Kankakee slumlord and juggling clown Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant just completed her registration after waiting six weeks in line at Hell’s In-processing Department.
She checks her phone and cannot figure out why it has trouble connecting to the Internet.
“There’s no signal in Hell” a disembodied voice calls out.
A few years from now, Communal narcissist and poopyburner Bern Cacca, who wanted to be everybody’s friend, but only to use them finds herself forced out of Manteno and into the pits of Hell.
“Satan, why am I here?”
“But I did all those favors! I played accordion for the Optimal Club! I gave people rides! I–“
“Did you do those things to help, or to make yourself look good?”
“Uhhh…”
“And how many times did you admit you did something wrong. Count them. I will wait. So will my visiting intern Gothic Diana Ross. She will take you to your cell. Do you prefer jagged rocks or bubbling excrement?”
During her 99-hour shift, Hell’s in-processing clerk Lucy Furr heads down to the 9th Circle to grab some joe so she can stay awake. “I would like an extra large latte with Irish Cream” Lucy tells the barista.
“We do not have Irish Cream” the barista advises Lucy.
“Okay, I’ll get an iced red-eye with extra shots.”
“Don’t you know where we are? We don’t served iced coffees.”
“Oh. Can I just get a cup of whatever you have? And make it fast. I need to go back to work.”
“We don’t serve coffee in Hell.”
“Then, what do you serve?” an angered Lucy asks the ogre working the counter.
“Misery. Satan put up this pretend coffeehouse to fake out the damned.”
MoronicArts 
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