The Popes

Hi again future clients,
keeping well?

Hmm pity.

The next section to see is one of the smallest.  The smallest is the special Hell I've made for Adolf, he's over there in the Ghetto.  I'm not going to describe Adolf's little corner, it's just too awful, and I've just eaten.
Now where was I?

The Sistine Chapel

Ah yes, the Popes.
Too be fair, some of them aren't here, they're with Her upstairs, but that's just four of them.  The rest are over there, in that copy of the Sistine chapel.  Most of these gentlemen are down here with me, because of office politics.  They knew what the right thing to do was, the choice which would have been to the benefit of their members, but instead they took another choice.
There's a long list from these boyos
Contraception (The Pill)
Stem cell research
Abortion
Contraception again (Condoms)

Contraception yet again (The Rhythm method)  These guys are really obsessed with sex.
Gay priests
Gay priests buggering little boys under their care (I've got a really special section down here for these bastards, staffed by my most inventive demons, but under the supervision of Torqameda, Ghenghis Khan, Eichmann and de Sade.  Pol Pot is occasionally used as a consultant.
Celibacy (Surely the most stupid idea ever to come out of any organisation, even the UN)
Hypocrisy
Simony
Murder (good example form the "Head of the Church", but there were a lot in the 14th and 15th centuries)
The list goes on and on.

Inside the chapel , the art is as good as the original.  Well it should be, I've got Michelangelo down here.  (Most artists and musicians end up with me. The poor sods have so much creative energy pent-up that they do the most appalling things just to get some relief)
But the art is changed, it's much more lascivious.  The popes are all chained into comfortable thrones, their hands secured.
A constant flow of naked and semi-naked men and women pass by, doing the most erotic things to each other, but the Popes cannot touch, they cannot speak, they cannot move.  Think of the frustration which builds up, especially as this goes on for ever (literally)
It just gives them a taste for the frustration many of their flock felt when the stupidity, venality and corruption of the Church was made public.

These guys did a better job of driving millions down to me than anyone else.

Well done.

Suffer for all eternity, you know it makes sense.

Next time, the musicians.

Have a nice day

Paint and Music

Hello.
Back again?

My, we are gluttons for punishment, aren't we.

Before we start our guided tour let me explain how the system down here works.
Most of our entertainments are not designed to inflict physical pain.  Don't forget that we don't get bodies down here, just the spiritual remains of the organic form, and physical pain only lasts for so long before the mind cuts off or goes insane.
Sometime I like to use a little tickle of the physical to get their attention.  You know the types of things I mean;
A little blast from a flamethrower.

Shotgun blast to the scrotum for the guys.

Needle tipped breast vice for the girls.
Just the minimum to help them focus.

The real Hell-experience uses mental and emotional techniques to maximise the suffering and pain.
And so to the Paint and Music room.

This particular room is for males only.
All of the guys are strapped into chairs. 

Nice comfortable-looking chairs of leather and chrome, that were designed by vindictive aggressive and militant Lesbians.  They are designed to exert particularly excruciating pressure onto those parts guys value most.
Every guy there is kept facing a blank newly painted wall.
In front of the wall is a small stage.
A double bass stands upright.

Music of sorts is playing, it's loud, very loud, just under the pain threshold.
It's by Schoenberg.  You can just hear the guys moaning above the music .
There's a hint of screeching chalk winding in and out of the atonal sounds.
All of the guys have full bladders, almost ready to burst, but not quite.
The walls are completely featureless, but the wall they are staring at is covered in wet paint.  The only thing they can see is the double bass and the drying paint.
This continues for a little while.  About 200 years.

 Just as they think they cannot handle it any more, a man steps out and stands behind the Double Bass.  The Schoenberg stops.  The chalk screeching stops.  The man begins to play the bass.  Badly.
The best moment, the one I really savour, is when the men realise they are actually enjoying the bad double bass playing.  It's when their screaming is so loud that no one can hear the bass, that the whole cycle starts again.
Ah.  So satisfying..

Is this the Hell for you?

You have another preference in mind?

Let Me know.