dmitry chernikov said...
“James, sometimes we can glean the greater good that comes out of the evil permitted by God. In this case, it's Steve's pleasure in condemning you for being ‘evil’ and having the truth of Calvinism promoted in this manner. (You see, God loves us so much, that He can't hurt us. He has demons, those He already hates, to do the dirty work for Him, that is, to torture the wicked in hell. Steve is one of them or will be.)__Am I right, Steve, or are you an equal opportunity condemner, because everyone is evil (but especially, of course, those who disagree with you, the regenerated one) due to men's total depravity?”
I see that Dmitry has been reading C. S. Lewis or Victor Reppert. Once you discover that Reformed believers are devil-worshipers, it’s only a short step to the realization that we're subdermal demons.
Just between you and me, Dmitry, I’m a senior partner at the law firm of Wolfram & Hart. My real name is classified, but if you receive a business card in the mail with the name of Malacoda, that’s me.
As to torturing the wicked in hell, that all depends. Hell is all about who’s hot and who’s not. The warmer the lower.
It’s like a Mafia Don who’s sentenced to hard time. As long as he can access his Cayman accounts to bribe the guards, he enjoys a steady flow of whiskey, call girls, Havana cigars, and so on.
Likewise, we operate a lucrative, off-the-books business for select customers down below. The classic quid pro quo. Depending on how much money changes hands or hooves (not to mention other forms of remuneration), we can arrange a transfer from the fourth circle to the third. Adjust the thermostat. Import a case of Perrier if you’re parched. There’s a roaring black market for contraband in hell. Almost anything can be smuggled in for a price.
However, if you expect any special treatment from me, you will need to master the fine art of bowing and scraping. Learn to talk respectful to your infernal elders and betters. I don’t appreciate your impertinent tone, young man. As things presently stand, I’d assign you to a cellblock with the Russian Mafia—right down the hall from the main office of the Foul Fiend.
Fortunately, you still have time to mend your ways and strike a Faustian bargain. When you receive my business card in the mail, contact my executive secretary, and we’ll set up a meeting at a neutral location to hammer out the arrangements. What’s your blood type?