A while back there was a game called Afterlife which was like a harder version of Sim City 2000 and also involved Heaven and Hell instead of some American city somewhere. Wikipedia has a fairly okay page about it, at least at the time of writing.
Unlike Sim City, the buildings are not just R-C-I stuff, they're rewards and punishments focusing on the seven deadly sins and their conjugate virtues and so to add flavour, the designers wrote or had written a bunch of descriptions for pretty much every building in the game. They are all present in one big data file that I PRESUME has some parsable structure to it and may also contain the graphics (which are some pretty charming and Boschian bits of late 90s pixel art), and certainly contains the music (open it up as a .wav file, but get the sampling parameters wrong and you get [INSERT YOUTUBE LINK HERE]) but the descriptions are at least in it in plain text. Here, then, are all the descriptions and graphics I could find. Some of them didn't make it into the game, I think:
Just like in Sim City, there are some gift structures you can build when the realms reach population targets; the descriptions for these tell the following Story of Scegf0d, Heaven first and then Hell:
A long time ago, in a celestial plane far, far away, there was an Angel named Scegf0d. Scegf0d was something of a misfit. While all of the other cherubim and seraphim were perfectly content with the wonders of Heaven, Scegf0d could (and would) find fault with anything.
"That sunset's too red," he'd whine.
"These bon-bons aren't chocolatey enough," he'd mope.
"This velvet cushion doesn't quite fit the contours of my butt," he'd moan.
Finally, he decided to do something about it. First, he built an enormous Vista Enhancement Doohicky, which made everything in Heaven within a ten mile radius look even more perfect than before.
The Powers That Be were impressed
Standing on the balcony of his Vista Enhancement Doohicky, the Angel Scegf0d was happier than he had been for hundreds of years.
"This is wonderful," he said. "Everything, for as far as the eye can see, looks utterly perfect!"
Suddenly a chorus of harps broke into a beautiful jam session of hallelujiahs and hosannahs, each one infinitely more melodious and harmonious than any piece of music found in the world of the living. Scegf0d frowned.
"They're slightly out of tune," he whined. "I'll have to do something about that."
Weeks later, Scegf0d unveiled his Audio Improving Embophone, which had the ability to make every sound within a hundred mile radius bounce off the eardrums like a caress.
The Powers That Be arched their collective eyebrows.
Relaxing in the study of his Audio Improving Embophone, Scegf0d marveled at what he had wrought.
"Everything I see and hear is perfect," he proclaimed to no one in particular. "Surely there is no place in Heaven as heavenly as this."
Outside, a jillion flowers spontaneously bloomed, releasing a heady aroma evocative of all that is right with the Universe. Scegf0d furrowed his angelic brow.
"Not woody enough," he snorted. "Don't these seraphim know anything about nasal passages?"
Within a fortnight, Scegf0d had constructed the Heaven Scent Atomizer, a device capable of perfecting the aromas of everything within range of its powerful purple pumps.The Powers That Be were slightly annoyed.
Strolling through the heady, nostalgic vapors produced by his Heaven Scent Atomizer, Scegf0d felt, for a fleeting millisecond, truly at one with the Cosmos.
"Gosh, everything smells great!" he intoned. Just then, a cherub toddled by with a hot dog cart.
"Make me one with everything," Scegf0d laughed, tossing the Angel a Penny. The cherub complied, and Scegf0d took a bite of the most perfect chili dog ever created.
"This is horrible!" he screamed, spitting out the perfect morsels. "Action will have to be taken!"
Twenty-seven days later, the Creamy Candy Castle, a machine that could make any food taste absolutely perfect, was completed.
The Powers That Be sent Scegf0d a memo applauding his initiative, but warning him about his bad attitude.
High atop his Creamy Candy Castle, Scegf0d nibbled contemplatively on a screamingly perfect apple and concluded that he had, at long last, found eternal peace.
"Everything I see, hear, smell, and taste is PERFECT, he beamed. "Finally, I can settle down and ENJOY Heaven!"
Slowly, he lowered himself onto his throne, which was ergonomically designed by the finest chiropractors who ever lived, and covered in crushed velvet, to boot."It's like sitting on broken glass," he whined. "I guess my work ISN'T done yet."
Within mere hours, Scegf0d was putting the finishing touches on his Fluffy Comfort Dispenser, which could magically enhance the tactile sensations of everything for miles around. As he tied off the last stitch, he was startled to find the Powers That Be standing right behind him.
They were not happy."If there's anything we can't tolerate in Heaven, it's a whiner," they said, and cast the Ungrateful Angel into Hell.
Being kicked out of Heaven had done nothing for Scegf0d's attitude problem.
"Hell? Don't make me laugh," he roared. "Why, this is a veritable walk in the park compared to Heaven."
As he spoke, phantasms of thirty-three unspeakable tableaus wafted into view. Within seconds, a horrible crunching noise began to be heard, as thousands of Damned SOULs dug out their own eyeballs rather than witness the horrible visions.
"You call that a phantasm?" Scegf0d mocked. "Good grief, I've seen worse things in a Pauly Shore movie! You want scary, I'LL give you scary!"
A month later, Scegf0d cut the ribbon on the Ugliness Engine, an infernal machine that made everything around it really, really bad for the eyes.
The Powers That Be shook their collective head. "Here we go again."
As vile, trauma-inducing visions flickered from the depths of his Ugliness Engine, Scegf0d knew no satisfaction.
"Oh, sure," he mused, "Hell LOOKS awful, but it's still not very spooky."
As he frowned, thirteen dozen banshees appeared out of nowhere, loaded for bear. They screeched, yelled, and occasionally whispered the cruelest of songs directly into Scegf0d's defenseless eardrums. The Damned covered their bleeding ears and went "la-la-la-la-la" to no avail.
"That's a perfect example," sighed Scegf0d, as the banshees flew off in disgust. "The music down here is no worse than your average Michael Bolton concert. Maybe I can fix that..."
By suppertime, Scegf0d had cobbled together the very first Crinkly Cacophony Contrivance, a colossal anti-musical instrument that could make even the subtlest of sounds hit the eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.
The Powers That Be took a long lunch to discuss strategies.
The screaming and moaning of the Damned did little to brighten Scegf0d's mood as he stood in the throne room of his Crinkly Cacophony Contrivance.
"They SEEM to be suffering," he thought, "but how can anyone really suffer in a Hell as pleasant as this?"
As if in answer to his unvoiced question, a cadre of kilometer-tall Archdemons strode onto the scene, squashing all within their path. They sat next to Scegf0d's structures, and began to eat house-sized burritos. These were no ordinary burritos, no sir...these burritos were packed with diseased, long-dead animals and other icky stuff of that ilk. When they were done with their burritos, the Archdemons let out a burst of flatulence so mighty that several nearby buildings melted into a puddle of goo.
"I've had shopping mall salesgirls assault me with worse odors," scoffed Scegf0d. "If you want something stinky, check this out!"
Working quickly, Scegf0d soon patched together the Flabbergasting Flatulence Ol-Factory, capable of making the sweetest rose smell like a dead skunk.The Powers That Be realized what needed to be done.
As you might expect, Scegf0d still wasn't all that impressed with the punitive measures of Hell.
"I'm still not impressed," he said.
For no reason in particular the chow bell suddenly rang out. Throughout Hell, Demons stopped what they were doing just long enough to cram white-hot shards of glass covered in donkey offal down the throats of the Damned.
Scegf0d yawned. "I've had worse meals at (insert name of truly disgusting fast-food franchise here). I bet I could cook up something far worse."
Cracking his knuckles, Scegf0d got to work, and quickly brewed up the Wellspring of Unsavoriness, a twisted cauldron that caused all foodstuffs within its influence to be totally inedible.The Powers That Be prepared to make their move.
As Scegf0d looked out over the screaming, exploding, vomiting masses, he felt no joy.
"Doesn't it get any worse?" he moaned.
Suddenly, a thousand barbed chains appeared out of nowhere, and hooked themselves into Scegf0d's demonic flesh. With a sudden yank, they pulled 95.3% of the skin off of his body, leaving his innards exposed to the sulphurous air. Before he could fully react, a million little crimson lightning bolts began to strike at each and every exposed nerve ending, sending him into paroxyms of pain. "Not bad," he winced, "but have you ever tried to sleep on a motel hide-a-bed?" So, you guessed it, Scegf0d went about building ANOTHER machine. When he was finished building the Tactile Degradation Gizmo, the Powers That Be showed up at his doorstep.
They were happy, but in a nasty kinda of way.
"You are the single biggest schmuck in all of Creation," they glowered. "You have found no joy in Heaven, and have known no pain in Hell. We are left with no choice but to reincarnate you --"
"Great!" said Scegf0d.
"-- as a rock. As the universe's only sentient rock, you will be unable to to see, hear, smell, taste, or feel. You will be a thing of pure thought, unable to experience anything but your own, ever-increasing dementia."
"But --" gulped Scegf0d, frantically.
"Have a nice day," said the Powers That Be as they snapped their all-powerful fingers.
The Moral Of The Story Is: Nobody likes a whiner.
Things you should know about the rivers that run through Heaven:
1. They're Utterly Unpollutable. Angels have been dumping Heavenly waste in them for eons, but it all just washes away.
2. They're Totally Potable. SOULs on their way to their Final Reward often stop along the banks of the river to chug a few litres of these vision-inducing waters.
3. They're Way Wide. Too wide to swim across. That's why SOULs must be ferried from shore to shore.
Mystic Visions Per Week
"Yellow Rivers" Per Month
[These dualities are attached to some of the descriptions, but are not present in the game. I presume they were part of some planned way to describe efficiency of buildings, or vibes, that got cut - O.]
"If you should find yourself in Hell, for gosh sakes, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SWIM IN THE RIVERS! Besides being dank, smelly, disease-infested, stagnant, and crawling with all sorts of unnamable serpents, they also tend to burst into flames at a moment's notice."
-- "Hell on 30 Pennies a Day"
Perdition Press
No one knows who created these rocks, or what they were thinking, but it'll take someone a LOT more powerful than you to move them out of the way...
This little section of the Afterlife is completely undeveloped.
Once in a long while, little pieces of Hell freeze over. No one's sure why this happens, but many Demons attribute the phenomena to honest politicians, surprisingly strong dramatic performances by Madonna, and the occasional Rose Bowl appearances of Stanford and Northwestern.
When Hell freezes over, most of the snow can be removed with a quick little lightning bolt. When Demons get it into their heads to build snowmen, though, there's trouble afoot. Snowmen in Hell just can't be moved, no matter how hard you try; you'll just have to wait until the next thaw.
Even Heaven gets the Blues sometimes, causing an epidemic of rainy days and "Blue Flu." What's the remedy? Most Heavenly doctors advise staying indoors and waiting until the clouds go away.
They say that the Road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Well, I don't know who "they" are, but they're dead wrong! As you can see, the Road to Hell is paved with sticky, hot tar, mixed with broken glass and bone shards, which is a whole lot more painful than "good intentions."
Some would have you believe that the Roads in Heaven are paved with gold. What a silly notion! Gold, while amazingly ductile, is still too hard a surface for the soles of Heaven's Blessed SOULs. In (un)reality, the Roads of Heaven aren't paved at all; they're beautifully-landscaped DIRT roads, made from the most buoyant dirt in the cosmos. The dirt is so nutrient-rich (how rich is it?) that each step a SOUL takes osmotically enriches the SOUL at nearly 100% efficiency, meaning that a SOUL's soles never get tired
"And when I opened the first can of wax, I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four surfers saying, 'Hey, pull my finger!'
"And I saw, and behold a white board: and he that rode on it had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and they really screwed up his surfing, but he cared not, for he was a sick jerk who made people ill just by looking at him."
"And when I had opened the second can of wax, I heard a second surfer say, 'Get the frag out of my way, butthead!'
"And there was another board that was red: and power was given to him that surfed it to take peace from the waves, and to split the curl with his mighty sword."
"And when he opened the third can of wax, I heard the third surfer say 'Ya gonna eat those fries?'
And I beheld, and lo a black board; and he that surfed on it had a pair of balances in his one hand, and a double-bacon cheeseburger in the other. And the third surfer went forth, mooching all the food there was."
"And when I opened the fourth can of wax, I heard the voice of the fourth surfer say, 'Death is, like, you know, just part of, like, the cosmic, like, dance, y'know?'
"And I looked, and behold a pale board: and his name that surfed on it was Death, and Hell and Heaven followed with him. And he hacked throught the gnarliest waves without emotion or thought, for lo he was too stupid to live."
These are the equivalents to the arcologies.
A long time ago, in an Afterlife far, far away, there was a Heaven of unparalleled majesty and efficiency. All of creation sang its praises, for it was the most wonderous thing ever to be seen on the astral plane. One morning, at about 7:23 AM, the combined joy and rapture of that Heaven caused the whole realm to spontaneously ascend to an altogether new plane of existence, leaving behind only a relatively small, glowing globe to mark its passage. The Powers That Be marvelled at the globe. Although it appeared to be mere astral detritus, a closer examination revealed that it remained a fully-functioning, remarkably compact Heaven.
