Vice

February 15, 2010

“Name?” asked the demon with the clipboard.

“Rob White,” the man responded, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“All right, Mr. White, I see you’re guilty of lusting after your secretary?”

“What?” he yelped. “Well, maybe, but I never touched her!”

The demon made a note. “Gluttony then; you were 200 pounds overweight.”

“I had a glandular problem!”

Another note. “You never donated to charity and died a millionaire?”

“I wanted my children well looked after.”

“Had a pretty fierce temper though?” the demon asked.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” White said.

“Of course. And you never attended church, I see?”

“Faith is a private matter, I thought.”

The demon smiled, sharp incisors gleaming. “You were a banker? Made a lot of money from predatory lending?”

Mr. White wiped sweat off his forehead. “Not my fault if it turned out badly.”

The demon made a final mark on the clipboard. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“I can go, then?” White asked.

“Indeed. Eighth circle. You are a terrible liar.”

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