The Third Level of Hell
I have been harshly judged. According to Dante's Inferno Test, I'm being banished to the Third Level of Hell, left to rot with Cerebus amidst eternal rain, filthy mixtures of shadows, and cold stinking mud. Doesn't that just pickle your bits? I thought I was a very kind person, proud that I cooked a whole chicken without incident and shared it with family and neighbours. Now I have to sit in the mud with a red-eyed dog. I hope there's some good scotch down there, and maybe a blanket. Hey Chip - send more cheese.