"This is so cool," thought the PTB.
As time marched on, and more Heavens ascended, the Powers That Be began collecting the leftover globes (now called "Love Domes" for some unfathomable reason), and selling them to upper-class Demiurges like yourself. They're the ultimate Afterlife status symbol; they require no upkeep, they look pretty, and they can process metric buttloads of SOULs simultaneously. Neat, eh?
The most common type of Love Dome are the Lincoln Division Domes. These can only hold 250 million SOULs at a time, because they were formed by Heavens that prematurely ascended (and we all know how embarassing that can be). Although they're definitely the "weak sister" of the Love Domes, they're still stunningly beautiful.
Before this Omniverse came into being, there existed another one. Trust me on this.
This previous Omniverse was similar to the one we're familiar with in many ways. There were planets, stars, galaxies, pan-dimensional beings named Kate, and even baseball games (though they never even CONSIDERED implimenting the designated hitter rule). As with our Omniverse, their sentient beings had SOULs, and these SOULs journeyed to their respective afterlifes when their days were done.
One day, at around 7:23 in the morning, the previous Omniverse died. No one knows for sure how it happened, but many who were there blame it on "that darn Henderson kid." In any event, the Heavens of that previous Omniverse instantly overflowed, caved in under the sudden weight of collective bliss, and quietly "blooped" out of reality, leaving nothing to remember them by except for a pile of glowing green globes.
The Powers That Be examined the globes, and found out that, despite their greatly diminished size, they were still fully-functioning Heavens. "Cool," they solemnly intoned, then put the globes up in the top shelf of their cupboard. Then, after a few dozen stiff drinks, they set about the task of creating a new Omniverse...ours.
Eons later, one of the PTB noticed the globes while dusting, and decided to start selling them to Demiurges with too many Pennies. After giving them a classy (if nonsensical) name, they sold like hotcakes.
The Love Dome preferred by many demiurges is the Kirby Dome, which can fully process up to 500 million SOULs.
Imagination is a very powerful force on the astral plane. Every now and then, a Heaven will simply "Imagine" itself out of existence, leaving behind nothing but a relatively small green glowing globe.
These globes (dubbed "Love Domes" for reasons which no sane being has been able to understand) are collected by the Powers That Be and sold to ultra-powerful Demiurges like yourself. They fetch a pretty penny on the open market, because even though they LOOK like mere objects d'art, they're actually self-contained, fully-functioning "Heavens within a Heaven," capable of processing more SOULs than can be comfortably fathomed without a good strong cup of tea.
The largest of the Love Domes are the Lennon Domes. These squat wonders can take on a whopping one billion SOULs at a time.
As you might imagine, a lot of intolerant, hypocritical bigots wind up in Hell. And since Hell DOESN'T discriminate based on race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, eye color, or whether you think Kirk is better than Picard, this can cause a lot of friction, especially as Hell gets more and more crowded.
Sometimes, the vicious, intolerant, and hateful SOULs of a particularly mismanaged Hell will throw off their shackles and begin beating the snot out of each other in a chaotic, apocalyptic war between hundreds of millions of evil, evil SOULs. In these cases, if the Demiurge of that Hell doesn't quickly restore order, the weight of all that evil, concentrated on one battlefield, causes the Hell to collapse upon itself, leaving a relatively tiny cone (called an "Omnibolge") in its wake. Omnibolges are popular among successful Demiurges like yourself because, despite their tiny size, they're fully-functioning "Hells within a Hell," capable of fully processing millions upon millions of Damned SOULs at a time.
The Sh'Elm Division Omnibolges are jokingly referred to as the "Baby Bolges," because they can only hold 250 million SOULs at a time. Still, that's more than twenty times the capacity of the largest Fate Structure, so it's nothing to sneeze at.
Once in a blue moon, a bloated, overcrowded Hell experiences an inexplicable and catastrophic wave of xenophobia. Blinded by the scapegoating rhetoric of demagogical Demons, these Hells begin to consruct vast, circular walls around themselves, in a pitiful attempt to keep out unwanted "outsiders." As each new wall proves as ineffective as the last, the Demons urge the Damned SOULs to build even thicker walls.
Inevitably, the landscapes of these Hells become entirely dominated by fences, walls, and other barriers. The Damned, who once roamed freely over their particular plane of Hell, become prisoners of their own paranoia, packed like evil sardines behind their stupid, futile walls. Eventually, the density of all those evil, scaredy-cat SOULs crowded into one tiny area becomes too much for the astral fabric to bear, and the Hell collpases into itself like a black hole, sucking the Damned down to a new, unexplored plane of misery. All that's left of these failed Hells are huge, multidimensional black cones, which the Powers That Be have called "Omnibolges," because it sounds so cool. Omnibolges have proven to be very popular with upper-class Demiurges such as yourself; as tremendously compact, fully-functioning remnants of a completely developed Hell, they can process up to 1 billion SOULs at a time.
The B'Nuchana Division Omnibolges, widely regarded as the "classic" Omnibolge, can hold up to 500 million SOULs.
On rare occasions, a mysterious, charismatic leader shows up in a Hell, and begins preaching to the Damned, telling them that he (and he alone) knows the way out of Hell. His message is comforting, almost hypnotic, and the Damned fall for it every time. Soon, hundreds of millions of Damned SOULs are following him down the bony boulevards of Hell, hanging on his every word. Then, at a curiously empty patch of astral real estate, the preacher stops, and snaps his fingers. Instantly, the fabric of the Hell is torn asunder, and the preacher stands revealed as a pandimensional Uber-Demon from the lower depths (who, curiously, is almost invariably named "Jim").
As Jim chows down on millions of terrified SOULs, the weight of his pandimensional presence begins to cause the Hell to collapse inward upon itself, leaving nothing but a tiny cone to mark its passing. These cones (called "Omnibolges" by those in the know) fetch high prices at demiurgical auctions, since they're nothing less than extremely compact, fully-functioning "Hells within a Hell," capable of processing millions upons millions of SOULs at a time.
The R'Dee Division Omnibolges are the creme de la creme of Omnibolges, capable of holding a stupefying one billion SOULs at a time.
When a Demiurge needs angelic housing slapped together in a hurry, he can't do any better than a 100,000 Penny Pyramid. Constructed from large, prefabricated sheets of Cloud 9 Brand Canvas, and held aloft by Tent Pegs of Light, these cities efficiently meet the labor needs of the beginning divine planner.
After Hour Weinie Roasts
Tent Peg Collapses
No one knows who Bahb was, but eons ago his designs for these simple, economical, angelic cities were found under a bucket of manna. Angels, being a curious, productive lot, immediately built a prototype city based on Bahb's sketches. They were so entranced with the results, which vibrate mellifluously with the beating of each angelic wing, that the Crystal Cities soon became a mainstay of Heaven.
Coincidental Concertos
Unfortunate Dischords
How many Angels can fit on the head of a pin?
100,000...and comfortably, I might add.
Dances Held Per Annum
Accidentally Pricked Halos
If you've got a lot of Pennies, and a huge angelic labor force, then you might want to consider purchasing the ultimate in angelic Utopias: the Castle On A Cloud. Capable of housing a million Angels in unparalled serenity, and spreading Good Vibes for miles around, these castles are the perfect status symbol for the Demiurge who's got it, and wants to flaunt it.
Demons, as a rule, loathe the Damned, and want to have as little contact with them as inhumanly possible. That's why all of their city-structures (what we call "Distopias") incorporate some sort of anti-gravity device...they don't want their living quarters even touching the same mud that the Damned wallow in.
The most primitive of these Distopias are the Towers of Unfortunate Missteps. The TOUMs represent Hell's first attempt to totally disconnect the Demons from the Damned. As you can see, they only figured out the principles of anti-gravity towards the very end of the construction phase. Once the zero-g sphere was erected, the strange, jutting tower that was supposed to house thousands of Demons was quickly abandoned.
Once the concept of anti-gravity had been conquered by the snooty Demons, they set about building Distopias that would totally distance them from the hated SOULs of the Damned. A design that became favored among working-class Demons was the Palace of Pincer Peril. The Palaces were slightly flawed, requiring stabilizing pincers to keep the floating cities in place, but all agreed that they were vastly superior to the dunderheaded mistakes of the past.
The penultimate Distopias are the Nearly Unfettered Spheres of Despair. These cities have more "contact-free" housing than just about any other kind of Distopia, and can hold more Demons than you can shake a stick at (although I wouldn't recommend shaking a stick at a Demon under any circumstances).
Eye Scream Cities represent the pinnacle of Demonic architecture. Capped by a horrifying eyeball that spreads Bad Vibes to anything within sight, the entire Distopia floats dozens of yards above the plane of Hell, allowing hundreds of thousands of Demons to live in comfort, unsoiled by the madding crowd below.
The Community Colleges of the Clouds are low-intensity, low-yield Angel Training Centers. Their motto is "If You've Gotta Head, We've Gotta Halo," and they've been living up to that credo for centuries, methodically training even the densest of SOULs until they've earned their wings.
The staid, ivy-covered walls of the Seraphim State campuses hide a beehive of activity. Inside, Blessed SOULs are being rigorously trained by some of Heaven's most respected Angels, in an effort to earn their halos. Some take years to graduate. Others give up, and settle for an eternity of joy in Heaven.
The Halo Institutes of Technology (or "HalTechs") produce more highly-trained Angels faster than any other insitution in Heaven. There is, however, a price.
The HalTech students often lead lives of geeky isolation as they attempt to cram eons of angelic wisdom/trivia into their tiny little heads. This dweeby lifestyle often causes HalTech Angels to be abysmally lacking in social skills, a condition that is only alleviated as they graduate and enter "The Real World."
These low-pressure, low-yield dormitories train Damned SOULs for the duties of Demonhood in a laidback, casual manner. To earn their wings, trainees are merely required to attend six months worth of "Demon Workshops," and complete a multiple-choice test that's only slightly more difficult than the one at your local Department of Motor Vehicles. Burning Annex graduates are openly mocked by Hell's other Demons.
More grueling than the wimpy Burning Annex Centers, yet less sadistic than the horrifying Cloven Boot Camps, the Hellward Bound Retreats are the "unhappy medium" of Hell's Demonic Training Centers. In these intensive 3-month retreats, prospective Demons are taken in small teams into the harsh, chaosplastic wildernesses beyond Hell, and left to fend for themselves. Those SOULs that survive are given wings, horns, a pitchfork, and a job. Those that don't are sent back into the Pit.
When you need a LOT of Demons, the Cloven Boot Camps will give 'em to you... just be sure not to ask how they do it. Everyone in Hell suspects these Training Centers of employing archaic, sadistic brainwashing techniques to churn out legions of tough-as-nails Demons. Curiously, no one ever blows the whistle on them, no matter how many mangled SOULs (euphemistically referred to as "rejected applicants") wash up on the roads of Hell. Maybe that's because "whistle blowers" tend to disappear in Hell...
Even at their narrowest, the rivers of Heaven resist all attempts at bridge-building, forcing those that would ford the deceptively placid streams to seek out the services of Heaven's ferries, skiffs, and barges.
The Earhart Class Ports are the quaintest of Heaven's ports, capable of ferrying a mere 50,000 SOULs a year. Still, a supremely well-managed Heaven should be able to get by with utilizing only these humble wharfs.
Even at their narrowest, the rivers of Heaven resist all attempts at bridge-building, forcing those that would ford the deceptively placid streams to seek out the services of Heaven's ferries, skiffs, and barges.
The Morrison Class Ports are more ambitious than the Earhart Ports, but still maintain the rustic New England charm of their smaller counterparts.
Even at their narrowest, the rivers of Heaven resist all attempts at bridge-building, forcing those that would ford the deceptively placid streams to seek out the services of Heaven's ferries, skiffs, and barges.
The Kaufman Class Ports have sacrificed most of the cutesy charm of Heaven's smaller Ports in favor of sleek, modern efficiency. Using radical advances in Holohalotechnology, these Ports are capable of ferrying up to 2,000,000 SOULs across Heaven's rivers every year. Unfortunately, their clam chowder is downright inedible, but that's the price of progress.
Numerous attempts have been made to build bridges over Hell's stagnant, stinky rivers. Each of them has met with defeat, destructions, and other words that begin with "d". Until such time as this little problem is solved, Demiurges such as yourself will have to rely on ferries, skiffs, and barges to transport the Damned across Hell's rivers.
The Copperfield Class Ports are the simplest of Hell's ports, capable of shuttling a trifling 50,000 SOULs across Hell's flaming fjords. Although very little in Hell can be described as "quaint," there is something undeniably nostalgic about the way the ferrymen of these ports haggle over the price of passage.
Numerous attempts have been made to build bridges over Hell's stagnant, stinky rivers. Each of them has met with defeat, destructions, and other words that begin with "d". Until such time as this little problem is solved, Demiurges such as yourself will have to rely on ferries, skiffs, and barges to transport the Damned across Hell's rivers.
The Bono Class Ports are a lot like the Copperfield Ports, but without the charm. By eliminating the inefficient barter-for-passage system, these ports have jacked their yearly capacity up to 200,000 SOULs.
