From: Michael Dare

 By Helen A. Handbasket     9/19/01

I go away for a week and look what happens. Sorry I've been gone so long
but Satan hired me back. Yeah, he knows what I've been up to above ground,
betraying his confidence by telling the world of his dealings with politics and show biz.
He doesn't care. He's willing to forgive and  forget. It's precisely the expertise I displayed
in hacking into his system behind his back that made him realize I was the only one for the job.

What job? Satan's angry. Real angry. Someone screwed him. Screwed him real bad.
He didn't know anything about 9/11. Not a thing. He's always in the dark, but this time
he was REALLY in the dark. How could someone have pulled this off without his participation?
That's my mandate. I'm Satan's undercover P.I. trying to find out how this was done behind his back,
and for the first time I've got total access. Free run of hell with all the amenities. So I've been busy.

My first suspects were a group of men who all arrived in hell on the morning of  9/11.
I've spent the last week going through the paperwork and it's a mess. They're from all over the place
and seem to be here for different reasons. The only thing they have in common is that their appearance
coincides precisely with certain earthly events. We believe the ringleader isn't here, so I've been keeping
my eye on them and conducting interviews to try to find out where he is. Just today I brought them all
together for the first time. Here's how it went.

HELEN: What were you doing on the morning of  9/11?

SUSPECT #1: Fuck this, man, where are my 77 virgins? I got a hard-on that won't quit.

HELEN: Standard operational procedure. First thousand years, all souls get
               a hard-on that won't quit.

SUSPECT #2: You must be shitting me! I must get rid of this. It's starting to hurt.

SUSPECT #3: I tried lubricating the holy salami but nothing would work.

HELEN: There are no lubricants in hell.

SUSPECT #1: Hell? What the hell are we doing in hell?

SUSPECT #3: Yeah, that wasn't part of the deal.

SUSPECT #1: Fuck this, man, where are my 77 virgins?

SUSPECT #2: Shut up you idiot. Don't you get it? We've been screwed.

SUSPECT #3: What do you mean?

SUSPECT #2: Look around, you moron. Does this look like paradise?

SUSPECT #3: No, it looks like an office building.

HELEN: Okay, let me make one thing perfectly clear. This is hell.
              You're in hell and there's no way out unless it's through me, got it? I'm your only contact
               with the outside world and as soon as this meeting is closed, it's back to the pits.

SUSPECT #2: Oh no, please, not the pits.

SUSPECT #3: Don't send me back to the pits. Not with this hard-on.

SUSPECT #1: You call that a hard-on? I thought it was a baby carrot.

HELEN: There are no baby carrots in hell.

SUSPECT #1: Damn, I love baby carrots.

SUSPECT #3: Shut up. Baby carrots are the least of our problems
                        except for this one in my lap that I can't get rid of.

SUSPECT #1: I don't understand. Where are my 77 virgins?

SUSPECT #2: Look around, nincompoop, there are no virgins.

HELEN: Strictly speaking that's incorrect. There are plenty of virgins in hell.

SUSPECT #1: Then bring them to me. Why is no one bringing virgins to me?

SUSPECT #2: Because we're in hell, humus for brains. Your virgins are waiting for you in paradise.

HELEN: Strictly speaking that's incorrect. There are no virgins in paradise.

SUSPECT #1: Then where are my virgins? I must have virgins.
                        Don't you understand? Why do you not bring them to me?

HELEN: You want me to bring you 77 virgins?

SUSPECT#1: 76? 75? One! Just bring me ONE virgin and I will be satisfied.

HELEN: Okay, let me make one more thing perfectly clear. Nobody gets a
               virgin unless I'm happy, and right now I'm really pissed off.

At this point I got up and left the room as it was soon to fill with lava.
Gotta show these bastards who's boss. The interrogation will continue soon.
Meanwhile, I've got work to do  You don't want to keep Satan waiting.

Personal to George W. Bush: Thanks a lot.

Personal to George Bush: Thanks a lot.

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