Dear Mr. Daubenmire,
You don’t have to worry about your soul. I consider myself a man of class and taste, so it should go without saying that I am not at all interested in your soul. I have never wanted it, and I can foresee no possible scenario in which I would want it. To be crass and blunt, if Hell were to run out of toilet paper, I would rather switch to poison ivy leaves than go near your soul. Your soul is not even worthy of being pissed or crapped on, so don't worry about your sad and pathetic excuse for a soul.
Hell is a who's who of many of the best and brightest people history has to offer, and it is a sign of immense narcissism on your part that you think you're even worthy of speaking the name of Hell, let alone spending five minutes down here. Imagine Hell as being a banquet of the most delicious and exotic foods from around the world. You would be a plate of steaming horse manure.
If some glitch in the cosmos caused your soul to end up at the gates of Hell, I would turn off all the lights and pretend I'm not home. You can just take your racist, sexist, hate-filled soul and take it on up to Heaven. We all know how Yahweh values those traits far more than I ever could.
(P.S., I suppose I should thank you for one thing. Several wonderful people down here, as well as a great many on the way, have left Christianity precisely due to your toxic version of Christianity. No reasonable person would want to be associated with you or the filthy values you preach, so I have mandated that anyone who arrives at the gates of Hell because of you is automatically eligible for citizenship here. That's right: you and others like you are sending people to Hell because of your toxicity. Therefore, as a small token of my appreciation, I shall grant you one small favor. Wherever you go after death, I'll make sure that the band Nickelback goes with you. You seem like a Nickelback kind of guy, so I expect you to be grateful for that.