Since he has nothing better to do, Dirk shrugs and advances towards the escalator. He matches his feet with the yellow-painted footprints on the steps. As he progresses ever upward, scenes of his life on earth play on the clouds. He sees himself being born, sees his eighth birthday party at Chuck-E-Cheese (the one where he threw ice cream cake at Chuck E. and almost got thrown out). Later on, he sees the car accident he was in after his senior prom. The stolen Mercedes, the bottle of wine he stole from his parents’ liquor cabinet, the shreds of his date’s dress as she was pulled out of the car and put onto the stretcher. He turned away at this, but was greeted on the other side by visions of him and her in the hospital, recovering slowly but surely. The police were there; their parents were there. She had almost died; thank God for seat belts.

He succeeded in not crying, but his vision was blurred, and he missed most of the next images. When his eyes cleared, he saw images of him and Eliza, deep into their eating contest. He smiled as he watched her look at him coyly over her food. The crowd was cheering her on, and he faintly heard people’s voices over the almost-deafening drone of the escalator. Dirk saw himself and Eliza deep in the throes of passion on her king-sized bed, and felt a sharp pang of loneliness in his gut when he viewed the image of Eliza curled against his body as they slept in that enormous bed.

Lastly, he saw images of himself mowing Dianne’s massive back lawn with his gas-powered push-mower. Dusty, brown sweat dripped down his back, and he saw himself pause to clean the sweat from his eyes. He saw Dianne walk towards him, the pillar of middle-aged beauty in her black Spandex swimsuit. She pulled him away from his work, and guided him to the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Embracing him, she twirled their bodies so fast that they plummeted into the water. Through the murky water, Dirk saw that he and Dianne were still kissing. A few minutes later, they emerged, sputtering and laughing. The image switched, but Dirk remembered what happened immediately after they came up for air: he had swum her to the steps, carried her up them, and they made wild, wet, dirty love on the lawn underneath a nearby willow tree. That was the best thing about Dianne: there was always somewhere new and fun to do it. The backs of limousines, under trees, in her son’s old tree house, in the huge kitchen pantry knocking over cans of peaches of creamed corn, and in her husband’s library. That last place was the riskiest—the possibility of Thomas Cumino walking in and catching—and was probably what led to Dirk’s untimely demise. If only he had known about the security cameras…

He was so deep into his reverie that he tripped on the last step and almost ran into a large podium.

Dirk: “What the…?”
Guy at Podium: “Hello, my son. Welcome to the Great Beyond.”
Dirk: “Are you the heavenly embodiment of Michael Stipe?”
Guy at Podium: “Who?”

Dirk sings a few bars of REM’s “Great Beyond.” The guy behind the podium does not look amused. He furiously scribbles something in a large book resting on the podium. Dirk stops singing and looks up.

Dirk: “What are you writing?”
Guy: “Notes.”
Dirk: “About what?”
Guy: “You. Now, listen up. I’m Saint Peter, and I’m in charge of deciding who goes to Heaven and who goes to Hell.”
Dirk: (deadpan) “I thought that sheep go to Heaven and goats go to Hell.”

He belts out his version of “Sheep Go to Heaven” by Cake. Saint Peter writes more notes, then looks at Dirk.

Saint Peter: “Now, I have a few questions about your life on Earth. If you could just give me simple, basic answers, that would be very helpful.”

He looks down at Dirk, who nods.

Saint Peter: “Good then. Now,” (he consults his notes) “It says here that you enjoy listening to Barbra Streisand and Barry Manilow. Is that true?”
Dirk: “Yes, I…”
Saint Peter: (interrupting him) “Simple answers, please. Okay, which would you rather do—watch Monday Night Football or watch the Tony Awards?”
Dirk: “Well, I don’t really like football, but I loved Rent, so…”
Saint Peter: “Yes, that’s what I thought.”
Dirk: “Hey, what are all these questions leading up to?”
Saint Peter (ignoring him) “Okay…can you say ‘She sells seashells by the seashore?’”
Dirk: (a little confused and irritated now) “She sells seashells by the seashore.”
Saint Peter: (to himself) “Hrmm…no lisp, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

He pulls out two pictures of Japanese-animated cartoon characters and holds them up in front of Dirk.

Saint Peter: “Which one of these two people do you find more attractive: the one on the left or the one on the right?”

Dirk looks at the two characters. They are both highly androgynous—it’s nearly impossible to tell which is the male and which is the female.

