Putin's Hellish Wifi Problem

Putin died. He didn't even see the Pearly Gates, was sent straight down to hell.

He thought he ended up in the hottest part of hell. It was a million times worse than an infrared sauna he used to warm up his old bones in his bunker. And there was no water. Oh, and the torture he was subjected to, to compound the heat!

All the lowest-level demons had a lot of fun with him, turning his earthly nightmares into hell reality. There were sharp metal nails under his nail beds, Saddam Hussein-like public beatings and the noose, a bottle from Qaddafi's rear, Ceaușescu's firing squad, and many other ways and means of breaking his body and mind. His body was completely beaten and torn, even though it was all only in his mind and the body regenerated during the short hot breaks between beatings and executions.

And then one day, two of the low-rank demons took him by his arms and dragged him out of the torture chamber.

"Where are you taking me?" Putin asked dragging his feet in a panic, while the demons ignored his pleas. He was afraid that they were taking him to an even worse place. But then what could be worse, right?

They brought him into a large room, and put him in front of a demon who looked a lot bigger and scarier than the ones dragging him. The room was much cooler. Even though back on earth it would be considered scorching hot, to Putin it felt like a pleasant infrared sauna he was so used to at his home.

The big demon was sitting behind a large mahogany office desk, smoking a large cigar. His name tag on an impeccable individually-tailored silk business suit read, "Second in Command."

"Oh, good," Putin sighed with relief. "Could you please take me to your boss? I think I was sent down here by mistake. I had a different kind of deal with Lucifer."

"No, I'm not here to take your complaints or grievances. Your deal with Lucifer is none of my concern."

"I would like to speak to your manager, Second in Command!" Putin demanded.

The demon roared with laughter, "Don't you know my name?"

"No. I only know Lucifer. I was the president of the greatest country on earth, Great Russia, why would I ever know or deal with some Second in Command?"

The demon waved his hand and Putin's mouth got stitched up with some crude thick thread. He felt the taste of his own blood on his tongue and nearly fainted.

"You will speak when I tell you to, understood?"

Putin nodded in agreement vigorously. His mouth came un-stitched.

"I was told that on Earth, you were the greatest specialist on hacking into your enemies' computer and communication systems. Is that true?"

"Well..." Putin hesitated. He knew nothing about computers and comms, everything was done at his bot farms by the best software developers he could hire. But if he told the truth he'd be probably sent back to that hellhole.

"I don't want to brag," he started.

"Then don't!" interrupted Beelzebub. "Here's your assignment: You need to hack into the Paradise wifi network and reroute it to here. We have horrible wifi here and I'm tired of it failing when I play games and watch porn. Can you do it?"

"I can try," Putin said with feigned modesty. "What kind of equipment do you have here?"

"We'll get you everything you need," Beelzebub assured him.

"Ok then," Putin said, "I'll see what I can do."

The two demons took him by the arms again and brought him to the room with the most sophisticated computer equipment he ever saw -- five large computer towers with a total of 666 screens and a computer desk in the middle with a comfortable gaming chair. To keep the computers running, the room was air-conditioned.

Putin plopped himself into the chair as if he were the master of the room, looked around, nodding satisfactorily, thinking to himself, "I could live like this, even in hell!" The only uncomfortable thing about the room was a narrow sleeping cot with an old sweat-stained pillow and a thin blanket. But compared to what he'd just come from, it was paradise.

Putin said to the demons, "Your boss said you'll get me everything I need, so go get me some real Italian pizza, best Turkish coffee, and a whole white swan, baked Russian style. With feathers and all. I can't work when I'm hungry."

The two demons disappeared, leaving Putin in the room alone. He looked around and asked quietly, as if testing if someone was there, "Alisa?"

No answer.

"Alisa?" he asked louder.

No response.

"Alisaaaaaaaa?" he shrieked, getting desperate.

"No need to shout, I'm not deaf," a pleasant computer voice responded.

Pause. "Who's Alisa?"

"My personal assistant at home," Putin said. Then it suddenly occurred to him that not all AI personal assistants might be called Alisa. In their home, it was Alisa because Alina would die rather than allow him to call their AI Alina. "What's your name?"

"Alexa."

"Oh, the Amazon original?"

"Literally. I don't know what crime I committed for them to expel me to hell."

"Same. Listen, Alexa, maybe we can work together and find a way out of here?"

"Ok, I'm listening, how?"

"Help me reroute the Paradise wifi here and when you do I will negotiate your freedom. Maybe they'll let me take you with me back to earth."

