I’m thinking my special place in Hell might not be so readily available… or special… after all. Instead, I just may find myself dumped in some remote dungeon in a far off corner of that swinging hotbed of afterlife whimsy. I mean, I bet even Satan doesn’t want Grammar Nazis cluttering up the place, even — or perhaps, especially — if they are of the “sarcastic asshole” variety. Can you imagine being annoying enough to piss off the Devil and have him just wash his hands of you? My mother claims that if anyone has that innate ability, it would indeed be me.