Your clothes are your life, you live or die by the state of your hair. such sliminess and scumminess upon your person totally goes against your self image and you will brave the hoards of Hell to be clean again.
Afterall good looks means popularity, and popularity is everything!
Braving the hoards of hell is just what your doing now. when you enter the hut, the small, red skinned demon clucks sympathetically at the state of your usually immaculate appearence and leads you obediently to a cubical.
your a litle disturbed by all the steam, screaming, and rather obnoxiously loud playing of choral music, but not one to be racist you put it down to cultural differences and decide to accept the drying.
Unfortunately, one cultural difference betwene the residents of Hell and humans you didn't really bargain for is the demon's asbestos skin.
this means, what is a pleasant, gental heat to a demon, sufficient to dry the most stubborn slime from a usually glossy set of horns, is a heat something in the region of 800 degrees Centigrade.
You don't however have long to contemplate your mistake though, sinse the instant you step into the cubical a jet of incandescently glowing gas spurts out of the nozzle of the drier and engulfs you.
The good news is, all the slime and water is deffinately gone.
The bad news is, other than a small carbonized crust on the flaw of the demonic drying cubical, one which will actually give the demon cleaner some quite considderable trouble to scrape off when the drying hut closes for business, ---- so are you.
In short, you are deffinately and absolutely dead, so it's time to
The horrible dungeons of dreadful doom.
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