He couldn’t have an orgasm. But the Creator, in his wisdom, allowed him to have headaches. From time to time Nero would tell him about some new pain killer that the humans had invented and he would buy it in a fit of optimism, but it never worked. He was doomed to never get an aspirin. He just had to suffer through his headaches. He massaged his forehead with his fingertips, but all that did was give him a bruised forehead.
“Hello, boss,” Nero chirped, popping into the office. “I just bumped into Death on the way out and it looked like you really gave him heck about that Summerville Speedway incident.”
“I fired him,” Satan said.
“Come again?”
“I fired Death,” Satan said. “This wasn’t the first time he screwed up, and I can’t take that anymore. If you’re going to work in Hell then you have to be responsible for your actions.”
In life, Nero had been known as quite possibly the most irresponsible of the Roman Emperors: creeping out of his palace in disguise to beat up drunks, exhausting the treasury on unnecessary construction projects, fiddling while Rome burned. But in death he had embraced responsibility with the passion of the convert and become Satan’s personal assistant. No one was a more ardent and fervent believer in personal responsibility than Nero, but even he thought that firing Death was beyond the pale.
“Don’t you think this might be you acting out.” Nero asked. “I know things have been stressful for you recently, sir, but why don’t I get him back and you two can revisit this issue tomorrow?”
“It’s done,” Satan said. “It’s about time I started making some strong decisions around here.”
“But what about the Ultimate Death Match?” Nero asked. “Who’s going to wrestle for us?”
“Oh. Right,” Satan said. “I’ll...figure something out.”
“Like what, sir?”
“Something!”
“Such as?”
Satan was frustrated. He stood up and began to kick his desk. It was an ugly lump from an overstock warehouse. He hated it.
“Something, okay?” Kick, kick, kick. “I’ll figure something out!” Bang, bang, bang. “I’ll make it work because I’m Satan and I have to deal with it. I have to deal with everything! I have to pick up everyone’s garbage! I have to deal with everyone’s mess! If other people don’t want a problem they can just pass it on because good old Satan’ll take care of it! Isn’t that what he’s there for?”
Kick, kick, kick! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Satan stopped, exhausted.
Pant, pant, pant.
“Feeling better, sir?” Nero asked.
“Actually, I do,” Satan said, surprised that once again physical violence had turned out to be the solution. He was always underestimating violence, but it really was a terrific way of dealing with things.
“Try not to make a habit of it, sir,” Nero said. “I don’t think we have the funds to replace your desk if you ever actually do manage to break it. Now, there are a few things that you need to take care of.”
“They’re all horrible, aren’t they.”
“Oh, no sir” Nero said. “They’re actually all very nice.”
“Really?”
“No, sir, not really. I was just trying to cheer you up. Minos’s demons have gone on strike again.”
Satan moaned.
“Come along, sir. From what I understand they’ve cobbled together a list of demands and they want to see you right away.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point,” Nero said, hauling Satan up out of his chair, “Is that no one else is going to do it.”
Dragging Satan behind him, Nero led his Dark Lord through the terrible corridors and caverns of Hell.
There has been a lot of debate over what Hell looks like. Christians serve it up Dante style, with caverns of fire and lakes of lava. Muslims change the names, but they’re mostly on the same page. The Buddhists have Naraka, with its pus rivers and infinite tortures. Jews have an undesirable piece of real estate where everyone gets Saturdays off and someone’s always burning garbage. But when damned souls of any denomination finally come face-to-face with the real thing what they generally feel is disappointment, and that’s the genius of Hell.
Hell falls short of expectations. Hell disappoints. Hell underwhelms. Hell is always worse than you thought it would be. Tackier. Cheaper. Dirtier. Uglier. Hell looks like someone slept in it the night before and didn’t wash it afterwards: it’s soiled, rumpled, stained and unpleasant. Almost everything in Hell is broken and hardly anything works. The things that do work have been repaired so poorly, so many times, that they’re actually harder to use than before. Dante got the general gist – he was