(no subject)
A warm welcome to the newcomers who have arrived without any clear idea of why they are here. You've been placed in this moldering pit of forced morality for the single purpose of making you nice people and productive members of society - though it is highly debatable whether you will actually re-enter society when your time here has ended. You're all dead, you see, and being dead does lead to awkward questions from the tax collector should you choose to resume your previous life.
Similarly, should you rehabilitate (that, my friends, is your vocabulary word for this particular eternity), your bottom-feeding, gutter-bound mates at home will question your new-found, moral outlook on life, your family will wonder what angle you're playing at and when the other shoe will drop, and you will find yourself in need of new acquaintances who don't question every word that comes out of your newly rehabilitated mouths.
You might return as wardens and force the same indignities you experienced upon others for a fine reward, but of course there is absolutely no guarantee your inmate won't simply disappear after two or three months of work, leaving you to start right from the beginning again.
Bleak, isn't it? Let me assure you, the alternative is to spend eternity here aboard the good ship Misery, being murdered horribly again and again, or dumped into ports where our Grand High Sociopath (I encourage you to guess which one he is) has named himself Caesar or King, or forced into strange and humiliating situations that will leave you wondering whether you ought to inoculate yourself against syphilis or SARS.
Of course, you could throw yourself overboard. However, as several of our own dear inmates could attest, that doesn't necessarily guarantee oblivion. The Admiral is a tenacious one.
To the new wardens who have arrived: I hope you got your deals in writing.
Similarly, should you rehabilitate (that, my friends, is your vocabulary word for this particular eternity), your bottom-feeding, gutter-bound mates at home will question your new-found, moral outlook on life, your family will wonder what angle you're playing at and when the other shoe will drop, and you will find yourself in need of new acquaintances who don't question every word that comes out of your newly rehabilitated mouths.
You might return as wardens and force the same indignities you experienced upon others for a fine reward, but of course there is absolutely no guarantee your inmate won't simply disappear after two or three months of work, leaving you to start right from the beginning again.
Bleak, isn't it? Let me assure you, the alternative is to spend eternity here aboard the good ship Misery, being murdered horribly again and again, or dumped into ports where our Grand High Sociopath (I encourage you to guess which one he is) has named himself Caesar or King, or forced into strange and humiliating situations that will leave you wondering whether you ought to inoculate yourself against syphilis or SARS.
Of course, you could throw yourself overboard. However, as several of our own dear inmates could attest, that doesn't necessarily guarantee oblivion. The Admiral is a tenacious one.
To the new wardens who have arrived: I hope you got your deals in writing.