Phil dies and is met by the Devil in front of three doors.

The Devil takes him to one side. 'Look, Phil,' he says, 'we're trying something out to cut down on admin down here. We used to assign punishments to the damned that fit their sins, but now we're letting people choose themselves.'

He gestures to the three doors. 'What I can do for you is this: I'll show you what's in these three rooms. You need to then choose. But once you've chosen, you can't change your mind. Deal? Ah, what am I saying, I don't care if you like it or not. OK, Door Number 1!'

He pushes open the door and Phil immediately gags and steps back in disgust. A wave of nausea passes through him as he sees a group of people standing up to their wastes in human waste – not just your regular room of crap either, this is hardcore recovering-from-a-hangover-level stuff. Perhaps even worse was the low-quality stream of Nickelback's back catalogue playing through tinny mobile phone speakers on the ceiling.

'Not for you?' asks the Devil. 'Oh… ok then. How about Door Number 2?'

Phil didn't think there was anything in the collected history of human experience worse than what he had just seen, but he had to recalibrate when he saw the next room. People were standing up to their necks in post-curry turds; any attempt to raise an arm to wipe their sweating foreheads just splashed the poor soul next to them, who them splashed them back. It was awful. And Frankee's FURB was playing at an uncomfortably high volume.

'Yeah, I'm really not sure why people keep on choosing that room,' said the Devil as he closed the door. 'Alright then Phil, one last door to open.'

While still stomach-churning, the room behind Door Number Three was almost pedestrian compared to the last two. Faeces still reached up to the occupants' shins, but they were all stood around drinking coffee – albeit cold – and smoking cigarettes – albeit menthols. The music wasn't half bad either, comparatively speaking. I mean, everyone likes Cher deep down, don't they?

'Door Number 3, I choose Door Number 3!' shouted Phil. 'Please oh please make it Door Number 3.'

'Well OK,' replied the Devil, somewhat surprised. 'I mean, if that's your thing. Come on then, in you go.'

A polite shove and Phil was in the room. No one acknowledged him, they were too busy taking long pulls from their cigarettes and frantically drinking their coffee.

The Cher cut out and was replaced by the Devil's voice. 'OK guys, coffee break's over. Back on your heads, please.'