(Nybbas' symbol, a TV with horns, appears on the screen. In it are mirrored P's; the first P is the reversed one, so that the backs touch each other. The P's flame discreetly against the jet-black screen.)
Male Voiceover:
Perdition Productions presents:
(Images from past shows appear briefly behind the title as the Voiceover continues. We see demons of all varieties. Most seem to be somewhere in Hell, but occasional shots of Earth are visible. A microphone is held close to a bound Impudite surrounded by grinning Djinns. A Balseraph sits at a glowing metal desk, surrounded by stacks of smoldering paperwork. A scarred and tattooed Habbalite, with her mouth stapled shut, writes frantically on a blackboard.)
Each week we take a look at the has-beens, the losers, the demons that made it big-big-big, but then lost it all.
And now, here's your host, Mirabelle!
(An applause-track starts. A stunningly beautiful Lilim toddles on-screen. She has big hair, massively-enhanced breasts, a skin-tight red dress that looks as if it was ready to burst (it sometimes does, if the ratings start to drop), and 6" spike heels. She smiles, giggles, twiddles her fingers at the unseen audience, and then puts on her best serious face.)
Mirabelle: Hello, everyone!
(More applause. Mirabelle smiles and bows for the camera, leaving little to the imagination.)
Mirabelle: Tonight on "Where the Hell Are They Now?" we have a very special guest. (She speaks very solemnly.) Tonight, we're going to talk to a Shedite has been around since before the Rebellion! (Audience gasps. Mirabelle nods her head energetically.) That's right! This demon has seen it all! Its name is Manasseh, and it's mentioned in the Old Testament. It used to have a Word, and was once a trusted Servitor of Gebbeleth. And we all know what happened to Him, don't we? (Dramatic pause. Then she dissolves into giggles.) Oh, that's right, we don't! (Audience laughs uproariously.) So let's find out --
(Audience joins in as she chants.) WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY NOW?
(Camera pans to side of stage as Manasseh floats in, grey and forboding, a cloud of organs and limbs in constant motion. A mixture of applause and boos from the audience. Mirabelle gives the audience another winning smile, and with a toss of her head turns to Manasseh.)
Mirabelle: Hi Manasseh! Is that your spleen, or are you just happy to see me? (Mirabelle winks at audience, audience laughs and whistles.)
Manasseh: Hello, Mirabelle, it's a pleasure to be here.
Mirabelle: Gee, Manasseh, for such an old Shedite, you don't look a day over 20,000! (Audience laughs appreciatively; Mirabelle quiets them with a smile and does her best to focus on one of Manasseh's eyes.) But tell us Manasseh -- what's Heaven really like? Are the streets really paved with gold? (She rolls her eyes at the audience.)
Manasseh: To the extent that Heaven can be said to have streets that can be said to made of something, they're paved with gold.
Don't forget that "paved" is just a fancy way to say "plated".
The streets are gold plated,
and the houses are gold plated,
and the trees and grass and flowers are gold plated,
and the celestials are gold plated,
and when the bird shit hits your window, that's gold plated too.
Everywhere you look, there's nothing but the uniform shiny glint of gold. Everything must be gold and perfectly polished. Makes one long for ANYTHING that isn't gold. Anything that isn't the same as everything else. But try to show a little color, or something not so shiny, and the conformity police are on you like Haagenti on a cheeseburger.
(A few audience members can be heard shouting "Go Gluttons!")
Try to even talk about the fact that under the facade of gold plate, everything's different, with its own color and flavor and (gasp) imperfections, and suddenly you're getting a little visit from Miss Manners (he hates being called that) who is deeply concerned with your sudden lapse of etiquette.
On the corporeal plane, "paved with gold" sounds nice, because people use gold sparingly, to add accents and beauty to otherwise quality creations. In heaven, it's everywhere, it's ugly, and you can't get away from it. Why anyone would live there voluntarily is, shall we say, ineffable. Although very little of what the average angel does can be said to be voluntary. That's why we left, remember?
(Mirabelle looks a little taken aback, especially when the audience starts applauding and shouting "You tell 'em, Manasseh!" She quickly recovers.)