Numerous attempts have been made to build bridges over Hell's stagnant, stinky rivers. Each of them has met with defeat, destructions, and other words that begin with "d". Until such time as this little problem is solved, Demiurges such as yourself will have to rely on ferries, skiffs, and barges to transport the Damned across Hell's rivers.
Truthfully, the Ezsterhaus Ports are pretty much the same as the Bono Ports...just a lot bigger. Then again, imagination is not one of Hell's strong suits.
The least expensive of Heaven's Gates is also the quaintest. In blatant defiance of modern technology, the angelic staffs of these antiquated portals meticulously go over each SOUL's record BY HAND before allowing them entrance into Heaven. This personal touch greatly enhances the charm of Heaven, but is terribly inefficient, which is why these Gates can only process 2,000 SOULs a year.
Most of Heaven's Gates are Pearl Class Gates, capable of processing 20,000 SOULs a year. As in olden times, each SOUL is still attended to by his own personal caseworker, but the Angels at these Gates are equipped with powerful laptop computers, which speed up the virtue-tallying process by a factor of ten.
The Throne Class Gates are weird, even by Afterlife standards. When SOULs arrive at these dizzy doorways, cheerful Angels coax them into removing their footware. Then, the barefoot SOULs are encouraged to take leisurely walks on the shag carpeting that covers the floor of the Gate's waiting area. As the SOULs walk, the Angels begin silently sorting them, like sheepdogs. Within minutes, hundreds of SOULs are prepped for their Heavenly experience, and the Gate opens.
Of course, it's not really that simple. The Gate's "shag carpeting" is really a sophisticated neuro-empathic probe, capable of reading the warp and woof of a SOUL's life merely by probing the bottoms of its feet. That's right, it's a "Sole Reader."
Now that you're done moaning (unless you're playing this in a foreign language, and didn't get the pun), it should be mentioned that Throne Class Gates, though rather eccentric, are undeniably effective. In a pinch, they can process 200,000 SOULs a year, a darned impressive feet...er...feat.
Prophecy Class Gates sit on the cutting edge of SOUL processing technology, churning out a whopping 2,000,000 SOULs per annum. This is accomplished via handheld DNA scanners, which are in constant communication with Heaven's central database. All an Angel has to do is wave the scanner over the head of a newly-arrived SOUL, and within seconds a fully-itemized list of that SOUL's virtues and suggested Rewards will pop up on the viewscreen.
Demons are a stubborn lot. Although recent technological advances have made it possible to process up to 2 million SOULs a year through one infernal Gate, many Demons still prefer these intimate Milton Class Gates. When SOULs arrive at these Gates, they're instantly set upon by a demonic caseworker, who tallies their individual sins BY HAND before kicking the SOUL through the Gate. Such individual attention adds immeasurably to the torments of Hell, but is horribly inefficient, which is why the Milton Class Gates can only process 2,000 SOULs a year.
The most common Gate found in Hell is the Belial Class Gate, which can process 20,000 SOULs a year when pushed. Famous for the pithy slogans inscribed on their arches ("Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here," "Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Afterlife," "Have A Nice Day," etc.), the Demons of these Gates utilize a big ol' mainframe computer to tally the sins of hundreds of SOULs simultaneously.
The Obsidian Class Gates are Hell's first attempt at "hi-tech" SOUL processing. The Demons who work these dank doorways claim that an ultra-top secret "Retinal Scanning Process" allows them to use a SOUL's own eyeballs to judge its fate.
Sadly, the advanced "Retinal Scanning Process" is merely a euphamism for "one Demon holds the SOUL down while another Demon pokes it in the eye with a pointy stick." Still, they DO manage to process up to 200,000 SOULs a year in these infernal antechambers, so they must be doing SOMETHING right.
The Apocalypse Class Gates are the most streamlined Gates Hell has to offer. Arriving SOULs are placed on a conveyor belt and run through a series of scanners, much like those one finds in an airport. Once their sins have been scanned like so much emotional baggage, a Demon at the end of the line reads their reports and sends them on their wailing way. With the belts cranked up at full speed, these babies can process up to 2,000,000 SOULs a year.
No one knows how SOULs first discovered that travelling into the unpredictable energies of the Karma Portals caused them to be reincarnated. Perhaps it was the overzealous Demon, throwing a Damned SOUL into the purplish energies in the hopes of inventing some new form of torture. Maybe it was an inquisitive Angel, trying to bring more joy to a Blessed SOUL. In any event, once the SOULs began to realize that reincarnation WAS a possibility, the worms were effectively out of the can. Ever since that day, Demons and Angels have struggled to transport SOULs to these transdimensional doorways, with varying degrees of success.
In the olden days, reincarnation was a tricky matter. SOULs who wanted to reincarnate out of Heaven were scooped up by angels, flown down to Karma Portals, and chucked into their swirling nexii of transdimensional energies. As eternity dragged on, the flaws of this system became painfully evident. For one thing, larger Heavens required legions of Angels to keep up with reincarnation demands. Even worse, the volatile energies of the Karma Portals would occasionally swallow up the Angels along with the SOULs, causing all kinds of paperwork problems. Eventually, a supremely fed-up batch of Angels and Demons got together and devised a modular, expandable mass transport system capable of carrying large numbers of SOULs to Karma Portals without putting Angels or Demons at risk. The first vehicles to travel along these "Karma Tracks" were dubbed "SOUL Movers," and were hailed by the Powers That Be as a "miracle of modern technology."
SOUL Movers may have been a "miracle of modern technology" when originally introduced, but they're downright quaint by today's standards of reincarnation transportation. Magic Busses, a familiar sight for the past couple eons, are capable of travelling twice as fast, while holding five times as many SOULs, as a typical SOUL Mover tram. And with their distinctive, double-decker style, they're not half the eyesore of those crusty old trams, either.
The latest breakthrough in reincarnation transportation technology is the development of the "Omnirail," a bullet train capable of moving at nigh-infinite speeds while carrying thousands of SOULs. Sure, they make an obnoxious honking sound every now and then, but that's the price we pay for progress, no?
Karma Track is pretty interesting stuff. Capable of carrying the various trams, busses and trains that speed reincarnating SOULs towards Karma Portals, it nevertheless floats serenely between Heaven and Hell, seemingly unaffected by the emotional gravity of either realm.
Of course, a lot of effort goes into keeping this particular miracle afloat. Each length of Karma Track laid down requires a Karma Track Anchor like this one at each corner. These anchors project Bad Vibes down to the supported track, keeping it from floating up to Heaven, as it normally would.
Karma Track is pretty interesting stuff. Capable of carrying the various trams, busses and trains that speed reincarnating SOULs towards Karma Portals, it nevertheless floats serenely between Heaven and Hell, seemingly unaffected by the emotional gravity of either realm.
Of course, a lot of effort goes into keeping this particular miracle afloat. Each length of Karma Track laid down requires a Karma Track Anchor like this one at each corner. These anchors project Good Vibes up to the supported track, keeping it from crashing down to Hell, as it normally would.
After many of Creation's earliest Demiurges complained about how difficult it was to make bold development strides without going severely into debt, the Powers That Be began giving Demiurges access to various lending institutions.
In Heaven, all loans are repayable over 100 years, with modest interest rates. Since everyone's nice in Heaven they'll take IOUs in lieu of loan payments, but a novice Demiurge still runs the risk of going into insurmountable debt by taking out too many loans.
The Flying Piggy Banks are authorized to hand out loans of up to one million Pennies From Heaven.
After many of Creation's earliest Demiurges complained about how difficult it was to make bold development strides without going severely into debt, the Powers That Be began giving Demiurges access to various lending institutions.
In Heaven, all loans are repayable over 100 years, with modest interest rates. Since everyone's nice in Heaven they'll take IOUs in lieu of loan payments, but a novice Demiurge still runs the risk of going into insurmountable debt by taking out too many loans.
Each branch of the Eternal Trust Savings and Loan is authorized to loan up to ten million Pennies From Heaven to needy Demiurges.
After many of Creation's earliest Demiurges complained about how difficult it was to make bold development strides without going severely into debt, the Powers That Be began giving Demiurges access to various lending institutions.
In Hell, all loans are repayable over 100 years, with zero percent interest rates. If, however, a Demiurge defaults on a loan in Hell, the lending institution is empowered to confiscate a predetermined number of SOULs from the Demiurge's Gates, garnishing his wages for a number of years.
The First Warthog Banks of Hell are authorized to hand out loans of up to one million Pennies From Heaven.
After many of Creation's earliest Demiurges complained about how difficult it was to make bold development strides without going severely into debt, the Powers That Be began giving Demiurges access to various lending institutions.
In Hell, all loans are repayable over 100 years, with zero percent interest rates. If, however, a Demiurge defaults on a loan in Hell, the lending institution is empowered to confiscate a predetermined number of SOULs from the Demiurge's Gates, garnishing his wages for a number of years.
Each branch of the Brimstone, Hellfire, and Damnation Savings and Loan is authorized to hand out loans of up to ten million Pennies From Heaven.
Very few things can keep a Lost SOUL from drifting off to another Afterlife. One of those things is a good stiff drink (not necessarily alcoholic, but stiff nonetheless). The Limbo Bars take advantage of this little-known fact by luring nearly-Lost SOULs into their cozy, friendly confines, where they're entertained, fed, and basically kept distracted for months at a time. Eventually, the SOUL stumbles out of the bar, and with luck, the Demiurge has built what the SOUL was looking for in the interim.
The Limbo Bar 'n' Grill is a solid investment for the Demiurge who's concerned about the havoc that unforseen disasters can wreak upon their fragile Afterlifes. They can entertain 15,000 SOULs a year, and have enough supplies to show for about 600,000 customers in total.
Very few things can keep a Lost SOUL from drifting off to another Afterlife. One of those things is a good stiff drink (not necessarily alcoholic, but stiff nonetheless). The Limbo Bars take advantage of this little-known fact by luring nearly-Lost SOULs into their cozy, friendly confines, where they're entertained, fed, and basically kept distracted for months at a time. Eventually, the SOUL stumbles out of the bar, and with luck, the Demiurge has built what the SOUL was looking for in the interim.
"Lament of the Lost SOUL" (sung to the tune of one of the Afterlife's favorite sitcoms) "Finding your way in the Afterlife Takes lots of savoir faire Sometimes incompetent Demiurges Forget that you are there Don't you just hate to drift away? Sometimes you'd rather go Where Angels feed you while you wait For someone else to build your Fate You don't wanna be a Lost SOUL, Driftin' towards another Gate, You wanna be where Angels feed you while you wait." Umm, well. The Limbo Inn has enough supplies to temporarily entertain up to 14 million nearly-Lost SOULs, and enough seating capacity to house 300,000 of them a year.
The Afterlife would quickly lose its appeal without a little touch of the Infinite to keep SOULs constantly happy/sad. Without the Infinite, severed limbs wouldn't grow back, that 403rd helping of apple pie wouldn't taste as good as the first, and SOULs would soon grow bored with even the most pleasurable/painful of fates. Fortunately for you, the very fabric of the Afterlife is interwoven with thin strands of the Infinite, which are more than capable of "charging" the multiple paradoxes found in the typical Afterlife.
At least, up to a point. Ya see, the ambient Infinitum level in most afterlifes just isn't high enough to soup up your Rewards and Punishments much past the halfway point. If you want to run a really snazzy Afterlife, you'll have to find some more Infinitum.
Enter the Ad Infinitum Siphon.
See those rocks, scattered hither and yon about the Afterlife? Those rocks are infinitely heavy, man. They're teeming with Infinitum, just waiting to be sucked up by an Ad Infinitum Siphon like this.
If you haven't screwed things up, a dreary little Envy Punishment should be bubbling up here within a few years.
Popular music aside, there is no such thing as a "Highway To Hell." There are, however, plenty of highways IN Hell. They're used to punish Envious SOULs who just can't be satisfisfied with what they have. When the Damned arrive, they're given a clunky old rental car (with no stereo or air conditioning, of course), an out-of-date map, and vague directions that will supposedly lead them out of Hell. Once they hit good ol' Route 666, though, they'll be permanently stuck in a neverending logjam of commuter traffic. If they could just sit still, they'd probably be okay, but their envious natures cause them to switch lanes at the drop of a hat, snarling traffic even further.
"June 23rd -- Frying pan hotter than I remember. Going to jump. Maybe fire will be cooler this time."
"June 24th -- I was wrong. Demons laughed as my hair ignited. I'll never make THAT mistake again."
"June 25th -- Demons have put me back in the pan. It's hotter than I remember. Maybe I should jump."
-- "Diaries of the Damned"
Mephisto Press
Flaming Bellyflops per hour
Spatula Mishaps per annum
Important Life Lesson #546: Be careful what you wish for. The Envious SOULs imprisoned in these little slices of Hell spent their discontented lives muttering, "Man, I'd love to be in HIS shoes," never realizing that demons were listening to their petty whinings. Now, they spend eternity LITERALLY imprisoned in another man's smelly, unsanitary footware.
