Hell's Kitchen is known as a horribly brutal place in New York. It's also a literal spot in the afterworld. In Hell's Kitchen, the Don, the Godfather, was making spaghetti, his favorite meal. Since dying, and staying dead, he had found that he was a terrific cook. Since even the Don had a lesser amount of power than Satan did, he accepted his destiny. He would cook spaghetti everyday to be served at the House, featuring Paul Revere and the Raiders as the House band. Everyday it would leave Hell's Kitchen as perfection in all its glory. By some means, a demon breathing on it, it would arrive at the House as a burned mess.

"Wot is this shit?", John Lennon would ask.

"Smells like my autopsy room", James Dean would say.

"Smells like my, uh, ‘significant others’ ass", Rock Hudson would say.

"Eh what?, Rock. Oh, I did say ‘shit’. Uh, well, I’m going to bloody well dig on in", Lennon would reply.

Don heard all about this, of course. He was still the Don and Satan wanted him to hear about it. It made the Don livid He told his kitchen helpers, “I want those three to be made quiet”.

His helpers understood what he said clearly. Since removing the cotton from his mouth, the Don was speaking very clearly. Not very brightly, just very clearly.

“Uh, Donnie, that might be a little damn tricky, being as they’re already dead”, one of his helpers, Jeffrey Dahmer, told him.

“Eh, paisano, I don’t plan, I order. It's about respect and honor. Don‘t got that, don‘t gotta nothing”, the Don yelled at him. Dahmer didn’t like being yelled at. He thought that the next spaghetti might have some out of the ordinary ingredients in it. Perhaps some very different, unique meatballs. Maybe two special meatballs. Dahmer would have a slice of liver and maybe some barbequed ribs. He'd give the heart to Manson to keep him happy.

Yea, Don’s other kitchen helper was only part-timer named Charles Manson, who was in and out of Hell, depending on his mood. He giggled a lot, which drove the Don nuts, since the Don never laughed. The giggling drove Dahmer even nuttier than he was, which took some doing. This talent Manson had was a natural part of him. His guards, armed to the teeth, all wanted Manson to take a final trip to Hell but were too afraid of him to fake a prison break so they could kill him. Manson didn’t know what his capability was; only that he had it. Even the demons kept their distance from him when he’d come down. Only the Big Palooka, Satan, would even come near him and then none too closely. Manson tried his stare on Satan the first trip down and Satan just out-giggled him. Satan gave Manson the creeps. Manson gave Satan the willies but Satan couldn't admit it or Manson would be the Devil when he died.

When the Don first arrived in Hell, Satan himself met him at the Gates of Hell. The Don, for all his worldliness, didn’t have a clue about this world. He thought of himself as the God of his world. Maybe he was but this wasn’t his world, it was Satan’s. Satan looked the Don over and started laughing. This stunned the Don. No one laughed at him; no one showed him disrespect. Yet, he didn’t seem to be able to think of any way to do anything about it. What a strange feeling.

“Welcome to Hell! You’re going to meet up with a lot of old friends and a lot of old enemies. Better watch your ass, old man. No one here is going to watch it for you. I’m making you the Chef in Hell’s Kitchen. Then, I’m going to ruin everything you make. Your reputation is going to Hell in a hand-basket. A little joke I like to tell. Laugh, you little shit!!”

The Don found himself laughing. He had never laughed in his entire life. He found that he feared this Satan, another feeling he had never had. He didn't think he was going to like Hell. Satan then told him, “Oh, and yank those cotton balls out of your mouth or I’ll have them ripped out through your ass which you better watch down here”.

The first time the Don went to the House he went to the front table, naturally. After all, he was Don , a "Man of Respect". He should sit with the common people? The houseband, Paul Revere and the Raiders, featuring Mark Lindsey, was singing some whiny song as an Indian about how the white man stole everything off them. There were three people seated at the table. He waited for one of them to pull his chair out, out of respect. The one on his left was a tall, gaunt man. He looked like poseccitti that had been left out in the hot sun for a couple of weeks. The one in the middle looked okay although he looked at the Don with a smirk and a look of amusement in his eyes. In the world, that alone would have gotten him hit. The third guy was a monster. He had no face. The eyes were just holes and so was the nose. It was like someone had skinned his face. The Don waited for one of them to pull out his chair and the other two to stand as a sign of respect. He didn't know how long he stood there since Hell was an eternity and time didn't exist. It couldn't have been too long since the band was still whining about the Indians. He didn't know that when Paul Revere and the Raiders featured Mark Lindsey, "Indian Reservation" was all they played. Hell, if it bothered them so much why didn't they go on the warpath or whatever damn thing it was they did? Didn't the Don, and his fellow Sicilians, steal it off the white eyes?

