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So, there’s this guy, not exactly a saint, and on judgment day, he finds himself in the fiery realms. Satan, with a wicked grin, goes, “Welcome to eternal suffering! Time to choose your poison. Pick a door, any door.”
Sweating bullets, our guy opens the first door and, BAM, it’s a gruesome sight – people on crosses, screaming their lungs out. Nope, not for him. Door number two reveals folks in giant pots, bubbling away. Instant rejection. Clinging to hope, he swings open the third door to find three guys standing in a sea of… poop, up to their knees, casually puffing on cigarettes. No blood-curdling screams, no boiling pots. “This might not be too bad,” he thinks. He joins the trio, grabs a smoke, and they’re just chilling. “This ain’t half bad,” he chuckles. Suddenly, the guy in the middle breaks the serene moment, “Alright, crew, smoke break’s over! Grab your spoons; we’ve got to finish this up by sundown.”
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