In Hell We Trust

You'll Love It Here!

"Alright, Mr. President," the demon behind the camera said, deftly lining up the shot with a spin of the crank. "You're on in 3... 2..." He slashed his hand down. Cameras were rolling.

"Hi," Crowley said to the camera. He stood in front of a flat screen that currently showed the image of an unnaturally attractive young man happily going about his business on the streets of some nondescript city. He rolled into his next line with a serious expression, an air of drama, glowering, allowing the darkness to fall along his cheekbones and obscure his eyes. "So you've popped off the mortal coil and have found yourself downstairs. The Bad Place. The eternal flame."

The director ate it up, grinning with unbridled lust and avarice. The screen behind Crowley switched to a cartoon image of flames burning at a black cutout of a man who was crying out in cartoon agony. The director made a face and waved for Crowley to get on with it.

"You may think all is lost," Crowley went on, his voice almost a whisper. "You may think that the devil has come to collect his due, and you'll rot forever, suffering in every possible way." The attractive young man on the screen was now looking up at a scary shadow with long curving horns and appeared to be very frightened.

"But don't worry!" Crowley continued, suddenly all smiles and rainbows. The image behind him turned to a cartoon smiley-face, grinning his fool head off and giving a thumbs up. "This Hell isn't the one you think it is. This is a new and improved Hell, an eternal damnation that you can count on."

The young man from before now had horns photoshopped onto his head. Various images flashed on the screen of him working in an office, going to a bar and meeting an equally attractive young lady with equally photoshopped horns, walking into an imaginary sunset arm and arm with his fellow sinner friends.

"My name is Crowley, and I'm the President of this wonderful inferno we sinners proudly call home," Crowley said. The screen cut to black behind him, then displayed an image of Crowley's personal logo: a red pentagram with a big ornate C in the middle of it. "For years, sinners all over the globe have fretted about passing on into the next life, fearing an afterlife of eternal punishment. But here in Hell, you'll have all the time to work, play, and suffer to your leisure. Fret no further my friends, because together, we will build a bigger, better Hell for everyone! We've already made milestone improvements. In just a short time, we've solved the energy crisis, renovated and expedited downtown Limbo, and generally improved conditions of afterlife for everyone in Hell. But we can't do it without your help. So come on down, everybody." He grinned. This was the punchline. "The water's nice and warm. And together, we can build a better tomorrow. We're here for an eternity, so why not make it count?"

The screen now displayed the motto of Crowley's administration below the logo. "Make Hell Great Again," it said in white block letters. Underneath it, in small print, barely legible by any stretch of the imagination, were the words "Paid for by the Committee for Afterlife Transition". The director nodded and waved his hands.

"Cut!" the demon cried. He rushed onto the set as the cameras rolled away and the gaffers collapsed their microphones. The director was a large blue demon with a thick flabby stomach and a swoop of hair that was meant to look impressive but instead made him look like he had a combover. He shook Crowley's hand vigorously.

"Excellent job, Mr. President," the director said, spittle flying from his mouth. "Our boys in the marketing division think it's gonna be a big hit. Hopefully the fellas down in your Senate will think so as well."

"Hell willing," Crowley said, forcing a fake smile onto his lips. The act of it caused him visceral pain. Finally, the buzzing director went away to attend to post production matters. Crowley sauntered off stage to Lucy, who leaned casually against one of the supporting beams.

"Well done, Mr. President," Lucy said slyly.

"Indeed, a truly excellent performance," a sycophantic voice chimed in. "Couldn't have done it better myself, Mr. President, sir, and I wrote the damn thing." This came from Belial, Crowley's information minister, a diminutive red demon in a nice black suit, whose distinguishing features were his astonishingly large head taken up entirely by a massive blue eye. His small mouth was filled with crooked sharp teeth. It was a wonder he didn't cut up his lips just by speaking.

Crowley groaned. "Belial, old pal, if I have to do one more of those ads, I'm going to throw a chair at someone."

Belial raised his hands defensively. "My deepest apologies, Mr. President, sir. But you do have to admit that your popularity will go through the roof when this airs. The decedents love television, Mr. President, sir, and they appreciate a leader who will embrace the new media."

Crowley smiled smugly. "Oh, I am. We're going to be making a lot of changes down here. It's time we lifted this place out of the past and set Hell on a course for the future."

"Very true, Mr. President," Lucy agreed. She checked her watch. "You'll be wanted in makeup now."

"Makeup?" Crowley asked, dumbfounded. "But I just got off set." His face dropped when he made the realization. "Don't tell me they're going to shoot another one."

"Sorry," Belial put in sheepishly.

Crowley almost hit him. Luckily for the little red demon, Lucy gave him a forceful glare that stopped him right in his tracks. Crowley gulped and shrank away almost immediately.

"I'll be in makeup if you need me," Crowley said quietly.

Lucy smiled with intense self-satisfaction, watching the President of Hell itself trod off furiously to the makeup room. Belial noticed and smiled wryly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I love my boss," Lucy said, not tearing her eyes away from Crowley as he struggled to escape the clutches of the makeup artist. "But I also love watching him squirm."

Crowley howled with utter anguish. They had messed with his hair.