Out of work Pope Francis said, in a recent interview, "They (unrepentant souls) are not punished, those who repent obtain the forgiveness of God and enter the rank of souls who contemplate Him, but those who do not repent and cannot therefore be forgiven disappear. There is no hell, there is the disappearance of sinful souls." News item.
The news that the Pope had canceled Hell was greeted with considerable consternation in the Abode of Darkness. Satan granted an exclusive interview with TMZ just to vent.
“There’s no such thing as job security anymore,” Satan complained bitterly. “We all hear that, but it’s still a shock when it happens to you. If any business was a going concern, it was mine. We had massive expansion plans just on account of internet porn and the Republican Party alone. I mean, we thought we were going to have to drain the Lake of Boiling Blood to build condos, the future soul-stream was going to be so huge. Then, poof! We all get pink-slipped.
“I hope the Pope considered what a massive dislocation there’s going to be in the celestial economy when my shop closes down. What about my imps? What’s an eight-foot tall, horned being who’s only ever worked in the cutting, stabbing or slashing fields going to do when all the souls he’s been torturing vanish? I mean, there’s only so many jobs at Benihana’s. Most of them will require considerable re-training before they re-enter the workforce. Sure, they’re accustomed to saying ‘Welcome to Hell,” in sepulchral tones, right before they stick a fiery pitchfork in your liver, but transitioning that to ‘Welcome to Walmart’ is going to take a while. They’re used to having all eternity to work with. Now they’re going to be clock-punchers? Give me a break.
“And did that busybody Francis ask his Boss about this? Sure, me and Him been on the outs for the entire existence of the universe, but it’s not like He doesn’t shoot me an email once in a while, and if there’s one thing I know He doesn’t like, it’s being constantly contemplated. ‘All that worshipful staring is killing Me. No matter how bad my testicles itch, I can’t scratch them.’ That’s a quote.
“Plus, are all the worthy souls really going to enjoy Heaven when they realize that all the rotten souls out there are just going to evanesce into nothing? I mean, I know that all the guys that Lucretia Borgia poisoned got a little spring in their steps when they thought of her hanging on a hook in the Pit of Fire, and Sharon Tate and her friends loved it when Charles Manson was admitted. You’re telling me that all the future residents of Heaven are going to be really capable of eternal bliss knowing that scheduled future residents of Hell, people like Laura Ingraham, Alex Jones, Steven Seagal, Joel Osteen and Taylor Swift--the list goes on--are not going to be boiled in the tar they deserve? I don’t think so.
“I don’t know what I can do about it, either. I mean, I had almost every lawyer that ever lived down in my place, and every single one of them would have been happy to take a day off from being wrapped in red-hot barbed wire to file an appeal for me, but all of a sudden, those souls vanished, thanks to that meddler Francis. Now I’m shopping for legal talent. I’ve got a few feelers out in Washington, DC—turns out most of the name lawyers there would rather work for me than for Trump. So, there’s that.
“I guess I’d better not say any more. Not until I get some legal advice. The interview is over. Say, you got an extra glass of that ice water? Thanks.”
The news that the Pope had canceled Hell was greeted with considerable consternation in the Abode of Darkness. Satan granted an exclusive interview with TMZ just to vent.
“There’s no such thing as job security anymore,” Satan complained bitterly. “We all hear that, but it’s still a shock when it happens to you. If any business was a going concern, it was mine. We had massive expansion plans just on account of internet porn and the Republican Party alone. I mean, we thought we were going to have to drain the Lake of Boiling Blood to build condos, the future soul-stream was going to be so huge. Then, poof! We all get pink-slipped.
“I hope the Pope considered what a massive dislocation there’s going to be in the celestial economy when my shop closes down. What about my imps? What’s an eight-foot tall, horned being who’s only ever worked in the cutting, stabbing or slashing fields going to do when all the souls he’s been torturing vanish? I mean, there’s only so many jobs at Benihana’s. Most of them will require considerable re-training before they re-enter the workforce. Sure, they’re accustomed to saying ‘Welcome to Hell,” in sepulchral tones, right before they stick a fiery pitchfork in your liver, but transitioning that to ‘Welcome to Walmart’ is going to take a while. They’re used to having all eternity to work with. Now they’re going to be clock-punchers? Give me a break.
“And did that busybody Francis ask his Boss about this? Sure, me and Him been on the outs for the entire existence of the universe, but it’s not like He doesn’t shoot me an email once in a while, and if there’s one thing I know He doesn’t like, it’s being constantly contemplated. ‘All that worshipful staring is killing Me. No matter how bad my testicles itch, I can’t scratch them.’ That’s a quote.
“Plus, are all the worthy souls really going to enjoy Heaven when they realize that all the rotten souls out there are just going to evanesce into nothing? I mean, I know that all the guys that Lucretia Borgia poisoned got a little spring in their steps when they thought of her hanging on a hook in the Pit of Fire, and Sharon Tate and her friends loved it when Charles Manson was admitted. You’re telling me that all the future residents of Heaven are going to be really capable of eternal bliss knowing that scheduled future residents of Hell, people like Laura Ingraham, Alex Jones, Steven Seagal, Joel Osteen and Taylor Swift--the list goes on--are not going to be boiled in the tar they deserve? I don’t think so.
“I don’t know what I can do about it, either. I mean, I had almost every lawyer that ever lived down in my place, and every single one of them would have been happy to take a day off from being wrapped in red-hot barbed wire to file an appeal for me, but all of a sudden, those souls vanished, thanks to that meddler Francis. Now I’m shopping for legal talent. I’ve got a few feelers out in Washington, DC—turns out most of the name lawyers there would rather work for me than for Trump. So, there’s that.
“I guess I’d better not say any more. Not until I get some legal advice. The interview is over. Say, you got an extra glass of that ice water? Thanks.”
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