Because the current translation system should DIE

Brad was sitting alone in his room, writing some code and thinking about goats when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called, with a touch of irritation, and then tried to get his brain back into hack mode. His attempt was short lived. Mephistopheles opened the door and strided in dramatically.

"Ah, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I have a proposition for you which I'm sure you'll find quite intriguing."

"Oh?" More a grunt than a question.

"As you may have surmised, my name is Mephistopheles, and I come to you as a representative of the legions of hell. We have certain talents, and for the right price, we'd be willing to use them on your behalf. For instance, we could take that little bit of code you're hacking on now, and turn it into a global success. You could make enough money off it for hookers and blow. And fast cars."

Brad finally gave up trying to get any more code written and swung his chair around to face Mephistopheles. "Look," he said "I do like fast cars, but I know how you guys work. You offer me all this, I give you my soul, you try to make it seem like a good bargain, but before I know it I'm stuck with the eternal damnation crap. Go find someone else to bother."

"Actually, that's a common misconception. While we used to do business in souls, we've been forced to modernised over the last century or so. Too much bad press, you understand. We work much less directly now. All we're asking is that you include some of our code."

"Oh great," said Brad. "Hell is churning out script kiddies now. I suppose it makes sense, in a way."

"Oh no! You misunderstand me. Our code won't be malicious. Quite the contrary. It will help further open communication and allow your site to be used by people of many nationalities. You can even check it through before you commit it, if you want. There's no need though, really. It's not like I'd lie to you."

"That doesn't sound too bad. What was it you were saying about fast cars?"