Crowley had come to several conclusions in his long life. One, humans, in general, were greedy, moronic and easily persuaded. And they liked war. They say they don't, but really, they're more blood thirsty than most of the demons Crowley avoided like the plague.

Which brought him to two, the plague was a good thing. It provided endless amusement for Crowley and endless souls of hapless people looking to save themselves and/or their families from the dreaded plague. Really, looking back, all they needed was a good can of Raid and a bar of soap. No need for an eternity in Hell. Not that he would have ever told them that. Wasn't his job. He wasn't paid to be nice.

He wasn't paid to be evil either.

He wasn't paid at all, actually, which was really something he should bring up with the head honchos in Hell. When he was sure they wouldn't torture him just for looking at them. Which would never happen, so he would just have to deal with stealing and investing.

Three. The stock market only ever crashed when someone pissed off a demon with contacts. Or a demon in stocks. Or a demon. In general. Or if Crowley was bored and wanted to see people flail as they watched their money slowly disappear and then decided to throw themselves off of a tall building.

Or sell their soul to get it back.

See? Greedy. And Crowley was also resourceful. Which made up for not being paid.

Four. Living forever was not all it cracked up to be. It got boring. It got dull. And for some reason, if you originated in Britain, by the time you reached two hundred, your accent was Cockney. Without fail.

It was a shame. He quite liked his original accent. Though Cockney was more intimidating at times, he would admit that. And it was easy to charm people into selling themselves to you.

Five. America made people weird. He's seen it. No matter what happens it would twist people up inside their minds and make them batshit insane if they stayed there long enough. And he wasn't just talking about humans. Everything. If it stayed in America, it turned them weird.

Case in point, cowboys. Hollywood. Pilgrims. Demons. Vampires. Teenagers! Everything went mental. Which was why Crowley only stayed there when he absolutely had to. Most of the time, he went in, grabbed a soul and darted back out again. He blamed the one time he had to stay in America for a whole six weeks on the fact that he now had a live-in Hellhound.

Six. Technology is the work of Lucifer. Or at least, a demon called Nigel who specialises in addiction. Still, he made humans dependent on the most unreliable thing in the world. And humans knew this, yet carried on happily with the knowledge that should anything happen that would stop all technology from working, then they would fail as a species. Again.

He came to conclusions every decade or so, whenever humanity changed so very obviously. Or when something happened that made him wonder how he had managed to live for so long and had yet to off himself. Because, really, Paris Hilton? Said it all really. Or when he was bored.

In 2003, he came to another conclusion.

Wizards were weird. Dead wizards even more so. Wizards that had to take up the mantle of Death's Master were insane. And should consider changing their name to something much more interesting. Harry was a little too misleading and boring. Though it was marginally better than Derek.

Back to meeting Harry, however. It was a turning point in Crowley's life. And not necessarily for the better. Sure, that day gave him three close friends/confidents/lovers/whatever you would call them. But two of them were the most irritating beings on this planet. Death's Master, Harry and The Archangel turned Trickster, Gabriel, should never have been introduced. It was a cruel thing to do and were anyone ever to ask, Crowley was certain neither Heaven nor Hell would own up to it.

He also came to another conclusion not long after. Two conclusions actually. One, he should never have introduced Harry to Fantasy and Sci Fi literature and two, he hated Good Omens and wished he hadn't planted the idea of a demon called Crowley into Pratchett and Gaiman's heads.

He was never going to tell Harry that.