A dapper traveling salesman appeared at our headquarters not too long ago, demonstrating—or should we say DEMONstrating?—the Dirt Devil Vac ‘n’ Mop. His manner was polished, his pitch persuasive, but did we detect a whiff of brimstone about him?

“Your vacuum and mop were created as separate housekeeping implements,” he said, “and separate they might have remained, but for the powers of the Dirt Devil, Prince of Domestic Darkness! Banish thy broom and thy dustpan! Cast out thy mop and thy sud-bucket! And prostrate yourself, mortal, before the unholy cleaning power of the Dirt Devil Vac ‘n’ Mop! Its absorbent pad of pure evil damns dustbunnies to an eternal hereafter, where they shall know a suffering beyond your earthly ken!”

Just then, a priest appeared in our doorway, sweating and panting, his vestments disheveled.

“Wait!” the cleric cried. “The Vac ‘n’ Mop is a perversion of nature! This infernal hybrid, with its labor-saving, easy-empty dirt cup merely serves to tempt your susceptibility to sloth, a capital vice!”

“But isn’t cleanliness said to be adjacent to godliness?” asked the handsome salesman—and we could tell it was too late; we were sold. We made our deal with the Dirt Devil, and our floors are so clean, we don’t regret it. After all, Vac ‘n’ Mop goes from sweeping to mopping without stopping—and it’s from the deepest bowels of Hades, so you know it cleans like Hell.

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