Mirabelle: Oooo, yes, we certainly have it better down here, don't we? (Cheering from the audience.) I can't hear you! (Even louder cheering. She prances around the stage, blowing kisses to the audience, and making the most of her ample assets. Finally, she walks back to where Manasseh is hovering.) I'm sure we're all eager to know -- does God actually exist? (Shocked silence from the audience, and then a few subdued mutters.)
Manasseh: No.
(The audience lets out its collective breath.)
Mirabelle: How fascinating! Don't you think that's fascinating, audience? (Audience cheers and claps.) But what makes you so sure, Manny-poo?
Manasseh: A nonsensical question, but then look who's asking.
(Mirabelle recoils as if slapped. Her eyes narrow to thin slits of glowing green.)
It all hinges on what you mean by God, and by Exists.
Let's start with InfiniGod. The one who is all powerful, all knowing, omni-this and omni-that. We're not talking amazingly-hugely-powerful like Lightbringer, but power that is genuinely infinite. The ramifications are somewhere between staggering and silly. If you're infinitely powerful, nothing can be even slightly difficult. Completely changing everything all at once every moment has to be a simple prospect. From here we can go one of two ways. The easy one first : such a thing could not possibly exist. The flip side is this : imagine that such a thing DID exist. It could have no goals, as achieving a thing is as easy as thinking of it. It could not be curious about anything, since it is omniscient. It could create, destroy and rearrange an infinity of universes as easily as farting. It might have created us and this universe a moment ago, giving us memories of an existence. Cause and effect would be meaningless, as would past, future, time and space. To say that such a thing exists is to define the word "exists" out of, well, existence.
To capture another piece of the God pie, we have MyPersonalGod, which is "that special, best, divine part of me, deep down within my self" or some such stomach churning pap. All I can say is, if you assert something exists, and then call that thing God, then I can not refute your logic when you conclude that God exists.
Finally, my favorite God : YvesBoss. Didja ever notice that no one but Yves ever sees God or hears God or talks to God. Where I'm from, we call that an "imaginary friend".
"Hey, Yves, what should be done about such-and-such"
"Hold on while I ask God ... God says thus-and-so"
Who does he think he's kidding? I know all about reporting to someone who isn't there, and it certainly has its advantages, but Yves has a setup I deeply admire. All the power with no responsibility! I suppose it's a good thing that so many Angels blindly accept this load of crap without a second thought : it teaches them not to think, and makes their eventual corruption all the easier.
(Mirabelle's smile is fixed, and she bites her words off as she speaks.)
Mirabelle: I hope you all are taking notes! Asmodeus will be giving a quiz later! (She guffaws, relaxing a bit, and the audience joins in.) And while you're out corrupting angels, Manasseh, see if you can tempt one of those blackwinged beauties for me. Oooh, I get all hot and bothered just thinking about them... (Licking her lips, she unzips the front of her dress an inch or two, and the fabric bulges alarmingly. Whistles and catcalls are heard from the audience. Mirabelle smiles sweetly.) Now, how about a question from the audience? Yes?
(A huge Djinn, lurking in the back, smirks at the microphone an imp holds in front of him.)
Djinn: Hey, Manasseh, would you DO Mirabelle? Heh, heh, heh.
(Mirabelle turns a whitish green. She joins stiffly in the audience's laughter.)
Mirabelle: Ha ha. Very funny. (She jerks her head slightly, and there is a flurry of activity at the back of the auditorium. Muffled cries can be heard from the Djinn as he is quickly hauled out of the room by three mean-looking members of his Band.) Now Manasseh, I understand that you know the Lightbringer personally. Isn't he just divine? Oopsie! Of course he isn't! (A few titters are heard.) What do you think of Him?
Manasseh: I guess I'll answer those two in order. The first one would have to be "No". It would only be fun if she refused, and we all know Mirabelle never refuses anyone.
(The audience whoops it up, but are almost drowned out by a terrible grinding noise. It appears to be Mirabelle's teeth.)
As for the second, what do I, personally, think of Lightbringer? I'll answer honestly, but I'm sure you'll all think I'm just brown-nosing.
