Oh, fuck! Martin Scorsese just walked out into the middle of the road. No time to hit the brakes. What are you going to do?

You swerve at the last second and your car flips over. Scorsese is safe and sound, but you aren’t. Martin Scorsese drags your lifeless body out of the wreckage of your car.

“This person is dead!” shouts Martin Scorsese, alone on a stretch of highway somewhere in the middle of the country, cradling your bloody corpse. “Well, I hope you don’t go to Hell, pal.”

Uh-oh. Looks like Marty isn’t getting it.

“If you have a couple hours to kill, please watch my movie Goodfellas. I’m a little biased, but I think it’s a pretty good movie. Cheers.”

“Do you know about any good restaurants in NYC?”

“The Wolf Of Wall Street! And it’s rated R!”

You’re about 10 feet away from smashing into Martin Scorsese at 60 miles per hour. What are you going to do?

But you do. You’re in Hell now.

“Hell is where people go when they are bad like me,” says a little boy behind you. “It is bad.”

“I stole some plums.”

“I don’t feel bad about it. Stealing the plums. I’m glad I stole them. Honestly, I wish I had stolen more of those plums.”

“The only way to know why you are in Hell is to think back on all the bad things you did in your life and remember which one was the most bad. That is the reason you are here in Hell with me, the boy who stole some plums.”

You think back to the first bad thing you ever did, which was very clearly mouthing the phrase “I’m fucking naked in here” during your mother’s ultrasound.

Then there was that time you lied to your father about being able to see a private John Fogerty concert if you stick your head in the sand. That was mean.

And the time you did this.

But then you remember it. The most bad thing you ever did: pouring hot broth down a beluga whale’s blowhole just so that when it shot the broth out, you could eat it by sticking your tongue out and catching the warm broth rain on your tongue. That was bad and very rude.

“That must be why you’re in Hell. That’s very bad. Not as bad as me, though. I stole some plums, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Man, I don’t know, man, I’m just a fucking kid who stole some plums, and now I’m in Hell, and I don’t know anything about escaping from Hell, man; you’re gonna have to figure it out on your own.”

Well, here you are in Hell. It smells like shit because it’s Hell. “This won’t do,” you think to yourself. “I need to escape from Hell.”

But first, you need to figure out which part of Hell you’re in. Luckily, there’s an information kiosk nearby.

“Hello. Welcome to Hell, the main bad place. How can I help you?”

“Poured broth down a whale’s blowhole.”

“From what I gather, this is a fairly common way for people to wind up in Hell. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Of course! Here you go.”

Here is a map of Hell. Where do you want to go?

“Okay, good luck. And fuck you. In Hell, we say ‘fuck you’ all the time because it’s Hell, baby. We can do whatever we want.”

Welcome to North Hell, the northern area of Hell. On your way here, you notice the scenery change from lava flows and subterranean gloom to paved streets and picket fences. Everyone here seems really happy.

“That’s allowed here!” says an old woman. “Can I be your Hell Wife?”

“Great! You can crash at my place.”

“You’ll have to share a room with my grandson Nathan, but he’s a sweetheart. We are not related!”

Nathan nods his head. Your Hell Wife exits the room, leaving you two to stare at each other in silence.

“...”

“I’m listening to a sound effects library of exclusively door-opening sounds.”

*muffled door-opening sound effects*

You pass a family standing on the lawn in front of their house.

“I love living in Hell with my Hell Family,” says the happy woman in Hell. “In life, I had a different family, but now I am dead in Hell for stealing three plums, and I live with my Hell Family. I don’t know their names and had never met them before, but they are with me forever now. We are not related!”

“I love living with these strangers in Hell,” say a nearby couple. “We met each other in Hell, and now we have two daughters who we are not related to. They are in Hell for pouring broth down a whale’s blowhole.”

“Hey, buddy, it’s me, the only dog in Hell. I don’t have a fucking clue why I’m in Hell, but honestly, it’s not so bad. Happy New Year! Today is New Year’s Day in Hell, and I am a dog.”

“Hello there. We’re in Hell. It’s whatever.”

As you walk down the streets of North Hell meeting all these happy people who have only good things to say about being in Hell, you start to wonder if you really want to escape. Maybe Hell is an okay place to be.

“Okay! Good luck with that! I’m going to go find a bunch of mud to sit in because it’s Hell and anything goes, baby!”

You head toward East Hell and find yourself in an eerie subterranean tunnel. You hear the haunting echoes of people stating matter-of-factly, “I am in Hell,” and “Okay, here I am in Hell, I guess.”

You totally disobeyed that sign! What a badass. You truly belong in Hell.

