"...assign you to Antarctica, maybe you'll have better luck tempting souls of penwings."
"Innit 'penGuin?'' Eric asked. Hell became deadly silent. The silence so quiet you can hear Earth moving through space. It was then that Eric realized... He wasn't in a copy... He didn't have time to spawn before this meeting. No one in the room looked at him, not even Beelzebub's flies. Well... He'd gone 5,500 years not discorporating his body. His luck was bound to run out eventually. He managed to let out one final expletive before a massive red fist sent him into Earth's crust.