Dirk: “First of all, they’re cartoon characters. Second of all…”
Saint Peter: “Just choose one, Dirk. You’re not the only one who needs to be judged today.”
Dirk: (sighing) “Fine.” (He points to the one on the right.) “I choose that one.”
Saint Peter: “Very good, then. It’s confirmed—you’re gay.”
Dirk: (shrilly) “WHAT?!?!”
Saint Peter: (calmly) “You chose the man…”
Dirk: “How could you tell?!”
Saint Peter: “A straight man could have figured it out. Anyway, you like the Tony Awards and Barry Manilow. Come on, Dirk, admit it: you’re gay.”
Dirk: “I AM NOT!!!”
Saint Peter: “And now you have to pay the consequences for your living a dirty, evil life. We Catholics up here in Heaven don’t take kindly to your type. We tried to convert you on Earth, but…I guess that it didn’t work. I’m sorry, but you have to go to Hell with the rest of the sinners. Have a nice eternity.”

Saint Peter stamps “DAMNED” on Dirk’s forehead, pushes a button, and watches as a trap door opens beneath Dirk. The poor, damned fool falls, screaming, through the stratosphere. He lands with a bone-crunching SMACK on the hard wooden floor. He groans loudly, and the view is black as we see through Dirk’s eyes. When they flutter open, he sees two flamboyantly-dressed middle-aged men standing above him.

Man #1: “Oh, my, he’s a cute one! Good thing he didn’t land on his face, eh, Nathan?”
Nathan: “Oh, Robin! I must agree with you! He is quite pretty. And look at those muscles! What was he when he was alive?”
Robin: “Dirk Cherokee, aged twenty-two, lawn care specialist and gardener. Ooh! He was a lawn boy!”

Dirk slowly tries to get up and groans in pain. The two gentlemen help him stand and half drag him to a large, upholstered couch. There are starch-white doilies on either arm. Dirk sinks gratefully into the cushions and observes the two men as they get situated in chairs opposite of the couch.
Robin is wearing a Hawaiian shirt with bright pink flamingos dancing on it. He matched the shirt with a pair of neatly-pressed chinos. He is wearing loafers with tassels on them, and his hair is cut short.
Nathan is wearing a neat, white tennis outfit, complete with a light-blue sweater tied around his shoulders. His brown hair is pulled back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Dirk: “Wait a minute…aren’t you Robin Williams and Nathan Lane? You guys aren’t dead!”
Nathan: “Oh! You’ve discovered us! No, we aren’t dead, but we sold our souls for a great movie career and a great theatre career, respectively. So while our bodies are being famous on Earth, our souls are down here!”
Robin: “We’re the welcoming committee, so…”
Robin and Nathan: (in unison) “Welcome to Hell!”
Robin: “First order of business: housing. Now, we have several dorm houses: Rainbow Hall, Fruity Commons, Babs House, and Gay Street Apartments. There’s also the Couples Residences, which are townhouses for—duh!—couples, like Robby and I, but you seem to be riding solo…”
Nathan: (whispering to himself) “Not for long with an ass like that.”
Robin: “…So that doesn’t apply to you.”
Dirk: “How do you decide where I stay?”
Robin: “Well, it depends upon what kind of pain and torment you’re in for. According to your transcripts and a personality questionnaire based on your former life, I can see that you’re a perfect candidate for the Gay Street Apartments.”
Nathan: “Ooh! You get to serve the evil king! How wonderful for you!”
Robin: “It says that he will be the king’s personal secretary.” (to Dirk) “Wow, you must have hated him on Earth, or else they wouldn’t give you such a one-on-one job with him. They give most people a job somewhere in his offices, whether on Earth or down here. I would give anything to be the king’s favourite.”
Dirk: “Wait, you mean that I’ll be working up close and personal with Satan?”
Nathan: “Oh, yes, up close and very personal, I’m sure.”
Robin: “But enough of this chit chat. Let’s get you to Gay Street, settle you in, and then let you meet the master. Ooh! What fun! I just know that you’ll have a good time here in Hell, Dirk.”
Dirk: “I thought the whole point of Hell was to not have a good time. I though that Heaven was for having fun.”
Nathan: “Oh, goodness no. It’s just the opposite, actually. Everyone in Heaven is a big doody-head—no fun at all. They’re so stiff up in Heaven. Haven’t you ever heard that song by Billy Joel, ‘Only the Good Die Young?’ The one where they say ‘I’d rather laugh with the sinners than die with the saints. The sinners are much more fun…’”
Robin and Nathan: (singing together) “Darling, only the good die young!”
Robin: “You know, Billy Joel used to be such a cutie when he was younger, but now, it’s like he never shaves…he looks tired all the time…he really did not age well.”
Nathan: “Oh, I never thought that he was cute. Billy Baldwin: now there’s a Billy I can be proud to say I’d screw.”
Dirk: (with one eyebrow raised) “Is everyone in Hell gay?”
Robin: (blinking) “Well, of course. It’s the only reason for not being admitted into Heaven. What, did you think that we three were the only ones?”
Dirk: “I’m not gay.”