Limbs Eaten Away By Athlete's Foot
Broken Laces Per Year
For eons now, the Demons of Hell have been trying to find out if Heaven's all it's cracked up to be. To this end they've enlisted (or, if you prefer, "enslaved") the Envious Damned to do a telephone survey of Heaven. Naturally, having to spend eternity conversing with SOULs who are infinitely happier than they are is tremendously excruciating to these poor schmucks, but hey, that's Hell...
Percentage of SOULs in Heaven who say they're "Estatic"
Hell-Wide Phone System Crashes Per Month
These low-rent malls tend to pop up all over Hell, adding a tacky flavor to an already dreary place. Locked inside, the Envious Damned are forced to forever shuffle from crummy store to even crummier store, dealing with nasty demonic salespeople, ill-fitting shoes, intolerable piped-in music, and a food court whose most palatable confection is Rat-On-A-Stick.
Whatever your least favorite form of music, bagpipes, accordians, Euro-beat faux rock, rap, or lame-o 70's guitar bands, the Ampitheatres of Anguish will be featuring it...constantly.
Submitted for your approval: An Envious SOUL boards a plane. The demon sitting next to him has halitosis and wants to sell him a set of gold-plated lawn jockeys. He moves to another seat, only to be confronted with a little old lady demon who is strangely compelled to tell the life stories of her 234 grandchildren to anyone within a two-meter radius. He switches seats again and again, only to be confronted with an infinite barrage of boring, obnoxious demons. Return your minds to their fully locked and upright positions, and remember to put your sanity into the overhead storage compartment; you've just entered...Hell.
Remember that scene in "A Clockwork Orange" where Malcolm McDowell was being forced to watch a seemingly neverending series of violent and pointless movies?
This is infinitely worse. And the popcorn sucks.
To those of us without an envious bone in our bodies, the Switchback Mountains must seem like a real lightweight punishment. When SOULs arrive, they're told to wait in one of several lines at the base of a huge mountain. Through the magic of Helltech, it always appears as though the line adjacent to a given SOUL is moving faster than its own. This leads to line-jumping, fistfights, and utter chaos. The truth is, if a SOUL could just manage to be content with the speed of its assigned line, it'd reach the top of the mountain (and freedom) within a year. As it is, most SOULs spend thousands of years looking for the "perfect" line.
Sometimes the Demons of Hell expend a wee bit too much effort in their pursuit of a meaningful punishment. Take, for example, the baroque torments of the NoBody Burgs. When the Envious Damned arrive in these odd little hamlets, they're fitted with specially-designed, ultra-expensive, totally-unremovable Envy Ray Goggles, which work something like this:
Step 1. Goggled SOUL #1 spots goggled SOUL #2. SOUL #1 becomes envious of SOUL #2, because SOUL #2 doesn't have nearly as many disfiguring scars as SOUL #1.
Step 2. SOUL #1's Envy Ray Goggles, detecting SOUL #1's envious thoughts, emit powerful green Envy Rays from its eye sockets towards the helpless SOUL #2.
Step 3. SOUL #2's Envy Ray Goggles, having similarly detected SOUL #1's envious thoughts, perform an electrical mind swap between SOUL #1 and SOUL #2.
Step 4. SOUL #1's mind arrives in SOUL #2's body. SOUL #1 is happy to find that it suddenly has fewer disfiguring scars than it used to.
Step 5. The powerful green Envy Rays catch up to SOUL #2's body, hideously disfiguring it. SOUL #1, now trapped in an even more twisted and painful body than before, mentally kicks himself in the butt, and reminds himself not to do THAT again. Until SOUL #3 comes along...
As these bizarre towns fill up, they become little more than grody piles of mangled, screaming flesh, punctuated every couple of seconds by a nasty "zap" sound.
These strange, towering skyscrapers are made up almost entirely of elevators: crowded, stinky elevators with deafening piped-in music. The Envious Damned are free to move about from elevator to elevator, but each new elevator is MORE crowded, STINKIER, and LOUDER than the previous one. Rumors of an express elevator to Heaven abound, but no one's ever seen it.
The Escher Pits stretch the old "Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire" conundrum to an absurdly infinite degree. On the face of it, they look like ordinary, if somewhat elaborate, torture chambers. There're racks, thumbscrews, tapes of Regis and Kathie Lee, you know: The Usual. Upon closer inspection, one finds that this is not your everyday house of pain.
For one thing, no SOUL is being tormented in the same manner as his neighbor. This leads the Envious Damned to think that they've got it worse off than the poor suckers next to them.
Secondly, the Damned are allowed to switch places with their neighbors every few days. Since they're Envious buggers by nature, they inevitably choose to make the switch, convinced that they'll be better off.
Lastly (and this is the tricky, paradoxical, part), whenever a SOUL chooses to switch torments, the new torment is ALWAYS worse than the previous one. It's a Moebius Strip of pain!
Someday, this little slice of Heaven will grow up to be a full-fledged Contentment Reward.
Unlike most slide shows, the Vacation Slides of the Gods just get more and more interesting with each ethereal <ka-click> of the projector button. And since it's Heaven, none of the slides are upside-down or out of focus.
"Wows," "Kewls," and "Awws"
Politely Stifled Yawns
In Heaven, the grass is ALWAYS greener on your side of the fence, and even though your neighbor is happy, you don't envy him.
Block Parties
Unreturned Power Tools
These crowded little bistros offer Contented SOULs the chance to express their long-buried poetic natures to an always-appreciative audience of Angels. When the cherubs snap their fingers, you can almost touch infinity, man.
Some SOULs don't want to sing in a choir, but want their voices to be heard, nonetheless. Here in these quiet little watering holes of Heaven, the Contented Blessed can sing their little hearts out, secure in the knowledge that, for four or five minutes at a time, theirs will be the most beautiful voice in the world.
Rousing Sing-a-Longs Per Evening
Repeated Songs Per Evening
In these gold-trimmed complexes, the SOULs of the Contented are allowed to choose and discard their bodies like they were clothing. Typically, most SOULs will settle for an idealized version of their mortal self, but a few SOULs will use the opportunity to explore the infinite complexity of the humanoid form.
Distinct Eye Colors (In Millions)
SOULs at Parties Wearing The Same Body
In Heaven, no one is picked last, and everyone eventually gets a game-winning hit, touchdown, basket, goal, or strike.
Records Broken Yesterday
Labor Disputes
In these massive choirs, even the most off-key and timid of SOULs will eventually sing like, well, an Angel.
And everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, gets to sing a solo every now and then.
High C's per Day
Fleeting Moments of Disharmony
Every SOUL in the Hoofer's Heaven has been given the gift of dance; not just the usual varieties of dancing, like ballet, tap, and so forth, but dancing as communication. The SOULs have such fine control over their bodies that they no longer speak, except through dance.
Every night, without fail, the Final Curtain Theatres put on another brilliant production of some completely new show. And every night, another Blessed SOUL becomes a star.
Tear-Jerking Soliloquies per Week
Missed Cues per Month
The Envy Aid concerts have been bouncing around Heaven, in one form or another, since sentients began rhythmically banging sticks together and calling it "music." These neverending shows feature the most musically gifted SOULs ever to pluck, strum, blow, beat, or shake an instrument, which alone would be enough to make them pretty darn cool. But since this is Heaven, the Contented Blessed are encouraged to join the performers onstage, where they quickly discover that they're just as talented as their musical idols. Jammin!
Encores Per Evening
Unnecessary Sound Checks
Muses are fairly difficult to come by in the waking world, and even harder to capture. In Heaven, though, muses hang out in Musement Parks, inspiring Contented SOULs to artistic heights undreamt of by mortal minds.
Entirely New Art FormsCreated Bad Reviews
Anyone who's ever looked deeply into the eyes of a cow knows the truth; cows are the single most blissed-out creatures in all of creation. On the B.B.B. Ranches, this characteristic is taken to its logicial endpoint, as Contented SOULs are allowed to live out their afterlives as happy, cud-chewing cows. MoooOOOoooo.
Everyone wants more Avarice Punishments...you'll just have to wait until this one evolves.
This mildest of punishments for Avaricious SOULs teaches them a grotesque lesson about greed. The Demons in these cities have rigged it (don't ask me how) so that everything a SOUL touches turns into processed meats. It's sort of a Midas touch gone horribly, horribly wrong. The most valued items in the cities are those that no one has touched, but the greedy natures of the Damned eventually get the better of them, so nothing stays de-meated for very long. All in all, it's a pretty pathetic sight, and with the constant oppressive heat, these places stink to high Heaven, too.
Bingoslypertukaw is sorta like Bingo, except that:
1) There're 15 columns.
2) There're 23 billion numbers.
3) The only way to mark your cards is with bodily fluids.
4) There isn't a board that keeps track of what's been called, and if you mess up, they'll cut off a limb.
But the prizes are really neat. And sometimes, they give away a "Get Out Of Hell Free" card.
When the Avaricious Damned are dropped off on these lush, tropical islands, they're given a cutlass and a shovel, and told that somewhere on the island there's a "Treasure Beyond All Imagining." If they could overcome their greedy natures, these damned SOULs could probably lead a rather pleasant afterlife amongst the luscious flora and fauna. Tragically, their greed inevitably gets the better of them, and they soon become treasure-huntin', swashbucklin' pirates, just like the other poor SOULs...
In this peculiar punishment, the Avaricious Damned are forced to dress in goofy-looking costumes and wander down dark, suburban streets, begging for food. If they're lucky enough to get a "treat," it'll undoubtedly be spiked with razor blades or ebola viruses. When, however, they stumble upon houses that prefer "tricks," they're met by a shower of boiling oil, or the ever-popular chainsaw-to-the-face gag. Why do they go on? Partly because of the whip-cracking Demons, no doubt, but also because there's a rumor that one house, somewhere, is giving out "Get Out of Hell Free" cards.
Even Hell has the proverbial "Bad Side of Town," where even Demons fear to tread after dark. Life is pretty cheap on these mean streets, and afterlife even cheaper. The Avaricious SOULs trapped in these urban cesspools eventually turn to a life of brutal crime, hoping to make the "Big Score" that'll buy their way out of the 'hood. But that score never comes...ever.
In Heaven, game shows are cerebral, fun, and played for fantabulous prizes that are given away to charity.
In Hell, game shows are inane, degrading, rigged, disturbingly preoccupied with entry wounds, and no one ever wins the Big Prize (a "Get Out of Hell Free" card).
The sounds most definitively associated with the Shock Market Towers of Hell are the constant gentle tipperings of the ticker-tape, punctuated every few seconds by the scream-splat of another Damned broker hurtling himself from the rail-less balconies on the 58th floor. Of course, the Damned don't die when they hit bottom, they just hurt a lot. Then they can start all over, greedily trying to amass a "fortune" so that they can "buy their way out" of Hell. Naturally, that trick never works.
The Avaricious Damned condemned to spend eternity in these monstrous merry-go-rounds are led to believe that their freedom lies in the collection of brass rings that dangle tantalizingly out of reach along the circumference of the ride. Unfortunately, these capricious carousels differ from the run-of-the-mill variety in several important ways. First of all, the ride is spinning at about 200 kilometers per hour, and is given to sudden, bone-shattering stoppages. Secondly, even if a SOUL does manage to get his fingers on a brass ring, they're covered with acid. Thirdly (and this is the most important part), the animals on these merry-go-rounds are real, carnivorous, and not at all happy about having a pole stuck up their backs.
The casinos in Hell cheat (well, duh), driving the Avaricious Damned to the brink of ultimate winnings before crashing them into near bankruptcy, over and over again. At least they've got a nice breakfast buffet...
Hell produces one heck of a lot of garbage. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon your point of view), the Demons have put all that waste to good use, via the nefarious Scavenger Hunts.
Here's how it works: the Avaricious Damned are unceremoniously dumped into mammoth bins of garbage, and are given a list of items to procure. They're told that if they find the items, they'll be let out of Hell. Sounds pretty easy, right? Oh yeah, I forgot: their hands are tied behind their backs, so they have to chew their way through the garbage.
Nothing brings out the worst in people like a neverending round of office politics, which is why DisCorp is the ultimate punishment for Avaricious SOULs. The damned all start in the DisCorp mail room, then spend thousands of years backstabbing, buttkissing, and sleeping their way to a cozy vice-presidential position, only to be demoted back to the mail room by DisCorp's capriciously whimsical Demon CEO.
With luck, this bit of real estate will soon evolve into an out-and-out Charity Reward.
The most insignificant of Rewards for Charitable SOULs turns them into instant winners of fabulous prizes, which are spread out over an infinite-year period. Best of all, the prizes AREN'T presented by some cheesy second-banana entertainer.
One of the curses of mortality is that we are forever losing things. Money, marbles, sanity, innocence...it all seems to get misplaced over the years. In Heaven, Charitable SOULs can find everything they've ever lost just by looking for it... under a seat cushion, or behind a desk, or buried out in the backyard. It's all there, waiting to be found.
In Heaven, just like on television, you can always find a good parking space with plenty of time left on the meter.
In Heaven, there're all-new episodes of all your favorite television shows, forever. No one's quite sure how this got to be a reward for Charitable SOULs, but who can second-guess the Powers That Be?