Quite simply, he is the goal to which we should all aspire. He's hugely powerful, and never needs to prove it to anyone. He doesn't waste time with petty politics, he's just out there fighting The War. He's smarter than I can even understand. Remember that Khalid thing? He's always doing stuff like that: doing some tiny subtle thing that becomes hugely important a few centuries later. He's the exact opposite of the young Shedim today. They think "what individual shall I corrupt today" while he thinks "what country (or religion or race or choir) shall I corrupt next century".
His Word is "Win The War". Too many of us forget the fact that, because we are all in service to him, we are all in service to that Word as well.
(Down in the front row, just behind a few of the yellow windbreaker-dressed "security" Djinns, a tall, slender and immaculately dressed Impudite gestures and an imp wielding a microphone flits over to him. There is a real arrow through the Impudite's head.)
(The Impudite brushes an invisible bit of lint off of his sharkskin blazer and shows his teeth brilliantly at Mannaseh. His companion, a more modestly dressed and vacant-looking soul, seems somewhat tired as she caresses his shoulder in an almost pitiful clinging way.)
Impudite: I am Tlaloc, I serve Kobal.
Manasseh, what would you do if you were Lucifer for a day?
Manasseh: I'm sorry to disappoint you, sir, but the only possible answer to that is "I don't know".
Some other, similarly empty, answers might be
I would use all then intelligence and wisdom and knowledge that I had, and Do The Right Thing(tm) based on my overall strategy.
Exactly what Lucifer would have done that day.
I would have to be Lucifer to even begin to answer such a question.
Push over that first domino, which would bring about Yves' Fall in about 1500 years.
(Mirabelle steps in front of Manasseh and shows a lot of teeth.)
Mirabelle: We'll be right back! Don't go away!
(Camera does a slow pan across the stage and then the audience. Several dead souls are cringing away from a smiling Calabite -- she seems to be trying to sell them a watch. The picture fades.)
(An imp appears in extreme close-up.)
Imp: Bang Bang All Same Hardware Shop! We've got it all! Come on down!
(Camera pulls back to reveal a large, starkly lit shop. Stuff of all sorts is piled against the walls, and tall overfilled shelves look like they might topple at any minute. At a counter, a large Habbalite slumps, head in his hand. He wears a dirty T-shirt, revealing large D-rings piercing his cheeks, chest, and the insides of his arms. He waves a riding crop to keep off the imp, now fluttering in front of him.)
Imp: Shaahshgaz has everything! (The imp dives onto one of the piles, and starts throwing stuff onto the counter in front of the Habbalite.) Handcuffs, wrenches, duct tape -- how about a nice electric drill?
(The imp turns on the drill and waves it dangerously near the Habbalite's face. The Habbalite reaches a long arm and grabs the imp by the throat. It struggles as the Habbalite carefully removes the drill and places it on the counter.)
Habbalite: Yeah, ok, don't get so excited. (He puts the imp down, and turns to the camera.) Shaahsghaz here. You need something? Maybe I got it. Maybe I don't. What do I care? (He pushes everything off the counter, and stares moodily into space. The imp flies towards the camera.)
Imp: Bang Bang All Same Hardware Shop, Shal-Mari! If you gotta have it, we probably got it!
(The imp lets out a squeak as Shaahsghaz grabs its tail and yanks it out of the air. Fade to black.)
(A seemingly endless series of commercials follows, but finally Mirabelle's smiling face reappears. She's now dressed in a slinky black number. Its back hem sweeps the floor, but it's slit in front up to her lacy black bra. Her pale green skin sparkles in the lights, and her horns and teeth look like they've just been sharpened. Manasseh is nowhere to be seen.)
Mirabelle: Helloooo, everyone! (Audience shouts "Hello" back.) For the next part of our program, we're going to show you some recreated scenes from Manasseh's life. Won't that be fun? (Audience responds with cheering.) We have some lovely volunteers to help us today, all the way from Stygia! (The camera pans to a small group of demons and souls, who watch both the crowd and each other warily.) Hell only knows how you got here, but it's great to have you guys on the show. (She blows them a kiss from perfectly manicured hands. The volunteers are singularly unresponsive. Mirabelle whispers confidentially to the camera.) Must be from Factions, eh? (She makes a broad sweeping gesture to the side of the stage -- the volunteers have been herded off camera.) And now, Manasseh, this was your life!