During a particularly demanding meeting, Bean C. Ounter, A&R executive at ??? Records, dies from a heart attack and approaches the pearly gates. St. Peter, sitting on a cloud behind his divine reception desk, goes through Bean's account of achievements and activities, does a short calculation on his divine adding machine and offers: "It's totally evened out - you did a lot of stupid things and lots of good stuff, so it's up to you: stay with us or go to hell. You may choose now!"
Ounter, while looking up from texting on his smartphone, answers casually: "Hmm, dunno - I've been working in the music biz all my life, have you got any samples, brochures or the like?"
"Sure, watch this!" says St. Peter, illuminating some sort of 3D display in front of his desk.
Heaven: Peace, harmony, angelic voices chanting prayers and hymns, accompanied by harps, flutes and heavenly violins. Ounter sees himself sitting on a fluffy cloud, blissfully singing along. He watches for a minute and then goes "Ya, ya, yes,... um, ... interesting - can I see the hell-tape, please?"
"Sure, here you go."
Hell: (soft fade-in from white screen) A sleek '69 Ferrari Dino curving down a small road, winding along a beautiful coastline (north of Marine county?), smooth soundtrack (no alto saxophone), Ounter recognizes himself at the wheel, the other seats occupied by three stunningly beautiful girls. (cut) The three beauties and Ounter in a spa, the redhead feeds him grapes, the brunette lets him sip from a glass of champagne, the blonde goes down on him (soundtrack now w/ saxophone).
Mr. Ounter gives St. Peter a compassionate smile and states with an ironic undertone "I'd rather go to hell then..."
"Thank you!" answers St. Peter with a cold, professional smile and moves a lever under his front desk.
Bean C. Ounter falls into abyss, tumbling, flailing his arms and legs, finally slumping into an endless ocean of stinky, boiling shit. On a rock, behind him, stands the devil and takes a piss on his head...
"Hi Bean, how ya doin' - nice demo, eh?"