On the other side of the fence, you discover a staircase. The smell of shit is waning, and now you’re beginning to smell something else...it’s a familiar smell...the smell of hot dogs...and pretzels...and, okay, there’s a little shit mixed in there, too.

You emerge from a manhole and blink your eyes. Suddenly, you realize that you are 100 precent nude.

You take in your surroundings, the hustle and bustle of the modern metropolis. A cab driver turns to a businessman and says, “Look at that naked guy,” clearly referring to you.

The businessman smiles and coughs and says, “Only in NYC, cab man. Only in NYC! Now take me to the Bronx Zoo and step on it! I must see an elephant!”

NYC...it’s familiar to you, but you can’t quite remember what it means. Some sort of code...or abbreviation...but what for?

Oh, hell yeah! There it is! That fucking thing! You remember that thing! It means something...but what does it mean?

“It means you’re in New York City, baby! Laundry Village! The Three Hundred–Pound Town! You are here, and you are alive! Kiss me, you big lug!”

Here you are in South Hell. All of Hell smells like shit, but this part really smells like shit. Probably because this is the part of Hell where the Devil hangs out. Maybe if you talk to Him, he’ll help you get the fuck out of here. How do you want to summon the Devil?

Terrific. Is this the rock ’n’ roll gesture?

Nothing happened. Maybe that wasn’t the right gesture. Try a different one?

Very nice! Here it is. The rock ’n’ roll gesture, yes?

Nothing happened. Maybe that wasn’t the right gesture. Try a different one?

How about this bad boy? Yeah? Is this the international sign for rude guitars?

Nothing happened. Maybe that wasn’t the right gesture. Try a different one?

This one? How about this one?

Pretty much immediately, the Devil shows up.

“Hello, I could not help but notice that you were doing the international sign for rude guitars. I am the Devil, and I love that sign. That’s exactly the sort of thing that is right up my alley. Big, big fan.”

The Devil’s Prayer is as follows:

“Devil, Devil, hear my prayer,
I want to get out of here.
Devil, Devil, help me out,
Otherwise I’ll whine and pout.
Amen! Amen! And one last Amen!”

Pretty much immediately, the Devil shows up.

“Hi, I’m the Devil. So, you want to escape from Hell? That makes sense. It’s the main bad place, and it smells like shit. Well, I’ll help you out. But first, you gotta do something nice for me.”

“Of course I’m the Devil! Look at my beautiful girlfriends!”

Above: girlfriends.

“Good. Now that you understand that I am the real Devil, let’s get down to it. You want to escape from Hell, right? Well, I want something too. I want to prank-call God. That’s right, the big miserable schmuck upstairs. But I can’t do it because he knows my voice too well. He’ll never believe it. I mean, I could try to do an accent, but I am horrible at accents. Anyway, I need someone to prank-call him for me, and if you do it, I’ll help you escape from this shit-smelling wasteland. Will you do it?”

“Yeah, well, fuck you!” screams the Devil, picking you up and throwing you into the ocean of Hell.

Well, here you are.

Here’s a fish.

“UHHHHHHHHHH...” says the fish.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

“UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM...”

*fish noise*

Uh-oh. This sign says “No Trespassing.” Well, rules are rules. Looks like you’re not allowed to go beyond this point. Sorry.

“Great. Here’s the only phone in Hell that works.”

“Hello.”

“Yes, this is God. Who is this?”

“Stanley? I don’t know anyone named Stanley.”

“...”

“Could you give me a minute?”

“Okay, I’m going to put you on hold.”

“Great, thanks.”

*Click*

“What’s happening?”

“Oh. Okay.”

“...”

“...”

*sound of Devil adjusting position on toilet seat*

“Hey, sorry about that. Yeah, I just checked, and I definitely don’t know anyone named Stanley.”

“Shit! Seriously? Aw, man. I hate getting pranked.”

“Oh, man. That was fucking great. What an idiot! Well, you helped me out, so now I’m going to help you out. Where do you want to escape to?”

“Hello?” says your son, answering the phone.

Wow. It really is him. Your darling baby boy. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. His beautiful, gorgeous, angelic voice. God, he sounds like he’s grown so much since you’ve been dead and in Hell. You want to say something...to tell him that you’re all right. To tell him that you love him...but it’s too painful. So you lie.

“Hello, this is the 911. What is your emergency?”

“Oh, no! That’s awful. We’re sending officers immediately!”

*police car sounds*

“Hello there. West Hell is currently closed for renovations. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Again, West Hell is currently closed for renovations. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“More fire.”

“Yup.”