"Well, basically, we're broke."
"What? How'd this happen?"
"Bad investments, low productivity, and that con man."
"You mean Jesus."
Lucifer, High Prince of Hell, the Most Evil, the Most Vile, Who Had Recently Decided to Sport a Mohawk, leaned back in his swivel chair. He rather liked the swivel chairs. They were comfortable. And they looked cool. Everybody thought Hell had to look and feel like something out of the Book of Revelations, but all that was in his contract was that he had to torture the sinners. So he was going to be Damned if he was not going to spruce the place up a bit. He leaned a little further back, then asked High Treasurer Beezelbub, Torturous Accountant, Slimy, Disgusting, But a Good Chum Once You Got to Know Him, "So how much longer can we pay rent?"
"Another three months. After that they'll kick us out."
There were apprehensive mutterings from the Dukes and Counts of Hell around the table. Everyone knew who they were. They A.R.S. (Archangel Revenue Service) was not to be trifled with.
"So what do we do?" Asked one of the Dukes of Hell.
All eyes turned to Lucifer. The Sporter-of-Mohawks frowned. "What we need is a fresh perspective. Someone new. An innovator who can guide our investments, help us raise our soul count, and within a few months raise Hell to new heights."
"You mean depths." Said a Count. Half the table groaned.
"Oh just drop it." Grumbled Lucifer. "This is not the time for Grammar Naziism."
For centuries Hell had a problem with their terminology. If a bad thing happened, like a soul going to Hell, it was a good thing for the devils. But the various devils and demons of Hell were proud of the fact that they were bad and evil creatures, so something the devils considered good was really a bad thing, and something the devils considered bad was a good thing. However, neither I nor half of Hell understood that sentence, so one half of Hell was constantly correcting the other half on their grammar, a practice known as "Grammar Naziism." The phrase was coined jointly by Adolf Hitler and the author of your Elementary School Hooked on Phonics Book, both of whom you've always known have gone to Hell.
"So who do we get to be our innovator?" Asked Beelzebub.
"I don't know," said Lucifer. "We need a freshly dead genius. A man or a woman who could captivate millions. A man or a woman who held the world in his or her hand."
Of course Hell is politically correct. What did you expect?
Baron Von, who had been silent through the meeting, shifted in his seat. He was the evil genius you hated through your formative years for authoring your Elementrary Hooked on Phonics Book.
"If I may interject."
"Yes Baron Von," said Lucifer, then felt slightly irritated. The reason Baron Von was such a malicious demon even by Hell's standards was reflected in his name. Whenever someone said "Baron Von", they expected something to come after it. Every time. And every time someone said "Baron Von", they were left hanging with dead air. It was frustrating even to the High Prince of Hell (or Low Prince and Princess of Hell, if we want to be both grammatically and politically correct).
Baron Von (...) smiled. "I think I have just the man or women for the Jobs we need done."