The Don was beginning to get impatient when the gaunt man said, "Hey, sweetbuns, pull up a chair and have a seat. You can sit next to me". The smirking guy smirked even more. That pissed the Don off even more. Was he being made the butt of a joke? He soon learned not to say butt around the gaunt man, Rock Hudson. The guy with the smirk was John Lennon. He was amused by everything. He wouldn't have been amused if he'd known that Yoko Ono was also going to be in Hell as the second act with her screeching. The third guy, Mr. No-face, was James Dean. Dean lost his face when he flew through the windshield of his car. He couldn't see anything and couldn't smell too much but he could still talk. Disrespectfully.

"Sit your ass down but watch Rock's hands, if you know what I mean, man", Dean told the Don.

"James, this is Hell, okay? Maybe he's not supposed to care where I put my hands. Ever think of that?"

"Yea, Rock, this is Hell. Ever think that you ain't supposed to get any ass. Maybe you ain‘t gong to ever get what you want?", Dean replied.

"Oh. I don't know. I got me away from that bitch. Got wot I wanted", Lennon responded.

"Well, so, you got a name?", Rock asked the Don.

What? This asshole doesn't know who I am?, the Don thought. Well, maybe not. He wasn't one of us, he was one of them.

"I'm the Don , a "Man of Respect". I'm a simple man with simple needs but I have great influence if you know what I mean", the Don replied.

"Yea, man, whatever. You're in Hell, though. Here comes the food", Dean said.

The Don was filling with pride. It was his spaghetti. He'd find a way to casually mention that it was his unbeatable recipe. He to it with pride but also with modesty.

His heart almost stopped! This was a burned mess. How could that be? Spaghetti didn't burn. It was like Twinkies. How could it?

Rock looked at his plate. He said, "This is what my shit looked like towards the end. Maybe that what this is".

"It looks like Yoko's cooking. It looks a little like what came up when she got sick on saki", Lennon remarked.

"Well, I can't see it and I can't but barely smell it. It smells a little like the autopsy room. Well, what the Hell, it's all we're gonna get so let's dig in", Dean said.

The Don took one bite and tossed it back up. The other three glanced at him. Lennon spoke for them when he said, “It’s alright, bloke. You can scrape it up and toss it in the next pot”.

"Hey, gumbino, whata happened to dat guy’s face?", the Don asked.

"Wot face?", Lennon asked.

"Okay, Lennon, it's getting a little old. I lost it in the accident that put me here if you need to know, you old prick", Dean replied.

"Sweet Mary, even we never thoughta that one. I like it", the Don told Dean.

"That's nice, Mr. Chef".

"Thank you", the Don said.

"I was smartin' off, you old prick", Dean told him.

"Ah, I see. In the other life you wouldn't have dared to say that to me", the Don replied.

"Like Hell I wouldn't have".

"E's daft. E'd a done it", Lennon said.

"He'd have been a dead man", the Don responded. He didn't like the way this was going. Death was Hell.

"I am a dead man, you goofy, old coot!", Dean yelled.

The Don got up and left with as much dignity as he could. He was thinking, what the Hell kind of world was this when a faceless man could get away with disrespecting a Don? At least he ruled the kitchen, for all that meant. He decided to go there and see if that tattooed guy was gone. The Don didn't know fear but this guy was teaching him the meaning. The cannibal would probably still be there though. Who knows what he ate?

When the Don got back to his kitchen, that's how he thought of it, he found the cannibal eating meat. The Don was curious but not that curious. He saw that the tattooed guy was gone. That was a relief.

"Hey! Where'd the other guy go?", the Don asked Dahmer.

"Back", Dahmer replied.

"Back? Back where?"

"To his cell, I guess. No place else he can go".

"He went back to his cell? How can he do that? I can't go back to my house and my respect".

"Look, man, I don't give a rat's ass about your respect. Okay? All I know is Manson comes and goes."

"How?"

"How? How the Hell would I know. He just does."

"I would like to go back too. So how come he can and I can't?", The Don asked.

"You want to go back? You're dead. If you go back, you go back to a box buried in the ground. Man, that's creepy", Dahmer shuddered.

"Then how come the freak gets to go back to his cell?"

