Scene: The Underworld Ice Cream Social
In the depths of hell, Satan is hosting his annual Ice Cream Social. Why? Because even the damned need to cool off occasionally. The backyard of Satan’s fiery lair is decked out with picnic tables, checkered cloths, and demonic sundae stations. Zoot is stationed at the gates, welcoming new arrivals with her signature giggling enthusiasm.
Zoot: (smiling sweetly at a sweaty soul clutching a tub of melted gelato) “Welcome to hell! Oooh, I see you brought mint chip! I’ll make sure Satan gets a taste!”
Cut to the backyard: Satan, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and an apron that says “WORLD'S BEST DAD” (as a cosmic joke), is enthusiastically flipping burgers on a grill powered by the screams of the damned. Next to him stands Frank Costanza, now dressed as a reluctant sous chef, begrudgingly flipping demon patties while Estelle shouts at him from a nearby picnic table.
Estelle: (yelling with her mouth full of Neapolitan) “Frank! You’re burning the infernal brioche buns! Satan said they need to be perfectly charred! What is wrong with you?! Do you think I wanted to marry a man who can’t even grill in hell?!”
Frank: (throws his hands up, waving a spatula at her) “I didn’t ask to be Satan’s burger boy, Estelle! I didn’t even ask to be in hell! This is your fault! If you hadn’t insisted on taking that damn Mars cruise—”
Satan: (interrupts cheerfully, handing Frank a platter of burgers topped with blue flames) “Ah, Frank, my man! Look at the sear on these! Perfectly damned. You’re a natural!”
Frank: (grumbling) “Yeah, thanks, your majesty. You want fries with that or just more eternal regret?”
Meanwhile, the Costanza dynamic is drawing attention. Satan’s other guests—Donald the Orangutan (still wearing his dark suit and signature blond tuft), Elon the Muskrat, and Frigidor Dalek (with a chilled beer protruding from his metal casing)—are gathered in a corner, gossiping and watching the chaos unfold.
Donald the Orangutan: (pointing a hairy finger at Frank) “Look at this guy! Total amateur! Sad! If I were on grill duty, those burgers would be golden. Perfect. The best you’ve ever seen. People would line up to eat them!”
Elon the Muskrat: (snickering, sipping from a cocktail glass filled with rocket fuel) “Oh, Donald, your burgers would probably be dipped in spray tan. I’m here for the innovation. Where’s the impossible burger made of dark matter?”
Frigidor Dalek: (calmly rotating his eyestalk, addressing Elon) “Peace, brother. The burgers here transcend your notions of molecular gastronomy. Have a beer.”
Meanwhile, at the other end of the yard, Zoot is attempting to rally the giggling maidens for an impromptu game of dodgeball using flaming meatballs. The giggling grows louder and more chaotic, attracting Estelle’s attention.
Estelle: (storming over to Zoot, pointing aggressively) “Oh, no, no, no! You’re not starting that again. Last time, one of your maidens hit me in the neck with a fireball! I’m still picking ashes out of my hair!”
Zoot: (shrugging innocently, her eyes sparkling mischievously) “It’s hell, darling. You’re supposed to burn! Let’s not make a scene, hmm?”
The scene crescendos as Satan stands atop a picnic table, holding a megaphone.
Satan: “Ladies, gentlemen, and infernal beings! It’s time for the highlight of today’s social: the Sundae Speed Challenge! Whoever creates the most sinful sundae in under two minutes wins a one-way ticket to Heaven!”
A hush falls over the crowd, except for Frank, who leans over to Estelle.
Frank: (mutters) “What’s the catch? No way this guy’s handing out tickets to Heaven for a damn ice cream contest.”
Estelle: (narrowing her eyes, licking her spoon) “Shut up and pass me the whipped cream, Frank. Mama’s about to win herself a get out of hell free card.”
How will the Ice Cream Social end? Will Estelle win the speed challenge? Will Frank find a way to ruin it? And will Zoot convince Satan to add dodgeball to next year’s agenda? Stay tuned for the next scoop!
