Having descended from Circle 3.25 of hell, the tortuous home of the nail pickers and nail biters with their bleeding stumps of fingers, I squinted through the mist to see an even more ghastly scene than the last. Illuminated by hellfire on either side, a long ornate table made of ice stretched before my eyes extending towards the dark pit of Satan. The horrid stench of human flatulence mixed with the cloyingly sweet scent of chocolate and filled my nose. I turned to my Guide, wondering aloud, “What cruel ring of hell is this? How did these poor souls stray in life to deserve such a fate?”
“Listen well and perhaps you will learn,” said He, the most venerable and wise Mr. Wonka, master of all that comes forth from the cacao plant. “Here is Circle Three and One Half. The damned are sent here by Minos for their sinful appetites and failure to obey their natural repulsions. See that one there who sits in agony at the head of the table? Approach him and learn from his sad story and eternal suffering.”
Ever obedient to the great Willy Wonka, I strolled forward. As I drew near, the stench intensified and I almost gagged. The pitiable wails of the damned grew louder and louder. Above this cacophony, the shade in front of me heard my living step and breath, and curious, he turned in his throne of ice.
“What do you want?!” he cried. “Am I not allowed to suffer here in peace?!”
“I come from above,” I replied, “in a desperate journey to free myself of sin. I fear that I too may end up at a table like this, perhaps even this very one. Guided by my Lord, the divine King of Chocolate, I come to learn the origins of evil and set myself on a path of righteousness. I beseech you: What is your name? What is the nature of your punishment? How did you fall so low?”
“My name while I still walked the earth,” he began, “was Unterkoefler. Willy Unterkoefler. Look close and you will see my thighs are entombed in this icy chair. Thus I am stuck in this seat until the end of time. For my eternal torment and punishment, every morning on this table there appears a bowl of the most pure and delicious chocolate ice cream. I sit here and am forced to stare at it and drool. If I so much as glance away, the ice cream begins to melt into nothingness and the infernal pain in my stomach doubles.”
As that soul spoke, I examined the table and saw that all he said was true. The gilded bowl, no smaller than a standard mixing bowl, was full to the brim of heavenly scoops of divine chocolate ice cream. From its perfect aroma, I identified it as Haagen-Dazs. But as Willy Unterkoefler looked at me to tell his tale, the ice cream began to melt and his stomach convulsed and twisted grotesquely. He returned his gaze to the bowl and continued thus:
“And each day at dusk, a spoon appears beside the bowl. For some six hours, the spoon is as hot as the fires of the Sixth Circle. Although it burns to touch, I often grab it anyways. Just as I ignored the consequences of eating dairy in life, I try to ignore them here. I was lactose intolerant, you see, but ate copious amounts of chocolate ice cream without regard. My instincts and my body - through stomach pain and awful gas warned me not to, but so great was my love for my own sinful pleasure that I reasoned against my nature and ate myself right down to the bowels of hell.”
Having said this, Willy began to sob. His speech and weeping had struck close to home - I too eat ice cream despite my lactose intolerance. This would be my hell! I swooned.
When I awoke, Mr. Wonka pulled me to my feet and motioned for me to watch. It was close to midnight, and now Willy Unterkoefler was able to hold his spoon without a flinch. Still weeping, he lowered his spoon to the bowl, reached in, and pulled out with the most beautiful spoonful of the most divine double fudge brownie ice cream. Mr. Wonka saw me start to salivate and gave me a stern look of reprisal. Humbled, I looked on. Willy brought the spoon to his lips and just as he opened his mouth, the ice cream turned to vanilla! Disgusting! The damnèd spirit dropped his spoon piteously.
I looked on in horror, appalled that any god or devil could devise such a cruel and evil punishment. I could not look away. At last, Mr. Wonka urged me along, saying, “Such is the fate of those who resist their nature, or don’t take Lactaid pills.”