"Because he ain't dead! God wants him in Hell and he'll put him here when he dies but he won't strike him dead or whatever it is he does. Manson just laughs and stays alive. God must figure if the government won't kill him and Manson won't kill himself off, then he ain't going to do it either. On the other hand, since God wants Manson in Hell, why would he stop him from coming here?"

"Why does he allow him to go back?"

"I already told you. Manson ain't dead. There is no time in infinity, man. Manson comes and goes back and no one back there knows it. Pretty cool, huh?"

"I want to go back to my house and my respect", the Don said again.

"Tell you what you do. Take it up with Satan. Thing of it is, Satan doesn't have any respect for you. He doesn't have respect for God, so who the Hell are you? He doesn't respect himself even. You go whining to him and you might end up on latrine duty, wiping asses with your bare hands."

The Don entered his kitchen. That's how he thought of it. His. At least here, he was in charge. He saw that the tattooed, crazy man wasn't there and, for once, the other crazy guy wasn't there either. The Don let out a sigh but shouldn't have. Moments later, Dahmer came running, all happy and excited.

"Hey, Don, guess who coming to the House tonight for one of your spaghetti dinners? Guess."

"Who?"

"Nope. Guess again."

"I was asking who. I'm not playing a guessing game with you", the Don said. The Don didn't like the things that came out of this guy's mouth. For that matter, he didn't like what went into his mouth either. This guy was plain disgusting.

"Okay, I'll tell you. Satan himself, that's who. I mean, wow! That's quite an honor... sort of", Dahmer told the Don.

"Honor. Finally, I get respect."

"Respect? Hell no! Satan doesn't respect anybody. He doesn't even respect himself. If I was you, I'd dump that respect shit and play it as cool as you can. Don't be throwin' one a them Italian hissy fits. Not with Satan.".

"Still, he is a person of 'influence', as I was", the Don said.

"Influence? What the Hell are you talking about, 'influence.' He has power, that's what he has. Raw, overwhelming, damn near unchecked power. Influence, my ass. Man, you must a watched way too many Mafia movies. Satan's going to eat your spaghetti. Sorry, man, I really am. That stuff ain't for shit, know what I mean? Really sorry", Dahmer lied.

Satan appeared at the House, an unusual occurrence. Satan was a busy spirit, screaming at his demons to increase their quotas and arguing with that Other One about who was winning. That Satan was going to lose in the end didn’t matter. It was the game that counted. Satan was way ahead on numbers. Of course, the odds were all in his favor, humans being what they were. Satan still thought He should have made them pets and been done with it. Now he was hearing rumors of some especially bad slop on the menu at the House and decided to check it out personally.

His sudden appearance unnerved everyone, including the demons. Demons they were but they were still deathly afraid of the Devil. The Lost Souls were petrified of him. Never knew when he might send them to a worse part of Hell. Satan wasn’t sitting in the no-smoking section. He was always smoking himself all over. Also, there wasn’t a no-smoking section. It bothered some of the Lost Souls but that was the point.

He was served a huge plate of spaghetti. It looked wonderful and smelled wonderful. He took a taste and the taste was miraculous. That was a word only he was allowed to say or even think. He took a bite and smiled what passed for a smile with him. Everyone started to relax. They looked at their plates at good spaghetti. They all took a bit and it was wonderful. A sense of joy ran through the place.

Satan sat still for a second then let out a scream heard clear to the Pearly Gates, where St. Peter smiled. Always good to hear Satan screaming. Made his day. Satan roared up from his table throwing fear around like confetti at a parade. The demons wanted to leave but too afraid to. Lennon and one of the demons were trying to hide behind one another, with Lennon almost wishing he was back with Yoko. James Dean couldn't see, popping his eyeball out when he popped his windshield out with his face, but he could smell. Man, Satan smelled like- like death warmed over. Rock Hudson suddenly got a tight asshole. He hadn’t had that since he was ten.

In front of him appeared the Don, in his apron and a spatula in one hand and a glass of bad French wine in the other. The Don was bewildered at how he was standing in front of his stove and now was at the House. He looked at Satan and Satan looked at him.

“You! You made this spaghetti?”, Satan asked.

“Yes-”, the Don began to say.

“I know that, you asshole! I know everything down here! This is the best food I’ve eaten here since I don’t know when.”

The Don, despite himself, got all puffed up at this. Finally, some respect and honor. Finally-

He sent the Don to a lower level of Hell. He was going to Level 3 as the sausage cleaner. He would be cleaning the intestines by sucking them dry. The Dom, his dignity ruffled, asked why.