The Spinner of Incredibly Good Fortune is Heaven's game show, where Charitable SOULs try to win spectacular, non-sucky prizes for their favorite charities. Thanks to the wonder of HeavenTech, everyone goes home a winner, and no one is stuck with the crappy home version of the game.
Every day, the Charitable Blessed can find surprisingly useful and inexpensive knick-knacks and curios at these sprawling flea markets...rumor has it that tattered copies of the Secret of Life have been found amongst the millions of card tables, boxes, and pickup trucks lining the aisles of these complexes...
SOULs Finding Secret Of Life
Tables Without A Sale
Every beloved toy you've ever lost can be found here, along with every toy you ever wanted, but couldn't have. You'd be surprised how long a SOUL can play with toys without getting bored...
Proustian Recollections Triggered
Disputes Over Sharing
The Bazaars of Heaven are a shopper's paradise. Under the jillions of open-air tents, the Blessed can find everything from sun-dried manna to blind Angels who'll tell them one of the many secrets of the Universe.
New Shops Per Week
Sore Feet
It's a sad fact of life that most of us don't get our fair allotment of five-star, over-the-top, utterly decadent birthday parties. In Heaven, this inequity is rectified in the Happy Birthday! zones, where (as you've probably guessed) it's always someone's birthday, and everyone's invited.
Most collector's conventions have the same old stuff for the same high prices that you've seen a hundred times before. At the Final Piece Conventions (which are held in sumptuous and economically-priced hotels) though, a Charitable SOUL can always find that last card, comic, doll, or trinket that will make his collection complete; and he'll always be able to get it for a reasonable price.
Different Conventions Held Last Week
Autogrpah Mob Scenes Last Year
The Afterlife Gaming Commission has certified that the Casino Royale has the loosest slots in the known universe, but that's not the only reason that Charitable SOULs think so highly of these upscale hotels. There's also a scrumptious breakfast buffet and a neverending floor show that has to be seen to be believed.
Jackpots per Night
Unusually Long Unlucky Streaks
The ultimate Rewards for Charitable SOULs are the Ascetic Mountains. Here, unburdened by the weight of worldy possessions, a SOUL can blissfully spend eternity contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
If you can stop stuffing your face for a moment, you may notice a Gluttony Punishment evolving on this spot.
When the Gluttonous Damned first arrive at Taco Inferno, a seemingly courteous Demon waiter tells them, "Be careful, the plate is hot." He's not kidding. The plates, the tacos, the lettuce, the soft drinks, EVERYTHING in Taco Inferno is served at a minimum temperature of 937 degrees Celsius, and is forced down the patrons' eternally regenerating throats with demonic relish (which is also too damn hot).
Tongue Blisters Burns Per Day
Unintentionally Refreshing Drinks Per Week
Unique among the Gluttony punishments in Hell, Sticky's serves food that people actually like. Unfortunately, all they serve is "sticky" food: peanut butter sandwiches, caramel apples, pancakes smothered in syrup, etc. And there's nothing to drink... and the napkins are one-ply... and they don't believe in flypaper.
Esophagusii Completely Clogged Per Day
Successful Salivations Per Month
All the mouth-watering pizzas in this place are laced with sharp, pointy things that rip open the esophagi of the Damned like an overripe tomato.
Tracheas Slit Last Week
Comfortable Gulps Last Year
Do you remember that party where all the food ran out, and everyone started eating the frozen urine samples? How about that outdoor barbeque where it rained and all the guests caught pneumonia? Good, now how about the party where the roof caved in and crushed thirty-four people to death, do you remember that? Great! Now, put all those atrociously awful parties together, raise them to the power of a googol, and put it in your scrapbook of cherished memories, because you still haven't come within a galaxy of approaching the lameness of these neverending parties.
Extremely Awkward Silences Per Hour
Moments of Genuine Giddiness Per Week
For the past 10 billion years, the waitresses, cooks, managers, and janitors of the Pandimensional House of Vermin franchise have zealously exploited a simple, unspoken truth:
Rats do NOT taste "just like chicken."
Apple Brown Ratties Served Per Day
Palettes Cleansed Per Month
Two words: "Cow sushi."
Hoof Chunks Per Patty
Burgers Cooked Above Room Temperature
Spending an eternity being forced to eat bacteria-laden steak and kidney pie with a slice of moldy old cheese on the side is bad enough; compounding the torture by making the Damned wear goofy Renaissance outfits and "speake as in oldene tymes" is downright inhuman. But then, that's what Hell is for, no?
Pints of Hot Beer Served Per Hour
Moments of Genuine Revelry Per Year
The good news is: There's no cover charge to hear the worst stand-up comedians in all of creation.
The bad news is: There's an infinite drink minimum, and the Demon bouncers won't let you leave until you've finished.
Jokes About "How Men Be Different From Women" Per Night
Authentically Original Jokes Per Decade
At these buffet-style restaurants, patrons are encouraged (by cattle-prod wielding Demons, no less) to go back for seconds... and thirds... and thousandths... and millionths... You'd be amazed how much you can cram into a body before it explodes.
Sneezes That Miss The Sneeze Guard Per Hour
Successful Bowel Movements Per Week
Papa Sleez always said, "The Afterlife's like a box of chocolates...you never know what you're going to get."
Whether it's a Chocolate-Covered Razor Blade, a Rat Intestine Bon-Bon, or a Super Surprise Vanilla Coated Ultra Laxative, the demonic employees of Sleez and Sons Candy always try to live up to Papa's words.
Zits Per Square Foot
Lips Smacked Last Week
As eternal damnations go, this one wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for:
a) Every now and then you get tossed into a meat grinder and compressed into a little yellow wafer.
b) The only thing to eat are these icky yellow wafers with bits of hair and bone in them.
Horrifying Epiphanies Per Week
Grinder Jams Per Month
It's very difficult to describe the Bowels of Hell without getting nauseous, but here goes:
1) The Gluttonous Damned are sewn into the interior lining of a humongous Archdemon's digestive tract. For the record, the Archdemons in question invariably had bad diets filled with lots of spicy foods.
2) Each SOUL has a clear plastic "feeding tube" crammed into his mouth.
3) The other end of the feeding tube is connected to the, um...other end...of the digestive tract of each SOUL's neighbor, resulting in...[BWARRRF!]
Sorry, I thought I could go through with it, but my stomach couldn't take it. Take a look at the picture, if you must.
Revolted Convulsions Per Hour
Tube Clogs Per Year
If this hasn't turned into a Temperance Reward within a few years, then you may be doing something wrong.
Imagine going to a house where everyone knows your name and is glad to see you. Imagine a bowl of dip that's never empty. Imagine a table brimming with eternally-interesting chit-chat. Imagine the best party you've ever gone to, then mulitply it by infinity. Welcome to Heaven.
Varieties of Dip
Spilled Drinks
For some reason, SOULs that have led temperate lives tend to seek out Afterlife rewards that mix nutrition with indulgence. These simple groves, filled with dairy farms and beehives, seem to keep them happy.
Cows Milked
Bee Stings
All of Heaven's restaurants are gastronomically spectacular, but few manage to capture the simple charm of the Deus Ex Diner chain. In these humble-looking eateries (which can hold thousands of patrons, but never appear crowded), Temperate SOULs can order any dish they want, socialize with old friends, make goofy noises with the straws, and generally "hang out" for all eternity.
Temperate SOULs who end up in a Hog Heaven can spend eternity living high off the hog...literally! Meat of all sorts (cows, pigs, chickens, swordfish, etc.) grows from trees in these fleshy orchards, allowing life-long vegetarians to finally experience the rapture of a carnivorous lifestyle without the shame of killing innocent lil' animals.
Every good restaurant you've ever been to is crammed into this four-dimensional food court, along with thousands of others you didn't know you wanted to visit.
New Menu Items Per Day
Uncharacteristically Surly Waiters
Food rarely tastes as good as when you've grown it yourself. The Temperate Blessed take advantage of this factoid every day at the Happy Harvest Farms, where pesticides are never used nor needed.
Only Heaven could bring you the picnic that never ends, thanks to a revolutionary (and frankly impossible) bottomless picnic basket, which is constantly dispensing surprising and wonderful picnic fare. Eat too much? No worry, work it off with a leisurely game of frizbee...
Weenies Roasted
Potato Salads Gone Bad
It's a scientific fact that food prepared and eaten on a beautiful beach tastes better than food just about anywhere else. In the Afterlife, this principle is carried out to the nth degree in the form of a neverending beach trip. Hang Infinity, dude!
Kites Flown
Accidental Sunburns
The Sickeningly Sweet Sugar Savannas are something of a "classic" attraction in Heaven. Frankly, the Temperate Blessed seem to easily tire of these "cities made out of candy," but everyone expects them to be here, so what can you do?
Sugar Comas
Jaws Broken On Jawbreakers
It's like Oktoberfest, but it goes on forever, hence the name "Eternafest." Oh, and there's none of that silly Bavarian music, either.
Varieties of Beer Served per Night
Forget "Animal House"; Heaven knows how to throw a REAL Toga Party, and it doesn't take place in a decrepit old frat house, dig?
Grapes Peeled per Hour
Visits to the Vomitorium per Night
Party Towns are like Mardi Gras, New Year's Eve, the Fourth of July, and Carnival all rolled into one. Every noon there's a parade, every evening there's fireworks, and every night there's dancing in the streets. And since it's Heaven, no one wakes up the next day feeling like Hell.
New Parade Floats Per Night
Drunken Arguments Per Week
Someday, when the Demons feel like getting around to it, a Sloth Punishment may be built on this site.
These Sloth Punishments are simple, yet evil. First, the Damned are given persistent, annoying itches in difficult-to-reach parts of their bodies. Then, their hands are bound up in cute little hi-tech manacles that prevent them from scratching. Finally, they're dumped onto a field of plush, satiny, almost frictionless pillows. Demons come from miles around to watch the poor suckers twitch.
At the bottom of Hell's labor hierarchy are the Sweat Shops (which should in no way be confused with "Sweet Shops"). In these overcrowded, underventilated little industrial hovels, scores of Slothful SOULs silently (yet speedily) sew sequins onto demonic loincloths, or perform other humiliating tasks. If they meet their quotas, they get to sleep for a couple of hours, and dream of a better afterlife. Dreams are encouraged in Hell...they make the horror of the waking world that much more poignant.
Demons may be undead incarnations of pure evil, but they're not stupid. They know that the secret to a healthy diet is the regular consumption of vitamin-rich fruits and vegetables. This is why, since time began, Slothful SOULs have been forced to plow, plant, and pick the rock-hard planes of Hell. It's just the kind of backbreaking, unrelenting labor these lazy slobs deserve, and it produces a by-product that keeps the Demons happy and regular.
Many of the Slothful Damned believe that they deserve to be in Heaven, little realizing that their lazy ways have earned them a place in Hell. For these self-deluded fools, Hell hath created these cheesy replicas of Heaven. They're just like the real Heaven...except that they suck.
In any large-scale bureaucracy, there's always a lot of paperwork, and who better to do it than the Slothful Damned?
New Cases of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome
Unexplained Occurences of "Be Nice To Secretaries Week
For the Slothful Damned, who lived their lives as though already dead, this punishment is two-fold. First, the damned are compelled to dig their own graves, with a spoon, through rock-hard tundra. Years later, when they've finally dug a deep enough hole, they're buried alive, and remain fully aware as worms and bugs slowly eat at their innards for all eternity.
HOTEL 666
WELCOMES
THE SLOTHFUL DAMNED
TODAY'S ACTIVITIES
6:30 AM - Hot Coal Step Aerobics by the Whirlpool of Despair (mandatory)
9:00 AM - Incontinental Breakfast in the Brown Room (mandatory)
10 AM - Workshop: "Making the Most of Your Downtime While Being Disemboweled" (mandatory)
11 AM - Seminar: "Feeling Good While Everyone Laughs At Your Deepest Darkest Secrets" (mandatory)
12 PM - Sac Lunch (mandatory)
1 PM - Lecture: "Everyone is Very Happy You're Dead" (mandatory)
3 PM - Workshop: "Maintaining Productivity Levels While Your Bowels Are Being Reinserted" (mandatory)
5 PM - Dinner in the Yellow Room. Featured Entertainer will smash a large vegetable with a hammer (laughter mandatory)
7PM - Lights Out for the Damned. Those not reporting to their rooms will be punished
8PM-5AM - Motel-Wide Party (Demons only)
The Sisyphus Mountains are classics of eternal damnation. Every day, the Slothful Damned push massive boulders up the side of an immense mountain. Every evening, just as they're about to reach the top, their footing gives way, causing their boulders to roll down to the bottom.
Unlike the offices of a certain successful computer game company, Hell HAS shelled out the necessary sheckels to get cable television. In fact, many of the Slothful Damned watch it 24 hours a day. Of course, they have no choice in the matter, and have no control over what they watch, but that's a minor quibble.
