I mistakenly received a letter from you last month and thought I should send it back. I know it’s been weeks since it landed in My mailbox and I know how much correspondence of any kind means to you, er… “unlucky” denizens of Hell, but as you may know, I’m on vacation. Frankly, you’re lucky I can be bothered at all.
Although the letter wasn’t addressed to Me, I opened it anyway, as it’s always informative to read a first-hand account of the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, (not to mention the enhanced interrogation techniques), in Hell. It’s funny; you’d think, since it’s a wholly-owned subsidiary of Gawd, Inc., I’d get down there once in a while to see how things are going, but it always ends up bumming Me out. Go figure.
Anywho, I see that you have some questions about who actually runs Hell; Satan, Hades, Nixon or any one of a half dozen others. I can clear that up for you right now. Hell is Mine. I came up with the idea. I raised the capital to finance it. I turned the first spadeful of sulphur. I hired the “customer service representatives”. I laid the rules for who ends up there and who doesn’t. I cut the ribbon at the opening ceremony. And I set up the management bureaucracy that has you so confused.
So, as I’m sure you’ll agree – kudos to Me.
As for why you’re there in the first place, I’d have thought the Afterlife Examination Board had made it clear to you on your first day. I’m not going to bother to have someone look up your records and messenger them to Me on vacation here in sunny Helsinki, (Hey, that’s kind of a coincidence. I’m in a 5-star hotel in Helsinki and you’re in the 5th circle of Hell. Small world, innit?), but if your account is right then it’s obvious that you’re an odious sinner who lied outright and committed so many sins in your heart that I’m amazed the board gave you a hearing at all.
But, for what it’s worth, it’s nothing personal. I didn’t even know you existed until I got your letter by mistake. I’m sure that when you think about it you’ll agree that there have to be rules and you just happened to end up on the wrong side of them. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles and all that. You’ve got to learn to take the rough with the smooth. For instance, when I arrived at the Hotel Kamp I expected a flunky to be waiting at reception with a glass of scotch in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other, but there was only someone blathering on about tea. You don’t see Me complaining though, do you? I simply had the incompetent oaf fired.
So you see, instead of moaning about how you ended up in Hell and bitching about missing your wife or girlfriend or whatever, make the most of the situation. I suggest s’mores.
Wish You Were Here,