“Sir?”
“What is it, Nixon? I’ve got things to do. This place doesn’t run itself.”
“Well, I was wondering…”
“And what are you doing in the Palace of Sin? According to my Palm Pilot, you’re supposed to be having your blood replaced by napalm right now, followed by a full-body blackening at 3PM.”
“I just thought, if I could get a moment of your time.”
“I’ll give you five minutes. Only because you did that Checkers speech. I’ve got that on a perpetual loop down in Bolgia 2, you know.”
“Er, thank you, sir. What I was wondering is, I…well, I’ll be frank, sir. I’d like to know why I’m here.”
“Are you serious?”
“Richard Nixon has never been a joker, Mr. Satan.”
“Don’t call me Mr. Satan. Also, don’t refer to yourself in the third person. You’ll only make things harder on yourself.”
“Really?”
“No, I guess not. Anyway, you’re down here for your lifetime of evil deeds. God singled you out, in fact.”
“He did? But why? I’m a devoted Quaker.”
“That’s probably why. That kid of his hates hypocrites.”
“But…but Carter’s not down here. Neither is Ford. And Ford pardoned me.”
“Ugh, Ford, don’t remind me. I haven’t seen an extradition battle like that since Ty Cobb. And Carter’s going to Heaven, bet on it. That guy is a complete suckup to God.”
“Well, what about Ike?”
“Are you kidding? Ike golfs with God every Sunday afternoon. They wear the same sweaters.”
“I just don’t understand it. I worked hard. I was thrifty. I abstained from drink and gluttony. I didn’t screw around with broads like that son of a bitch Kennnedy.”
“See, there you go.”
“What?”
“God hates cursing. Those tapes alone would have got you sent down here. There’s no missing 18 1/2 minutes in Heaven.”
“I thought He might think of it as righteous anger. It was directed at all the right people — homos, coloreds, hippies. I find it hard to believe he’d be upset about all those yellow people and their monkey gods.”
“Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
“You don’t mean…”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“God damn it.”
“He certainly has.”
“I just thought…I mean, look. With Billy Graham around all the time, and you have no idea how much that fat fuck Kissinger can get on your nerves…”
“Oh, don’t I? Look, Nixon. I can’t figure it out either, but God really has a thing about the Jews. There’s plenty of people who figured they were going upstairs, that they’d made all the right moves — and they would have, too, if they weren’t so down on the Jews. Martin Luther…Henry Ford…Hitler…shit, they’d be on Heaven’s board of directors if they weren’t so hung up about the Jews.”
“So that’s it? I get a lifetime of eternal damnation just because I used some bad language and didn’t like the Jews? That’s all it took?”
“Well, there was one other thing. But I don’t think I’ll tell you. It will make your torment all the more exquisite.”
“No, please! Tell me! I must know! I’ll do anything. I’ll become your footman. I’ll lick Kennedy’s wound. I’ll sit next to Jack Anderson at the Maggot Feast.”
“All right. All right. Anything to get you to quit pestering me.”
“What is it? How did I seal my eternal doom?”
“The thing is, Nixon…”
“Yes?”
“God hates Laugh-In.”
“Gah. I knew that was a bad idea. Fucking Haldeman.”
“Live and learn.”