Demons harbor a genuine fondness for the Industrial Revolution. It's easy to understand why. It was a time when pollution ran unchecked, giant machines regularly mangled innocent workers, entire families were placed into indentured servitude to rich, thoughtless corporations, and the concept of trade unions hadn't even begun to form in people's minds. In Hell, the Demons have tried to recreate this atmosphere in the Beats the Dickens Out Of You Factories, which aspire to everything the Industrial Revolution was...and more.
ushing boulders up a mountain for all eternity is a fine punishment, but it's terribly innefficient. Hip, modern Demons prefer to mete out their "Insufferably Unattainable Goals" punishments in the ultra-modern Sisyphus Factories. These industrial marvels produce nothing, but thanks to the wonders of assembly line production, THOUSANDS of individual goals can be very nearly reached...then brutally smacked down, every single day.
There is a theory, put forward by a former theme park employee, that there is only so much happiness in the Universe, and that to make someone really, really happy, someone else must be really, really miserable.
This theory certainly holds true at the 666 Pennants Theme Parks. The demonic guests of the park are deliriously amused by the park's rides, games, and shows. On the other hand, the park's workers (comprised entirely of the Slothful Damned) are so unhappy that they often throw themselves on the tracks of the "Big Chunder" roller coaster, only to discover that they can't be killed OR fired.
Character Costume Induced Heatstrokes
Heartfelt "Have a Nice Day"s
If you've done everything right, a host of Angels will soon construct a Diligence Reward on this site.
In some parts of Heaven, Diligent SOULs are given the weekend off...forever. During these eternal downtimes, SOULs can finally finish all that work they wanted to put into their houses: the new coats of paint, the additions to the garden, the basement rumpus room...now they finally have all the time they need to turn their house into a home.
Kids are forever being described as "lazy," just because they don't want to take out the garbage. But have you ever taken a good look at how kids spend their summer afternoons? They build treehouses. They bake mudpies. They concoct elaborate schemes to turn their scooters into flying machines. Clearly, kids aren't lazy; they just don't have the same set of priorities as adults. In Heaven, Diligent SOULs get the chance to finally finish all those magical, complicated projects they dreamt up during those fleeting summer childhood afternoons; they're only called home for dinner once the forts are built, the pies are baked, and the scooter is soaring over the valley.
Cats choose. Unlike their doggie brethren, who can be programmed like robots, cats make up their own minds whether to chase a ball, purr, or scratch your sofa. A cat's life is an ideal reward for a lifetime of Diligence. SOULs can choose whether to be pampered, milk-fed kitties who live high off the hog, or to run away, living the tough-as-nails afterlife of a stray. All in all, though, it's cool to be a cat.
Many of the Diligent Blessed are given their own little shops to do with as they see fit. Some choose to open nasal acupuncture centers. Others build shops that exclusively sell action figures. Still others have turned their shops into thriving "ferret-on-a-stick" franchises. In any case, the entrepreneurial spirit of these SOULs has made the Mom & Pop Shops a favorite stopping point for souvenir-seeking angels from other afterlifes.
Entirely New Marketing Ideas This Week
Genuinely Bad Ideas This Month
These libraries look pretty small on the outside, but on the inside they contain every book, film, and recording ever created...and several billion that were NEVER created.
These heavenly hotels have been perpetually convening these "Diligence Conventions" for as long as anyone can remember. Inside, the Diligent Blessed can attend any number of seminars on an infinite variety of interesting topics, nosh at the hotel's mile-long salad bar, or simply relax by the pool. It's a permanent, stress-free, corporate boondoggle, and you're invited!
The many campuses of good ol' P.U. are where Diligent SOULs can go to learn (in excruciating detail) the "Big Truths" of the Universe. And they've got a competitive football program, too.
Fountain-Hopping Incidents
Time-Wasting Sit-Ins
Celestech is known as "The Friendliest Corporation in Creation." The Diligent SOULs who end up working at one of their corporate campuses will receive the following benefits:
-- Day care.
-- Extended Maternity and Paternity leave.
-- Free corporate housing with puppies.
-- Spacious offices with windows that can be opened to let in the heady breezes of Heaven.
-- Extensive prophet-sharing.
-- Friday afternoon barbeque parties.
Truly, there is no company this nice in the mortal world.
The Diligent SOULs of Cloud Nine Labs are always coming up with something to make the Afterlife even better than it already is. Last year they stunned the scientific community with the introduction of the Non-Slip Halo, the Non-Abrasive Wing Loofah, and the Computerized SOUL Locator. Who knows what they'll come up with next?
When it comes to rewarding Diligent SOULs, the most important thing for an Angel to remember is "keep 'em busy, stupid!" The Towers-A-Go-Go make an Angel's job easier than giving candy to a baby. What they are, basically, are towers that get built upwards towards Inifinity...and beyond. Some SOULs work on the blueprints, while some weld the beams into place. Others concern themselves with the interior design, while still others handle the daycare duties. There's a job for everyone who wants one in these straining-to-be-infinite structures, which is just how the Diligent SOULs like it.
These mammoth machines, which are in a constant state of construction and refinement by Heaven's most Diligent SOULs, are at once both breathtaking and impossible. Built out of whatever celestial debris happens to be lying around, these devices have, over the millenia, served as coffee makers, mousetraps, biorythym readers, screen savers, and garage door openers. Of course, these Goldbergian contraptions violate all the laws of physics...but it's Heaven, so they work JUST FINE.
New Functions Added Last Week
Unexpected Breakdowns Last Year
The ultimate Reward for Diligent, adventurous SOULs is a one-way ticket into the Great Unknown. It's a dicey existence, trying to make an afterlife for oneself in the vast, unexplored territories beyond Heaven and Hell, but who better to tame the wilderness than the hearty, workaholic SOULs of Heaven?
It's frustrating waiting for the Demons to erect a new Lust Punishment, isn't it?
Those who allowed the heat of their physical passions to rule over their hearts and heads are here condemned to spend eternity in a giant freezer, with only their guilty thoughts to keep them warm.
he Punishing Peep Show Pavillions are just plain nasty. As the name suggests, they're buildings full of old-fashioned peep show machines. It's Hell, though, so there's a couple of twists.
Twist Numero One-o: The faces of the Lustful Damned are sewn directly to the viewports of the machines, and their eyes are propped open.
Twist Numero Two-o: The films running through the machines aren't erotic, dirty, or even titillating; they're merely evil. They're so evil that the Damned would gladly scratch their eyes out...if they could.
There's something about laundromats that have caused them to be surprisingly effective punishments for Lusty SOULs. Maybe it's the bottomless baskets of disgustingly soiled laundry. Perhaps it's the migraine-inducing fluorescent lights that flicker at precisely the worst moment. Maybe it's the fact that all the SOULs are dressed in their "back of the dresser" clothes. Whatever the reason, any and all bawdy impulses a SOUL might have are permanently frustrated by these dreary little buildings.
Demons aren't immune to the fickle whims of fashion, as evidenced by the grotesquely retro Purple Passion Pulsing Plasma Pods that litter Hell's landscape like the tragically discarded idealism of the 60's.
As punishments go, they're actually pretty harsh. Lustful SOULs are transformed into a soft, waxy substance, and are dumped into a watery container with thousands of their lusty, paraffin-enhanced ilk. As the heat of their passions overtakes them, an infernally hot lamp at the bottom of the container slowly and excrutiatingly melts the waxy SOULs into blobs of multicolored goo, which rise to the top of the container until they've "cooled their jets." Then they sink to the bottom, and the whole process starts all over again.
Most Lust-filled newcomers to the Bikini Beach Barbeque can't believe they're in Hell. After all, it LOOKS like a typical bikini beach with bodacious babes and he-man hunks a-plenty. Of course, this IS Hell, so there's a catch. Every time the Damned begin to think impure thoughts (which are impossible to avoid in such a setting), their privates literally burst into flames. Many of the Damned, having been burned once too often, choose to lie face down in the sand, roasting their backs raw in an attempt to avoid temptation. As you might imagine, the Bikini Beach Barbeque is THE favorite hangout for the demonic hardbody crowd.
The Lustful SOULs in Ghost Towns have been sentenced to an afterlife of unnerving solitude. Upon entering the abandoned towns, each SOUL is turned into a phantom, unable to touch or affect the world around it. The SOULs believe themselves to be alone, but they're not; they just can't see the other phantoms. Sometimes, a SOUL catches a glimpse of another phantom out of the corner of its eye, but that only makes the loneliness worse.
Many of the Lustful Damned are pressed into service by these demonic houses of ill repute. Strangely, that movie with a similar name did a remarkably good job of conveying the sheer horror of these establishments.
Some time ago, Demons figured out that the best way to punish Lustful SOULs was to cut off all their physical sensations. One of the more innovative means to that end is the Screaming Subspace Void. First, the SOULs are placed in straightjackets, to prevent them from thrashing about. Then, their eyes, ears, and noses are plugged. Finally, a cable is attached to the back of the straightjacket, and the Damned are lowered into a black, inky void. And that's pretty much it. Insanity usually sets in after about ten hours.
know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "'Dates From Hell?' Yeah, I've had a few of those." Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but no, you haven't. The worst date you've ever had is a Night of Incomparable Bliss compared to these, the genuine Dates From Hell, capiche?
Let's say, for the moment, that you're a Lustful SOUL, addicted to the pleasures of the flesh. Imagine that, when you died, your SOUL was trapped within the clunky, mute, deaf body of a robot. There you'd be, a confirmed sensualist, trapped in a tin can, a sensory deprivation tank with legs. Now, fathom the maddening horror of being stuck in a city full of these robots, all of them unable to touch, feel, or affect each other in any way. Nasty, ennit?
The Lustful SOULs that populate these quiet cities want for nothing; all of their needs are provided for by unusually-helpful Demons. However, the price they must pay for their comfort is ignorance. When they acknowledge the presence of any other being, powerful electric shocks are sent through their bodies, teaching them the error of their ways. In time, the tortured SOULs learn to walk around with their heads down and their hands in their pockets, lest they inadvertently make contact with another SOUL.
Most of the Lust Punishments in Hell simply shut off, dull or otherwise impede the physical senses of the Damned. In the ultimate Lust Punishment, however, the Damned are allowed full access to their carnal sensations...they're just not allowed to do anything with them. Through a clever program of stripteases, readings from pulpy romance novels, and cold showers, the Damned are kept in a state of perpetual horniness that slowly, methodically, drives them mad (and blind!).
Coming soon: a brand new Chastity Reward!
Okay, so maybe an entire town where everyone is continuously celebrating Valentine's Day may sound too cutesy for words, but in Heaven it's a concept that works, really! Trust me on this...
Frankly, I can't imagine what a non-sleazy singles bar would be like, but I gotta figure that they've got it figured out in Heaven.
For a long time, folks have suspected that everyone has a "perfect spot" somewhere on their bodies. According to this theory, if you find that "perfect spot," and apply the right kind of pressure to it, your mind will leap out of your body, and you'll briefly become one with the Multiverse.
All of this is true.
Unfortunately, the "perfect spot" is a moving target, dependent on your mood, the alignment of the stars, what you had for breakfast, and a host of other trivial factors. With so many variables in play, it's almost impossible for mortals to give a backrub that pushes the dial past "Relaxing," or "Gratifying."
Of course, in Heaven, things are a little different. The Angels who man (and woman) the Perfect Spot Cosmic Backrub Tables are equipped with magical goggles that allow them to read the chakras of Chaste SOULs like an open children's book. With this knowledge, they can easily find a SOUL's "perfect spot," and send their minds blissfully hurtling into the cosmos. Then they can do it again. And again. And again. Sometimes, if a SOUL asks nicely, the Angels will let the SOUL wear the goggles for a while.
Within the many hallways and secret passages of the Palaces of True Love, a Chaste SOUL can find its one true SOULmate. What happens after that is really none of our business, is it?
We're not quite sure what this is, but thousands of Chaste SOULs have reported "finding their thrill" on these quiet little hills.
Weddings are generally a lot of fun to attend, and a real pain in the neck to put together. In Heaven, Chaste SOULs have the chance to both attend and participate in as many weddings (and honeymoons) as they want, without having to go through all the trouble of planning, rehearsing, and travelling to them. That's what Angels are for, after all.
The Chaste Blessed are coupled off by matchmaking Angels and shipwrecked on deserted islands, where they live in bliss amongst the palm trees and coconuts. Should the SOULs get bored, they're "rescued" by a passing boat, paired off again, and re-shipwrecked.
Hammocks Built Per Day
Rescues Requested Last Year
They're dark, romantic, a little spooky, and last a loooooong time.
Half-Scared, Half-Amused Shrieks
Boat Stalls per Week
Unlike most drive-in movie theatres, the Bahbbi-Zho Drive-Ins only show GOOD movies. Real good movies. How good? They're so good that the Chaste SOULs in the cars will often stop fogging the windows for up to fifteen minutes at a time!
Whether it's a night on the town with a blind date, or a quiet evening in a romantic bistro with your significant other, the Angels who work in the Perfect Evening zones have conspired to make sure that NOTHING goes wrong. Ever.
On every floor of these charming brownstones, Chaste SOULs are constantly engaged in zany romantic adventures involving talking babies, mistaken identities, crippling neuroses, midlife anxieties, and big ugly spiders. Since this is all happening in Heaven, everyone ends up blissfully happy in the end, even the villains.
