He shook his head, clearing some of the cobwebs from his brain. Still dead, he fumed.

“What’s up, God?” he yelled. “I get your crud work down here, and you see fit not to bring me back to life? Am I not good enough for you?”

His job this time was to kill a gang member, known to him only as “Wildcat.” He’d got him already. Knife in the back, knife in the brain… but his gang members had caught up with him, and shot him.

“God damnit,” he swore. “Oh, wait, is that it? Well excuse me for being a bit foul-mouthed! I didn’t ask for this!”

“VERY WELL,” a voice boomed. “YOU CAN SIMPLY GO TO HELL, I DON’T MIND.”

“Wait, what? Don’t you need someone to-”

“NO. GO AWAY.”

And with those ever so saintly parting words, he felt a tug in his waist, dragging his screaming soul into the fiery pits of hell.