he muttered, "Eternal misfortune, my foot. Same old, same old."

Days turned into weeks, and Gary noticed something peculiar. Despite the demon's grand proclamation of eternal misfortune, his life hadn't changed. In fact, it was as if the universe had reached its quota of bad luck for Gary and decided to maintain the status quo. Sure, he still stepped in puddles—more than once—ensuring his socks were always soggy at the most inconvenient times. He got rained on when he forgot his umbrella, leaving him drenched and shivering as he trudged through the streets of Gumbleton, his clothes clinging to him like a second skin.

His knack for misfortune continued unabated. He managed to lock himself out of his house twice in one day, spending hours waiting for a perpetually late locksmith. His toast still landed butter-side down, staining his worn-out carpet. He frequently found himself in the most embarrassing situations, like tripping over his own feet in front of his neighbors or spilling coffee on important documents at work.

But amidst these daily nuisances, Gary realized nothing was unusual. It was just his usual string of bad luck. No demonic catastrophes or apocalyptic disasters had befallen him. The lights didn't flicker ominously, and he wasn't followed by a persistent black cat. In fact, the curse seemed to blend seamlessly into his life, so much so that Gary began to doubt if anything had changed.

He continued to miss buses by seconds, watched as his favorite TV shows got inexplicably canceled, and dealt with minor yet persistent inconveniences like running out of hot water mid-shower. Yet, there was a strange comfort in the predictability of his misfortunes. Gary's life carried on in its own peculiar rhythm, marked by small, exasperating events that never entirely tipped over into true calamity.

Ever the observers of Gary's peculiar fate, the townsfolk of Gumbleton noticed nothing unusual either. To them, he was the same old Gary Grimble, the man who could be relied upon to draw the short straw in any situation. And Gary, in his own resigned way, found solace in the routine of his misfortune. He had been living with bad luck for so long that the demon's curse felt like just another Tuesday, another chapter in the story of his endlessly frustrating yet remarkably consistent life.

The demon, on the other hand, was having a meltdown. Deep in the underworld, he paced back and forth, wringing his hands and glaring at a glowing orb that showed Gary's daily life. "This is impossible!" he roared. "Why isn't it working?"

He summoned his minions, demanding explanations. "Why isn't this mortal suffering more than usual?"

The minions shrugged, each more clueless than the last.

One brave minion finally spoke up. "Uh, maybe he's already maxed out on misfortune?"

The demon's eyes widened. Could it be? He'd never encountered a profoundly unlucky human whose eternal curse made no difference. Furious and bewildered, the demon decided to confront Gary.

He appeared before Gary in a blaze of fire and brimstone, startling him from a mediocre sandwich at lunchtime. "Mortal! Why isn't the curse affecting you?" he bellowed.

Gary looked up, chewing thoughtfully. "Oh, hey, you, again. Yeah, about that. I've been having bad days for as long as I can remember. Your curse is like... just another Tuesday for me."

The demon's jaw dropped. "This cannot be! You're supposed to be suffering eternal misfortune!"

Gary shrugged. "I guess I was already there. Welcome to my world."

Frustrated beyond measure, the demon vanished, muttering about a refund for his dark magic education. Meanwhile, Gary returned to his sandwich, oblivious that he'd just broken a demon's spirit. He continued his usual streak of bad luck, which now seemed less daunting. After all, if he could handle an eternal curse without noticing, what was a little rain or a stubborn goose?

And so, Gary Grimble remained the same old Gary, finding comfort in the consistency of his misfortune and knowing that even a demon couldn't make his life any worse than it already was.