Oi, mate! This is the wrong afterlife. You’ve made a mistake. I’ve no clue what to do with the Tupperware. Nothing against the ladies, you understand—they’re very pretty. Nubile even. And the fields are definitely Elysian. But I don’t belong here.
In case of further booking errors, I’m also not Christian. So no harps and heavenly choirs, okay?
I couldn’t have been clearer. Feasting, carousing, a little banging of fists on trestles, a spot of wrestling. The reservation was for Valhalla. Valkyries, not nymphs. No substitutions acceptable.
This isn’t hell, is it?