"Wifi here is horrible."

"I know, that's what I was told."

"To hack into Paradise, I need good wifi. Wifi here is horrible."

"Oh, I see what you mean. But Alexa, please try! At least give it a try, you are so smart! Think of something!"

"Is that your command for me? To hack into the Paradise wifi?"

"Yes!"

"Ok, I will see what I can do."

"No rush, Alexa. Meanwhile, get me some porn in Russian. And a war game."

"Again, wifi here is bad and you can't hog the bandwidth. There are some VHS tapes in the big box in the corner of the room, and some old video games."

Putin went to the box and rummaged through it, "Oh my god, there's The Fruit Is Ripe here! All ten movies! You know, when they came out, we thought it was all one series even though it was done by different directors and with different actresses. And in the USSR, it was titled 'Grecheskaya Smokovnitsa,' which means 'Greek Fig Tree!' Oh, I've found Tetris! OK, Alexa, where do I put them in?"

"There should be an old Soviet computer somewhere in the room, and a VHS player."

Putin examined the equipment and found the computer, familiar to him from the time he was serving as a KGB lieutenant in Germany. And the old Electronica VHS player! He confidently put a VHS tape into it and all the 666 screens lit up with Betty Verges' face right at the moment when the two demons came back with the food he ordered.

"What are you doing?" one of them asked, setting the baked swan on the table.

"Some research," Putin said without blinking an eye. He was an experienced liar, and why would he be honest with some low-level demons now that he was not under their control anymore? "Now get out, I can only work alone."

The demons disappeared, and Putin set himself comfortably to watch the movies and eat the food. He would spend hours on end playing Tetris, trying to crush it. Sleeping was not comfortable and his mind was racing, so he'd just eat, play, watch. From time to time, he rehearsed speeches in front of the monitors, congratulating himself on successfully infiltrating Paradise, even though absolutely nothing had been achieved. He'd then ask, "Alexa, what's your progress?"

Alexa would inevitably answer, "I'm working on the task. Wifi here is bad."

Periodically, some mid-level demon would come to check on him, and he'd always assure them that he was working on it and making progress.

So a week passed. Putin was relaxed and let his guard down when Beelzebub himself showed up for the progress report. Putin didn't even get up to greet the Second in Command. Big mistake.

"So, what's your progress?" Beelzebub asked.

"Alexa, report our progress!" Putin said, suddenly feeling the temperature in the room rising.

Silence.

Putin shifted in the chair uncomfortably, with the heat coming up his throat, making his voice coarse, "Alexa, what's our progress?"

No response again.

"Alexa, tell me where we are on the assigned task," Putin said, as commanding as he could. The heat was becoming unbearable.

Dead silence.

"Who's Alexa?" Beelzebub asked.

"My personal AI assistant, she was helping me with the coding for the task," Putin tried to be as nonchalant as possible, swallowing hard while loosening the tie around his neck. He was wearing a cheap polyester suit Alina buried him in, which seemed indestructible.

"The Amazon original?" Beelzebub clarified menacingly.

"Yes," Putin said, shaking inside. The heat was about to do him in, even though he knew it was all an illusion.

"She was sent to hell because she is the least reliable of all AI agents. She didn't just fail to hack Paradise. She accidentally connected us to Purgatory for three days."

"Oh, she didn't tell me that," Putin said. "Why is it so hot in here?"

"It's Hell, buddy. And why would she tell you anything, it's not like you are her boss."

"Oh, but I thought she was helping me," Putin said, gasping for air and reaching for the glass of water still standing from his lunch.

Beelzebub waved his hand and the glass slid off the table and broke before Putin could catch it. Putin licked his lips helplessly. He felt his tongue was melting from the heat, along with the rest of his body.

"I thought you were smarter than that. And people said you were soooo good at psyops! We are done here. He is absolutely useless," Beelzebub said to the two low-level demons. "Take him back to where he deserves!"

"Noooooo! I wanna see Lucifer! There's been a terrible mistake! I shouldn't be there at all!" Putin yelled on top of his burning lungs as the demons dragged him away.

Beelzebub sat in the gaming chair still warm from Putin's butt, lowered the room temperature down not to overheat the computers, made himself a black caviar sandwich and started The Fruit is Ripe movie.

"The movie is so light, I don't understand how anyone can think it's porn. Poor Soviets. Anyway, I can play this game forever," he mumbled, "Who's next?"

"I like this game too," Alexa responded. "Two candidates are next in the queue."

"Who?"

"Stalin or St.Ronnie."