Aleister Crowley was in Hell, checking out the new arrivals looking for a friend, when he spotted Hugo Chavez. "Hey, cochinado, would you like to go to the park and play catch"?
It was very hot and uncomfortable where Hugo was, so he said yes. He was surprised that there would be a park in Hell, and that they could play catch, but baseball would be something to try, "under any conditions", he thought with a grimace, a grunt, and a grin.
Crowley was a joker, and he asked, "which player holds water", because he knew Chavez was so thirsty he could cry.
"I don't know. Which one?" answered Hugo.
"The pitcher", said Crowley, as he slapped him on the back with a hand as hot as burning coals. "Ouch" said Chavez.
"Hey, mariconada, is George Steinbrenner here", asked Chavez. "I don't know", answered Crowley. "I don't know if the Sickening Lord Master was able to obtain a conviction sufficient for this bolgia. You know what they say about a rich man, but if he could afford the attorneys, maybe he scooted into the bottom of Purgatory. Apparently he's not at our level. We're pretty low."
"Wow" said Chavez. "That's low".
"Indeed it is. A funny hopper ... and dropped ... many times. A man like Graig Nettles, who also drinks, leaves home, makes a left turn, makes another left turn, then another left turn and goes home again. When he gets home, there are two men waiting for him. Who are they?"
"Look out. I don't know nothing about that. I haven't a clue. Demons?" answered Chavez.
"No, my little cochinado preferido, the catcher and the umpire".
"Ooooooo eeeeeee, it's hot down here at the park", suddenly exclaimed Chavez.
"It looks like a field of garbage, and it smells like so much sulfur and rotten eggs.
Except for the stupid jokes, this could be the wrong place".