Cherubopolis, the ultimate reward for Chaste SOULs, is a relatively quiet place, punctuated by the occasional "twang!" of a cherub's arrow, followed almost immediately by the sigh of two SOULs falling deliriously in love.
Breathe deeply and count to ten...a Wrath Punishment may be built here in a few years.
Demons love a good video game, especially when they can mix business with pleasure. In the Immortal Backalley Battle Warrior arenas, the Wrathful are forced to engage in endless, bloody, crippling one-on-one fistfights with each other, their bodies controlled by gleeful Demons wielding Psychoempathic Joysticks (whatever those are).
"This is the true story..."
"Of 600,000 people..."
"Picked to live in The Pits of Hell..."
"To find out what happens..."
"When people stop being real..."
"And start being Damned..."
"The Real Underworld."
(Tuesdays at 9PM)
Neither rain, nor snow, nor divine intervention will stay the Wrathful Damned from getting their just desserts in these monuments to white-hot rage.
One group of the Damned is forced by demonic supervisors to sort through Hell's mail (which, as you might imagine, is poorly addressed, smells funny, and very often explodes) at an inhuman pace.
The rest of the Damned are fated to stand in a nevermoving line, laden with important, heavy, leaking packages. Every time someone gets close to the front of the line, all the windows close for lunch.
Needless to say, convenient rifle racks have been placed on BOTH sides of the counter...
There's no business like shoe business, like no business I know...Sorry.
In life, these Wrathful SOULs savagely squished anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way. In Hell, they're punished for their lifestyle choice by being squished, bug-like, by a giant boot, over and over and over again.
In this stunning recreation of a junior high school gym class, the Damned can enjoy an endless series of humiliating locker room "incidents," the taunts of demonic P.E. Coaches, the awkwardness of being forever trapped in an uncontrollable adolescent body, and the shame of not being able to do a pull-up. Now hit the ground and give me twenty!
These apartment complexes are a renter's nightmare. They feature:
--Running water that's dirty, comes out in a trickle, and is never the desired temperature.
--Gas stoves that periodically explode.
--An environmental control system that automatically adjusts itself to ensure maximum discomfort.
--Surly, obnoxious, louder-than-heck demonic tenants scattered throughout the building, guaranteeing that no one gets any sleep.
But hey, the rent's free!
It always starts out as a peaceful protest...but the Wrathful nature of the Damned always ensures that something goes wrong...
The Wrathful Damned in these tiny hamlets are given secret orders upon entering, which seems kind of fun at first. Then it occurs to them that everyone else is a spy, too, and that no one can be trusted. Eventually, everyone wanders the streets with a paranoid furtive look in their eyes, afraid to say anything, lest they blow their cover.
One of a handful of "phony Heavens" that dot the landscape of Hell, Illuminatiland is one of the most nefarious. It seems just like Heaven to the incarcerated, but after a while they begin to suspect that things "just aren't right." They begin to notice conspiracies operating just out of the corners of their eyes, and shadows lurking where none were present before. When the Damned try to tell their friends about "the Big Lie," they're initially receptive, then are mysteriously co-opted by the mysterious "Men in Black." Eventually, the Damned collapse into gibbering paranoia, spouting theories so insane that even Oliver Stone would dismiss them as "too wacky."
There are no innocents in this eternally bombed-out city where random, vicious acts of terrorism can strike at any time, any place.
The NP-Complete Parking Garages are architectural marvels. When the Wrathful arrive, a Demon gives them a car and tells them that to leave Hell, all they have to do is legally park the car in the parking garage. Naturally, this sounds easier than it looks. For one thing, thousands of empty spaces are reserved for the handicapped and VIDs (Very Important Demons), and anyone attempting to illegally use these spaces is strapped to the underside of a car for four months (which wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the rats). Of the remaining spots, nearly all of them are taken. Sometimes, it looks like there's an open space, but there's a motorcycle in it. Hundreds of other spaces are being wasted by poorly parked cars that are hogging two (or sometimes even three) spaces. Every time a genuine space opens up, a Demon driving a sports car in the wrong direction slips into it before the Damned can get there.
It's evil, folks...pure evil.
Everyone knows that War is Hell, but in this case Hell is War. In this, the ultimate punishment for the Wrathful Damned, SOULs are forced to kill or be killed in a neverceasing battle between hundreds of armies. When the Damned are "killed," their bodies regenerate (making a keen "shlup-shlup" noise as they do), and they're sent back to the front to die anew
Be calm; a Peacefulness Reward may eventually evolve here.
The simplest of Rewards for Peaceful SOULs is an eternity spent in the universe's coolest playground. The slides are miles high, the swings go all the way around, and the merry-go-rounds go really, really fast.
Fishing Holes like this one have always been a haven for Peaceful SOULs. Some come to these peaceful waters and meditate. Others sit on the porch of their cabins and knit socks. Still others skip stones. Some even do a little fly fishing, when they feel things are getting a little too serene. I can almost hear the crickets now...
Heaven is not perfect. Not yours, anyway. It's perfectly reasonable to expect SOULs to have an occasional complaint about the nature of their eternal reward, which is why Heaven has set up these Complaint Departments, and staffed them with Peaceful SOULs. Only Peaceful SOULs are able to cheerfully listen to SOULs complain about Heaven. Fortunately, it's a pretty slow-paced job. In some parts of Heaven, these offices can go for weeks without a complaint, leaving the Peaceful Blessed a lot of free time to chat around the water cooler or play computer games over the network.
Typically, Angels have very good working relationships with their bosses, The Powers That Be. Every so often, though, the United Siblinghood Of Angels (the most powerful union in the Afterlife) will have a grievance that needs to be worked out with their employers...and that's where the Peaceful Blessed come in.
It takes a supremely peaceful SOUL to negotiate with The Powers That Be; even Angels can be vexed by their enigmatic natures. Fortunately, the SOULs of the Peaceful Blessed are so serene that they can patiently apply pressure on behalf of the Angels for centuries without breaking a sweat.
In these expansive game preserves, Peaceful SOULs can track, observe, and otherwise commune with every animal in the known (and unknown) universe. Hunting is permitted, but the only shots allowed are photographic.
When a Peaceful SOUL is ready to lay down his weapons (physical or otherwise), and spend eternity contemplating the joy of universal harmony, the Peaceful Warrior Pagodas will have a rock garden waiting for him.
Only the most peaceful of SOULs can be an ambassador, even under mortal conditions. When you consider that the most frequent diplomatic visitors to Heaven's Embassies are sulphur-choked, cretinous Demons from Hell, it becomes doubly imperative that the embassies are staffed by SOULs of the most patient caliber.
Some time ago, the Angels invented a "wonder substance" called "Splerf," a laughter-inducing foam by-product which could be shaped, molded, eaten, or worn. The Peaceful SOULs of Heaven have taken to Splerf with uncommon zeal, using it to make footballs, cars, teddy bears, and hilarious-looking weapons, which they shoot at each other for hours at a time.
Heaven's closets are stacked five miles deep with the best board games ever created, providing endless hours of shameless fun for Peaceful SOULs.
Every few weeks, the Peaceful Blessed gather at these monolithic structures to protest some policy that's been instituted by the Powers That Be. They chant cute little rhyming slogans ("Hey hey, ho ho, these rusty halos have got to go!"), sing quaint little folk songs, give stirring little speeches, and generally air their grievances in a benignly peaceful manner. In the Real World, this trick almost never works. But this is Heaven, where non-violent forms of persuasion ALWAYS work. Within days, the angelic representatives of the PTB invariably see the error of their ways, and reverse the "odious" new policy.
In times past, Peaceful SOULs would get to Heaven and beat their swords into plowshares, which would be used to tend the fields of Paradise. These days, Peaceful SOULs can spend eternity housed in gleaming cities built from discarded missiles, assault weapons, and torpedoes.
Ahh, the serenity of the fairways, the lilting quack of a duck on the water hazard, the loud thwack of a tee shot slicing dangerously from the fairway...
Surely, there are few activities that require such a zen-like state of Peacefulness as golf. That's why, for the past century or so, the most Peaceful of SOULs have been grabbing available tee times in Heaven's golf courses.
Pride goeth before a fall...but Pride Zoning goes before Pride Punishments.
This simplest of Pride punishments requires little or no demonic upkeep: the Damned are given a set of functional gills and dumped in a giant aquarium, where their every move is ogled by amused Demons.
In this humiliating punishment, the Damned are shrunk down to the size of dolls and turned into the playthings of nasty little Demon children. The doll houses come in many varieties, but the most popular is the Maliboo Scream House.
As the name implies, the Damned in these zones are shrunk down to the size of ants, and forced to live out their afterlives burrowing in a thin layer of sand trapped between two sheets of plastic. Icky.
All the Damned have to do is win a game of Simon Says, and they get out of Hell. Unfortunately, the Demons running the game have disgustingly active imaginations, and most of the Damned are too proud to do the things that "Simon Says.
This is a low-temperature torment, where the Damned are put in little transparent boxes, forced to drink water from a community bottle, and made to run on a little wheel to get their food.
There's a joke in Hell that goes something like this:
Q: How many Proud SOULs does it take to fix an Unfixable Machine?
A: Who cares? Shut up and get back to work!
Demons make lousy comedians.
Nothing takes the ego down a couple of pegs like a few hundred years of prison politics. Overcrowded, violent, and humiliating to the extreme, these pestilent penitentiaries would normally qualify as the worst Pride punishments, if it weren't for the undeniably hilarious gallows humor that comes out of them.
They say it's all happening at The Zoo. If they're talking about being caged, tormented, teased, fed raw meat, and forced to mate with strangers "to perpetuate endangered species," then yes, I do believe it's true.
Few things in afterlife give as much joy to Demons as extracting false confessions from once-proud SOULs. As you would imagine, the Inquisition is one of the happiest places in Hell...for Demons, anyway.
Typically, Proud SOULs don't believe that they belong in Hell. For these deluded fools, Hell has built these Complaint Departments, where they can file their grievances. Unfortunately, everything must be filed in triplicate, with blood samples, and notes from your mother, and so on, and so forth, in a neverending cycle of humiliating bureaucracy.
Few things in life are as humiliating as a stay in a hospital. In Hell, the hospitals are infinitely worse. The surgeries are unnecessary, unclean, and unanesthetized. The nurses are ugly, rude, and given to performing surprise enemas at a moment's notice. And we won't even get into the food...
Combining the savage prison politics of San Quentin Scareantino with the humiliating patronization of St. Elsescare, the Loony Bin is the ultimate in degrading torments for Proud SOULs. If you're not crazy when you get there...wait a few weeks.
Don't brag...a Humility Reward will only evolve here if the conditions are right.
In Heaven, Humble Pie tastes GOOD.
In Heaven, EVERYONE wants to hear what the the Humble have to say.
Unsurprisingly, the life stories of Humble SOULs are very much in demand in Heaven. In the Humble-mentary zones, documentaries about the lives of these extraordinarily humble individuals are constantly in production.
In Heaven, portraits of Humble SOULs are hanging all over the place.
It takes a LOT of behind-the-scene management, but the Angels in this little slice of Heaven make sure that the Humble SOULs who live here get treated like celebrities wherever they go. Without being pushy, of course.
Every night, testimonial dinners (or, in some cases, "roasts") are held in honor of some well-deserving Humble SOUL. Most of the time there're at least a couple of well-known comedians at the long table, there to lend the occasion a bit of acerbic wit.
In Heaven, many Humble SOULs have huge monuments erected in their honor. These monuments come in many forms (statues, pyramids, skyscrapers, etc.), and all of them take thousands of years to complete.
Most of the time, it's a real bad idea to mess with the fundamental building blocks of life. If you're lucky enough to avoid creating some sort of mutant virus that turns your innards into grape jelly, you still have to worry about accidently bio-engineerig an unstoppable monster out of your planet's prehistoric past.
Fortunately, in Heaven you don't have to worry about such things, and can putz around with DNA to create cows that give milk shakes, insects that spell words as they fly in formation, and purple dinosaurs that sing badly, then explode.
When a Humble SOUL arrives in one of these beautiful metropolises, a ticker-tape parade is held in his honor. After the parade, the mayor of the city (an Angel) gives a long speech, extolling the many unheralded virtues of the honored SOUL. After a twenty-minute standing ovation, the mayor hands the Key to the City to the SOUL, giving him complete run of the place.
In Heaven, Humble SOULs always find a good song to listen to on the radio. Better yet, it's always a song that's dedicated to them.
Every morning, Humble SOULs are nominated for a variety of prestigious and important awards ("Best SOUL in a Lab Technician Role," "Coolest Being In The Multiverse," etc.). Every afternoon, those same SOULs are adorned in expensive gowns and tuxes by top-notch angelic courtiers. And every evening, those Humble SOULs are driven in stretch limos to star-studded awards shows, where everyone's a winner, literally. Afterwards, naturally, they party until dawn, when the whole thing starts over again...
The biggest and bestest of Humility Rewards works on many levels. First, the humble SOULs are scattered into space, where their powerful goodness ignites into new stars. These stars give rise to planetary systems, teeming with new life, and new civilizations. Finally, millions of years later, the light from these stars/SOULs reaches planets in other systems, where astronomers notice the new stars, and are inspired to create a new constellation... a constellation invariably named after the humble SOUL whose essence gave birth to the constellation in the first place.
