As I sat in International Boredom 423 the other day watching the Willard preacher yelling at fellow fornicators, I felt myself dozing. When I awoke, I was greeted by a rather sinister-looking fellow wearing a dark blue business suit.

I thought the CIA was recruiting on campus until I noticed I was no longer sitting in the classroom.

"Hello, my name is Ignatius. You've won a promotional tour through Hell. I'm your personal guide," he said.

"But I don't remember entering any contest," I replied.

Ignatius grinned and said,"You should pay more attention to what stickers you affix to your Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes entry."

The mist that engulfed us dissipated to reveal a basket-shaped tram like those used in amusement parks. A voice bellowed over the loudspeaker: "Please extend arms, legs and any other appendages outside the tram whenever possible."

As we descended through a dark tunnel, I questioned my guide, "Uh, Iggy? I thought these visions only came to great literary figures and famous people."

"Well, to be honest with you," he replied, "We're having some financial trouble. Hell has become vastly underpopulated because of all the wholesomeness brought on by the Reagan era. With this 'kinder and gentler nation' we just might go under. These tours are part of our new 'openness' policy to recruit . . . er, I mean raise funds."

quot;How bad is it?"

Iggy grimaced and said, "The Japanese are seriously threatening to buy out large portions of our real estate and Satan is involved in a nasty power struggle with newcomer Nicolai Ceausescu.

"But don't get me wrong. Hell is more than just a nice place to visit. The weather here is usually nice and tropical, even though we have experienced a few cold spells recently with the events in Eastern Europe and Mike Tyson's loss."

After emerging from the tunnel, we could see Hell rising before us. It was like any other sprawling metropolis, only with a lot more neon.

As we drove around the nearly vacant streets, Iggy pointed out Hell's many attractions.

"That's part of Satan's Recording Studios," he said, pointing to a huge complex of ornate buildings. "It's still our most profitable enterprise."

"Iggy, I don't mean to sound disappointed, but where are all the sinners being tormented by hornets or immersed in excrement and boiling blood?"

Ignatius laughed and said, "There's been a lot of vicious rumors spread about Hell.

"The torments here aren't really all that bad. For example, those who are damned because of vanity can only wear clothes picked out by their mothers. Probably the worst agony you have to endure is that there are no alarm clocks equipped with 'snoozes.' "

"But where are all the great sinners like the traitor Judas Iscariot?" I asked.

"Another misconception," he replied. "Most people here are damned for little things. For instance, many are condemned for not replacing a roll of toilet paper after they have used it up. Don't worry though. We still have our celebrities. You'll get a chance to see them shortly."

We turned onto a main street where a carnival was in progress. The sidewalks were clogged with vendors selling "Free Noriega" t-shirts and clip-on horns.

The crowd parted as a parade proceeded down the street. The parade consisted of floats featuring various notables and their own personal torments. My favorite was the Ayatollah Khomeini being crushed between the pages of a huge book.

Much to my surprise I saw Dan Quayle riding in the back of a convertible and waving to the crowd. At the risk of being redundant I asked in amazement, "What in the hell is he doing here?"

"He's got a lot of connections in Hell. You don't think he could have gotten where he is on his own, do you?" Iggy replied.

"No, but I thought it was divine intervention."

"God doesn't have that much of a sense of humor. We're responsible for the success of a lot of people who would be miserable failures without our help. You know, like Milli Vanilli. Practically the whole yuppie population owes its prosperity to us.

"All they have to do is sign on the dotted line and they can have anything they want."

Perceiving this as the beginning of a sales pitch, I decided it was time to leave. "Well Ig, I think I should be getting back to class," I declared.

We got off the Hell-Tram and Iggy said, "Wait here and a bus will be by to take you back."

He slipped me his business card with a 1-666 number on it and said, "I hope you enjoyed your tour. Don't forget to tell your friends about it. If you ever feel like coming back, just give me a ring." And with a demonic laugh, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

As I rode the bus back, thinking about my tour and how I had better shape up, I noticed graffiti on the side of a building. It said "Josh is coming."