Senor: …Seamus?

tWBS has a hand on his head and a hand on the ground to try and prevent himself from falling. Because falling down the mountain would suck.

tWBS: Stoning… not the fun kind… (he comes to) Shit. I was here the whole time?

Senor: And muttering something about stoning, and not the fun kind.

tWBS: Yeah, absolutely no pot involved. But I saw a guy getting stoned. The kind where you throw them at him.

Senor: Like some sort of vision?

tWBS: I guess? Which terrace is this anyway?

Senor: Oh, it’s the wrath terrace.

tWBS: And why is there a fog coming in?

Senor: That’s the darkest fog I’ve ever seen, unless… that smells like smoke. And not even the Harbin “smoke and -1°.” This is just straight-up smoke.

tWBS: Don’t lie, that was your favorite weather forecast.

Senor: Yeah, because the next day was going to be -12°!

tWBS: Let me guess, the smoke is here to cloud our judgment, like anger does?

Senor: Right you are, Ken! We’d better stay together so we don’t cloud our way.

tWBS: And what is it that they’re singing now?

Senor: I’ve gotta say, out of anything we’ve heard I’d expect that one! Agnus Dei, Lamb of God?

tWBS: I’m sorry, I didn’t go to churches that speak Latin even the few times I did go to church. If you just said it in English I would’ve probably understood!

Senor: Sorry, sorry. Anyway, that’s what they’re singing.

tWBS: Except for that guy.

He points to one guy mouthing the words. Badly.

Senor: Something’s different with him…

tWBS: Hell, he looks… yeah, he’s definitely alive.

It clicks.

Senor: Oh shit, it’s Magary. Yeah, you’re right. He’s not dead.

Drew Magary: Well, I almost died, and that made me think about all the Haters’ Guides that I’ve written. And will continue to write, because have you looked at this shit? (He’s holding a Williams-Sonoma catalog and a draft of the 2020 Guide.) If I see the word “EXCLUSIVE” in all caps for the rest of this year I will bash someone’s skull in with their $299.95 candy-red fondue pot and grind their brains with their $99.95 marble molcajete. We all know it’s a mortar and pestle, but using the Spanish term makes it AUTHENTIC and we can charge more for it, right Jenkins, or Jarvis, or whatever the manservant du jour’s name is?

Senor: Whoa, calm down Drew, I don’t think you can give yourself an aneurysm in Purgatory but I don’t think we want to find out. Deep breaths, deeeeeep breaths.

Magary: Thanks. You see what I mean? I know I’ve got work to do and it’s better to do some of it now. Maybe it knocks off a few years after I do finally kick it and it’s a little less time I have to spend rolling a boulder up a hill and have it roll down the other side—

Senor: That’s Sisyphus.

Magary:—or watch the Vikings give enough hope and waste Dalvin Cook’s upcoming rushing titles because Kirk Cousins is unwashed bum ass and threw another back-breaking pick during a crucial game in the inevitable slog of 8-8 or 7-9 and rip whatever heart I have out left—

Senor: That’s… kind of Prometheus?

Magary:—or deal with the countless mailbag shit. That one’s actually a little better since even the shit might be worth a laugh. LIKE THIS PARODY.

Senor: Yeah, I know, I’m trying not to get sued—wait.

Magary: Just fucking with you. But yeah, it’s the feeling of needing to, and continuing to, work on myself. I know I’ve been and can be a dick, but that’s why I’d like to take care of some of it now. As Uff said, when we were younger we were trying to be edgy to make our place in the world, or the Internet. Well, we made that place, we did that. And sure, we can still tap into the edge, but at the same time, we’re wiser now. We’re more mature. Mostly.

tWBS: Wow. Thanks, Drew.

Magary: You ate the big one, didn’t you my friend? That fucking sucks.

tWBS: Yeah, I know.

Senor: Wait, you actually read that interview?

Magary: Yes. As for you, since you are the younger of this outfit. And the still alive. Don’t entirely lose your edge, there’s still plenty of shit in the sea to have to cut through. But as you make your place in the world, try to make it better.

Senor: I’m working on it. Thanks, Drew.

Magary: Anyway, I legally can’t go any farther. I know you’re on some sort of Dante trip so have fun, don’t worry about all that courtly bullshit, fuck the shit outta Beatrice when you get there and she throws herself on you.

tWBS: Thanks? I think?

Magary: Wait, it’s a reverse Dante? Hmm, well that’s worth something. Well, I’m gonna go nap. I’m not in the sloth terrace so I can still fucking do that! Poor saps.

He departs.

tWBS: I don’t think his anger led to the hemorrhage.

Senor: Neither do I, but good that he’s knocking off a little bit of time here. That’s pretty interesting. I honestly didn’t know you could do that. Any visions?

tWBS: Ugh… yeah… I have no idea who they are though but they’re killing people in anger.

Senor: Well, I guess that tells you the dangers of anger. Like killing people.

tWBS: What are they chanting now?

Senor: I dunno, I was too busy gawking at Big Nose…

tWBS: Why were you looking at yourself?

Senor: It’s “Blessed are the peacemakers,” but I was going to do the “Blessed are the cheesemakers” bit until you ruined it!

tWBS: Well, it would’ve been fine if they’d said “Blessed are the big-noses.”

Senor: You’re the fucking worst, man. Wait, angel, shush.

Angel of Meekness: You two are something else. Even you, Guide. Regardless, (turning to tWBS) as I take this P from thy forehead, pass through unto the next terrace.

tWBS: What is the next terrace, anyway?

Senor: Well, these first three terraces were based on perverted love, and the love of other’s harm. The next terrace is for sins based on deficient love. Or lack of pursuit of that love. And then the final three are based on an excessive love. Still a type of perversion, but as a result it falls short of the greater good.

tWBS: The greater good.

Senor: …Really?

tWBS: Walked right into it. Wait… why can’t I walk?

Senor: Take a look.

Night has fallen on Purgatory.

Senor: I guess we’re spending the night before we face our deficiencies and sloth.

tWBS: So how do these loves, or mistaken loves, end up happening, if there is a God?

Senor: Well, the way it’s theorized is that everything has a “natural love” and a “spiritual love.” By spiritual, it’s of a single spirit—we each have both. The natural love is instinctual, I don’t know if it’s kinda the predecessor to the id. My best friend’s a neuroscientist and if I get too much in the study of psychology he’s going to mock the shit outta me, so I’m more grasping for straws here. But the second is the one that can be moderated, and by moderating it everything’s fine. It’s when it’s out of balance that one of the three categories of the sins they do penance for here. I know, it’s weird that you can get to misdeeds by moving too quickly to an idea of “good.” But it’s the way it’s done. Anywho, as long as love is the source of deeds and misdeeds it can be corrected, and then it’s not as much of a problem as the shit you saw down there. A lot of it’s based on desire, the pursuit of joy, and depending on what triggers that joy and knowing deep down whether it’s actually good or not.

tWBS: Still seems a bit arbitrary.

Senor: I’m probably not doing the best job of explaining it. Now, it’s late and there’s nothing else to do, so I propose we make like Samuel L. Jackson and go the fuck to sleep. Ahhhh, what a view. Welp, g’night.

tWBS: Senor!—how’d he fall asleep so quickly?