If the infernal intangibles are properly in place, a Generic Punishment may soon evolve on this spot.
These are the least efficient punishments in all of Hell. The Damned are shipped off to deserted islands, their only companions a litter of indestructible, unsilenceable yip dogs.
This is one of the all-time classics of infernal punishment. Gigantic, savage beasts rip at the flesh of the Damned, causing unthinkably unbearable pain. To make matters worse, the wounds heal within seconds, providing a nigh-infinite potential for horror.
Heads Eaten Last
Beastly Bowel Blockages
Dentists, dentists, dentists!
For centuries, Demons have attempted to devise a sound as maddening as the simple screech of fingernails on a chalkboard. To date, they haven't succeeded.
You know that maddening feeling you get when the next word is hanging on the tip of your tongue, but your brain just can't get its mental fingers around it? Okay, now stretch that sensation out over infinity, and imagine a whole city full of SOULs with the same problem.
Millions of Hairs Pulled Out
Completed Sentences
A Demon with a green thumb is a terrible thing, as the Damned who traipse into these gardens soon find out. Not only are there rows and rows of Giant Mutant Venus Flytraps that can spend weeks digesting a body, but there's also a bank of Matango spores that settle inside the lungs, and grow outward from there. Naturally, there are thorns everywhere.
There's a dark, unsettlingly creepy side to even the best of carnivals. You see it in the shaky hand of every whisky-soaked roller coaster operator, or the greedy eyes of a midway con artist, or the dour expression of the sideshow geek. In Hell, they've taken all those queasy feeings about carnivals and blown them way out of proportion to create a nightmare deluxe. The rides regularly fly apart, maiming SOULs on the Midway. The hot dogs are made from some sort of unidentifiable meat that causes horrible brain seizures. SOULs are regularly "recruited" to join the sideshow, where their bodies are "adjusted" until they look freakish enough to entertain the masses. And if a SOUL is stupid enough to go into the House of Mirrors, it'd better be prepared for a long stay...
In Hell, some of the Damned must constantly repeat grades 7 through 9 because of an error on their permanent records. To make matters worse, they keep showing up to school in their underwear.
Demons get a real kick out of subjecting the Damned to an endless series of pointless, vicious, media-saturated kangaroo courts. We're not sure where they got the inspiration, but if the sin fits, you must submit!
Besides being dull, unsanitary, dangerous, and manned by sadistic Demon counselors, the hills of Camp Mennihackatorso are also swarming with a small army of deranged, hockey-mask wearing serial killers.
Cruel, Psyche-Scarring Pranks Per Night
Drowning Victims Saved Per Year
About a century ago, an enterprising young Demon perfected a mechanized assembly line capable of ripping apart a body and stitching it back together over the course of several weeks, all the while keeping the horrified SOUL completely conscious. Naturally, this utterly revolutionized the field of flesh-rending, which was formerly the exclusive province of Beasts and Plants. The young Demon was later found mysteriously impaled on his own machine, but the genie was already out of the bottle, and the Flesh-Rending Machines have been a common sight in Hell ever since.
Average Spine-Removal Time (in Days)
Unscheduled Downtimes Per Week
Many mortals possess an unhealthy fascination with mythological creatures of the night. In Hell, these ebon-clad, sickly-looking folk (and anyone else stupid enough to wander by) get to find out exactly how "cool" and "romantic" it really is to be a vampire, ghoul, or wandering spirit.
The pitiful SOULs trapped in Telepathy Towers have been cursed with that most vile of "gifts": the ability to read minds. Unfortunately, it's a "gift" that they can't turn off; they're constanly aware of what every other SOUL is thinking, even when they sleep. The neverending cacophony drives most SOULs to sheer insanity, which makes the mental clamor only worse.
You'd think that the touchy-feely hippy-dippiness that permeates most of the New Age culture would have no place in the rough and tumble plane of Hell, but you'd be wrong. In the tres experimental New Age Hells, Demons urge the Damned to get in touch with their Inner Schmucks as they give them a taste of:
"Pyramid Power" -- The Damned are tied to big metal pyramids with 20,000 volts running through them.
"Alien Visitations" -- Demons dressed in unconvincing alien costumes abduct the Damned and perform cruel experiments on them.
"Male (and Female) Bonding" -- Demons doing things with super-glue that are medically unsound.
"The Mysteries of the Tarot" -- Paper cuts...millions of paper cuts.
If you want to see tomorrow's punishments today, this is the place to be.
The Cracked Mirror Condominiums are subtle puppies. Unlike other apartments in Hell, they're NOT crowded, the neighbors aren't noisy, and the landlords are polite. What IS different about these condos is the perpetual cloud of bad luck that hangs over them. Hardly a day goes by without a couple hundred toes being stubbed, a few thousand keys being lost, and several dozen tenants being hit by lightning. The Damned, unable to blame anyone in particular for their neverending run of bad luck, are left cursing the Fates.
Hell is not a particularly jolly place; it's hard to tell knock-knock jokes while a Demon's poking you in the liver with a pitchfork. Still, in most parts of Hell, the Damned can usually find the time to get in an ironic chuckle or two about their fate.
In the Deadly Serious Caverns, however, even that minor pleasure is eliminated. No laughter, amusement, or whimsy of any sort is tolerated in these drab labyrinths. Anyone caught "cracking wise" is punished...seriously.
Almost everyone likes a good puzzle once in a while (and thank goodness they do, or I'd be out of a job!). But try to imagine how much life would suck if EVERYTHING were a puzzle. Picture a world where every door needs a key, and every key requires an answer to a riddle which can only be found by going on a quest to retrieve an object which is hidden in a silver box which is...well, you get the picture.
(Author's note: This vision of Hell should not be seen as a representation of LucasArts' many fine adventure games, such as "Sam and Max Hit the Road," "The Dig," "Full Throttle," etc. Many of these games are very much the anitithesis of a Hell-like experience, and should be regarded as the exception that proves the rule.)
The caseworkers of the Infernal Institutes of Irony are famed throughout the Afterlife for their ability to figure out the most ironic punishments a SOUL could suffer, then mete them out with demonic gusto. Unfortunately, such one-on-one attention makes the I.I.I. considerably more inefficient than your average punishment, but they make up for it in creativity.
New Forms of Irony
Shrugs of "I Don't Get It"
Everyone's afraid of something, and the Demons of Fear, Unlimited are experts at unearthing those fears and bringing them to life. To date, they've catalogued and implemented over 25 billion types of phobias, from the exotic (purpleroseophobia - the fear that movie characters are going to step off the screen and kill you) to the banal (fizzophobia - the fear of carbonated drinks).
Wow, you've managed to create a World of Pain, the ultimate in Generic Punishments!
In this gargantuan complex, millions of SOULs can be efficiently tortured, using a combination of modern-day psychological techniques and good old-fashioned instruments of horror.^@Thumbs Screwed^@Rack Slippages
Assuming everything's cosmically aligned, a Generic Reward should pop up any year now...
The simplest of Heaven's Rewards starts where every book leaves off, revealing what happens after "And They All Lived Happily Ever After."
In the beginning, we all lived in the Garden. Or A garden. Or maybe it was a grove of some sort. In any event, this classic heavenly Reward returns SOULs to that simpler, untainted time...wherever it was.
The miles-long magazine racks of these slightly grubby wonders are constantly being replenished by new periodicals that are guaranteed to enrapture the spirits of Blessed SOULs. Best of all, the angelic proprietors of these stands NEVER shout "Hey, Mac, this ain't a library!"
Someone much smarter than me once likened Time unto a river that burbles ever forward. It's true, but sometimes that river collects in little pools. By diving into these pools, a SOUL can observe the entire history of the Multiverse, and get a nice bath in the process.
One of the few out-and-out bummers about Heaven is you can't become an Angel immediately...in fact, a SOUL most undergo a year's worth of training before earning a halo. To accommodate those SOULs who want to "see what it's like" to be an Angel, without all that grueling training, Heaven has devised these "Angel-For-A-Day" Workshops, where veteran Angels take newly-Blessed SOULs out for test flights. The wings are clipped, the miracles dispensed are minor, and the halos don't shine as brightly, but the experience does give a SOUL a representative glimpse of the real thing.
Even in Heaven, most places have some ground rules about smoking, swearing, spitting on the sidewalk, etc. In the Personal Freedom Parks, though, SOULs are free to do whatever they want, as long as they don't physically harm another. Smoke like a chimney, drink like a fish, eat like a pig, or fornicate like a rabbit, no one will bother you here.
You'd be shocked if I told you how many Blessed SOULs relish the thought of being reincarnated as an animal. Normally, the Afterlife doesn't work that way, but in the Animal Magnetism Centers, SOULs do get to "astrally project" themselves into the bodies of animals, which is the next best thing. Unsurprisingly, the most-requested animals are dogs and cats, but every twenty years or so there's an inexplicable run on duck-billed platypuses.
"...to sleep, perchance to dream."
SOULs fortunate enough to stumble upon a Dreamadise have the opportunity to sleep away the millennia, replaying their favorite dreams over and over again. If their own dreams become too boring, the Blessed can try one of the trillions of recorded dreams that the Angels have on file.
Fictional characters have all the fun. Whether they're leaping tall buildings in a single bound, obsessively chasing great white whales, or wandering the moors looking for brooding guys named Heathcliff, there's no doubt that fictional characters lead much more exciting lives than most of us ever will.
This is where Fiction Pulp comes in. SOULs who find themselves in these hi-tech libraries are given the ability to insert themselves into their favorite stories, leading the lives of their favorite characters.
As the name implies, everyone in Lucky Town is lucky. Real lucky. You may think you're lucky when you win a few bucks in the Lottery, or when you turn on the radio just as it starts playing your favorite song, but you don't know beans about luck...have I mentioned that everyone here is lucky? Good.
One of the nifty perks about Heaven is that you're freed from all the regrets, guilt, trauma, etc., about the way you lived your life. That doesn't mean you're freed from CURIOSITY, though.
In the Heavenly Hindsight Habitats, SOULs are given the opportunity to see how their lives would have turned out if they had made different decisions along the way. This is accomplished through a highly-sophisticated melding of virtual reality, quantum mechanics, and divine whimsy, and should not be tried at home without an omniscient being present.
For some, Heaven is no thing more than an eternal summer camp by a beautiful lake. Who are we to quibble with such a choice?
Some SOULs just wanna go to the carnival. They won't be disappointed. Heaven's carnivals are everthing a good carnival should be. There's a sideshow that disturbs (yet entertains), there's acre after acre of rickety (yet safe) rides, there's a mile of frustrating (yet winnable) games of chance, and cotton candy made out of clouds. Best of all, it's got a GREAT fun house.
In Heaven, marching bands don't suck, and everyone gets to play a real keen solo.
There are some significant differences between the shopping malls in Heaven and the ones you're used to:
1) In Heaven, there's no such thing as "Shop 'til you drop." SOULs can shop forever with little or no discomfort.
2) Heaven's shopping malls have every shop, store, restaurant, and boutique that ever existed...and several million that NEVER existed.
3) In Heaven, you can always find what you're shopping for...even if you don't know what it is.
4) In Heaven, your credit is always good.
In the real world, most parades are pretty dull. Oh sure, there might be the occasional float with 5,000 moving parts, or that rare marching band that isn't as boring as spit, but let's face it: most parades pack 2 minutes of excitement into 3 hours.
As per usual, Heaven does things with a bit more pizzaz. In Heaven's Delight Parades, everything that floats, marches, rolls, trots, scatters, explodes, bounces, saunters, creeps, and bilocates down the parade route is guaranteed to make the gathered SOULs go "Ooooooooh." And it never ends
A lot of SOULs just need a good place to unwind after their long 'n' arduous lives. The Hope Springs Eternal Spas are perfect for fulfilling those needs. Many SOULs spend decades just lolling about in the Milk Baths of Human Kindness, but there's also the Forbidden Fruit Juice Bar, the Dust to Dust Mud Facials, and of course, the omniversally-renowned Hope Springs Eternal, which washes away every last scrap of stress accumulated in a SOUL's previous life.
Ever wanted to run the Universe? Now you can! Residents of the ultra-snazzy SimSimSimSimSim are given their own simulated universes to create, build, and control as they see fit. And when you get right down to it, who's to say that their realities are any more valid than our own? For all we know, the whole of what we laughably label "reality" is defined by a handfull of clever AI routines running in the Omniversal equivalent of a pocket calculator, and death is nothing more than some pangalactic being hitting the "Clear" button.
Makes you think, don't it?
The penultimate reward for Blessed SOULs is nothing less than running the Afterlife itself...or a reasonable fascimile thereof, in any event. Using advanced Fractal Refraction technology, SOULs are allowed to play the role of Demiurge over a sophisticated simulation of the very Afterlife they're a part of. How do you know you're not doing it right now?
"Hey, recently-deceased SOUL #294,321, you've just finished up a life of unprecedented goodness, what are you going to do now?" "I'm going to Heaven!"