Nathan and Robin stare at Dirk for a minute, then burst out laughing. When they’ve finally calmed down, Nathan points to the “DAMNED” on Dirk’s forehead.

Nathan: “Then what did you do to deserve this?”
Dirk: “I failed some test, that was obviously rigged, and I wasn’t given enough time to explain my answers before Saint Chuckles up there casts me down here. But I tell you, in all honesty, that I am not now, nor was I ever, gay.” Robin: (skeptically and a little coldly) “Well, Saint Peter rarely makes mistakes, but we’ll check into it for you. In the meantime, you’re stuck down here with us fruits.”
Dirk: (apologetically) “Oh now, don’t be offended. I don’t mind gay people, I’m just upset that I was branded as something that I’m not just because I love Barbra Streisand and Rent. Heck, I may even like it here.”
Robin: (brightening a little) “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just a little touchy today. I missed my favourite soap.”
Dirk: (interested) “Oh, what do you watch?”
Robin: “Well, Days, of course, but I also love Passions. I guess you could say that it’s my guilty pleasure.”
Dirk: “My girlfriend loves Passions. Come to think of it, just about everyone in my town loves that show. I think the town council is trying to pass something so that the businesses and schools can shut down so the people can watch Passions.”
Robin: “It sounds like my kind of town!”
Dirk: “Actually, it probably is your kind of town; our wanna-be mayor and the most popular resident of Dominica is a cross-dresser.”
Nathan: (checking his notes) “Jonathan King? Ah, yes. Pity he isn’t gay. He would make a great edition to the welcoming committee.”
Dirk: (shocked) “Wait, you mean Jonathan isn’t going to hell? He’s fruitier than I am!”
Nathan: “Yes, but he’s not gay.”

Dirk sighs and nods. The “Welcoming Committee” decides that it’s time to leave, so they stand up, and Dirk follows suit. They walk out of the small townhouse (apparently, Dirk landed in the middle of their living room), and down an ideal-looking street. Dirk is reminded of Dominica, his home, and all its residents. After walking about four blocks, the trio comes to a cute little downtown area. They walk into a large building that vaguely resembles the MTV building in Times Square, New York. Dirk is momentarily confused, but his life has taught him to not question weird things. They walk in, and Robin and Nathan wave to a cross-dresser at the front desk then walk to the elevator. They make small talk while they wait, then board the elevator. When they reach the third floor, Robin and Nathan confidently stroll out, and Dirk follows nervously behind.

They walk down a long hallway, and Dirk notices that the cubicles seem to have an awful lot of MTV propaganda on their walls. He saw pictures of Daria, Beavis and Butthead, and countless pictures of famous music and movie celebrities. Before he can ask any questions, Nathan announces that they have arrived at the master’s office.

Nathan: “Knock first, then go on in. The master is expecting you, and doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Robin: “We’ll be out here waiting for you to finish. Good luck!”

Dirk walks to the door, and gently knocks.

Voice from behind the door: “Come in, come in already!”

Several feminine-sounding voices echo the master’s words, and Dirk enters the office.
The camera view moves so that we can see Dirk, but not the inside of the office. A look of total shock is on his face.

Dirk: “You know, they laughed at me on Earth when I told them that you were Satan, but man…even I have to admit that I never thought I’d be right.”

A deep, almost-fake sounding laugh is heard, and the camera moves towards the sound. It spies the back of a large office chair. The only part of the master that can be seen is his two hands, whose nails are being painted an obscenely-dark shade of black by two youthful, male minions in tank tops and short-shorts. The laughing continues until the minions are done. Waving his hands to air-dry the nails, the master slowly twirls the chair.

Master’s voice: “Who did you think I was…”

The master turns the chair all the way around so that we can see him.

Master: “Kurt Loder?”

SATAN IS CARSON DALY.