Hell needs a New PA Announcer

(Lucifer strides into Hell in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt smoking a cigar and scratchinghis balls. He does that a lot. That's why they call him old scratch)
Lucifer: How the fuck are you Forcas? Aah who the fuck am I kidding I don't give a shit. I'm back from vacation so let's get to work.
Forcas:Vacation? I thought you were sick my Dread Lord. You seem to have lost a lot of weight.

Lucifer: Yeah. My black heart started to fail. It filled up with water and goo and shit. I had to get a pacemaker. You believe that shit. At least I got to go to Long Island College Hospital. That was as close to Hell as you can get. I felt right at home. Who do we have coming down the pipe.

Forcas: Well we have several new candidates you can choose from. There is the former receptionist for Dr. Hartley. She just got here.

Lucifer: Really. Why is she here? Oh yeah. She used to give Peter Bonerz a rim job. The big guy really hates Jerry Bonerz. I mean you know he hates him when he puts “boner” in his name. Nah she sucks. And not in a good Linda Lovelace way. Who else do you have?

Forcas: We have rock and roll icon and famous junkie Lou Reed. He came down on the express lane of the highway to hell.

Lucifer: Holy shit! I hate that junkie motherfucker. He is the worst musician that ever lived. He makes Vanilla Ice look like Frank Sinatra. He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Or his liver in a bucket for that matter. Get him in here right now!

Forcas: Right away Sire.

Lou Reed: (slides down the stairwell to hell and tumbles at the feet of Satan and his right hand fallen angel Forcas. He blearily rolls over as he had crushed the syringe in his arm and the cigarette he was holding) What the fuck...where am I? Am I high?
Lucifer: You are in Hell Lou! Welcome. I bet you thought you were in Hell all the times the times you had to blow Andy Warhol and he couldn’t get it up. I mean you know you have no talent and you only got on stage or in the movies when you gave Paul Morrisey the rusty trombone. Well you are in the real place now buddy. Hell. The fiery pit. What do you have to say for yourself you junkie punk?
Lou Reed: How the fuck did I end up in Hell? I was a true progressive and a good man even if I liked to get high. I invented punk rock for crying out loud.
Lucifer: You didn’t invent shit you loser. The Ramones and Television invented punk rock. And a bunch of English faggots. You were just a punk and a poser.
Lou Reed: This can’t be right. You ain’t the man. I have rights.
Lucifer: You ain’t got shit asshole. Lucky for you I can’t stand you fucking shitty music. I mean what the fuck am I? A deluded menopausal twat in the Midwest who listens to her old records and remembers when her twat wasn’t crusted shut and her boyfriends were more interested in her pussy than stray dogs. You make me sick. Forcas!
Forcas: Yes Sire. (two burly demons drag Low away and dump in a pit ) What do you want done with him.
Lucifer: Oh I don’t know. Tell you what. Put him on KP. Let him go wash Joseph Smith’s magic plates and knives that Sweeny Todd uses. Just don’t let him near a guitar.
Forcas: Yes sire.
Lucifer: Oh and one more thing get Billy Holliday, Harriet Tubman and Lena Horne.
Forcas: Yes my Dread Lord. What would you demand of them.
Lucifer: Have them stand over the pit and piss on Lou Reed. I want to hear the colored girls go Wee.