Miss Coldiepants

Miss Coldiepants was always shivering.  She couldn't stay warm, and her valet always had to keep the fire going.  "Make me a fire!" she'd say.  "Yes, Mistress!" the valet would answer, and then he'd stoke the fire higher.

One day, Miss Coldiepants was so cold that hell froze over.  Not that she was in hell, but she had told someone to go there.  Old Nick got really mad and thought he'd have to do something about this woman who seemed to have a remote control to his air conditioning plant.  So he got all his closest devils together around their last little fire, and hatched a plan.

"Juan," Old Nick said, "this will be your job.  You go and see this Miss whateverhernameis, and get her off my case."

"But Sir," Juan countered, "I'm just a lowly devil with no claim to fame. What makes you think that I can do anything about a dame whose very name gives her away as being frigid?  She's used to telling people to go to hell, and she'll just send me right back here!"

"You lazy rotten no-good son-of-a-bitch," Old Nick muttered absent-mindedly. "Always trying to get out of your duties.  Alright then, I'll make you a knight of my round asshole.  Call yourself Don Juan and see what you can do with that!"

So Don Juan was duly disguised and dispatched to Anytown, where Miss Coldiepants had her abode.  He knew her house from afar by the thick smoke rising from the chimney.  Now to think of an excuse for entering it.

Conveniently, a chimney sweep rattled by on his bicycle.  Juan made up a Plan B, on the fly so to speak, and did his little demon trick of entering the chimney sweep and taking over his body.  Braking violently, he stopped the bike in front of Miss Coldiepants's house and went to the back door, where servants and craftspeople were supposed to enter.

"Hello," the valet said to Juan.  "Coming early this year, are we?"

"The way you use that fireplace, you'll need the chimney swept twice a year. I can see from the smoke that you're just a hair away from a chimney fire. You'll have to let the fire go out right away so I can clean away all that soot!"

"She's all yours," the valet said, and went on his way.

"That sounds good," Juan thought to himself, and went straight to Miss Coldiepants's room, where the fire was roaring in the open fireplace.  The missus was snuggled up close to the mantelpiece, trying to stay warm.

"Oh no, not again!" she wailed when she saw the chimney sweep.  Juan knew that he had got her off her high horse right then.  He proceeded with plan B2.  Soften her up, get her off her guard, and then try to root out the imperiousness that gave her control over things she didn't even know about.

"This won't take long, Mistress," Juan said.  "First, we'll have to let the fire go out.  It'll get very cold in here: we'll have to wait until the chimney flue cools off so I can get the soot out.  But you don't have to suffer and shiver while we wait.  You're looking at The Don Juan, you know..."

That came across a bit coarsely, he thought.  But hell, (Home sweet home—I wanna go home!) the die was cast and there was no going back now.

"THE Don Juan? You are the guy who melts women's hearts and ravishes them and leaves them begging for more?  The stuff dreams are made of?  Come closer, Don Juan!  What are we waiting for?  You said it wouldn't take long!"

The rest of the scene has been censored.  But to make a long story short, from that day onwards, Miss Coldiepants always had hot pants, and hell thawed out again, and Juan somehow forgot to go home again.  Oh yes, and he forgot to sweep the chimney, too.  So the next time the valet lit the fire, the house burned down, and Miss Hot Pants finally got to see how her beau lived.  And that was the end of that.