Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Greetings from Hell!

Turns out I was wrong and I wasn't dead yet and indestructible. I'd like to say I'm sorry for how I went out, but I'm not. There will be no mea culpa. I gave it much thought and decided I didn't want to participate in the human race anymore. Where you pieces of shit are racing to, I could never figure out. Why do you insist on worshiping celebrities and pay them to have fun for you while you watch? It makes no goddamn sense. I'm glad to be rid of you all. Words can't convey how much I hated you all.

It took them a couple days to process me here, they apparently weren't ready for me yet. The first order of business when you get here is to kick Hitler in the nuts, which I know seems cliche, but that's how they roll. They next gave me a number, 2, that they tell me signifies how big of an asshole I am. #2 on the whole planet ever. Surprisingly, Hitler was only #3. I'm trying to find 1 so I can shake her hand.

They got a lot of things wrong when describing this place. The ride down was unimpressive. I had always figured they'd play the drum part to the Stones' Paint it, Black and there'd be demons dancing. That's not to be. They played the same radio station they played at the gym, so I got to hear that fucking overplayed Adele song, followed by that Rihanna song that samples Avril Lavigne. I imagine it could be different for everyone, so maybe they realized I'd hate that most and that's why it was chosen. Also, the devil isn't some little red imp guy with horns, a goatee and a tail. She bears a striking resemblance to my fifth grade teacher. Weird. There's also no three headed devil dog guarding the gates.

They gave me a tour of the place and they gave me my assignment, I'm in the fifth circle of hell, as described by Dante as the place for the angry. It's not so bad. It's not hot or cold, just average. But, the thing is, it's like that cartoon where Bugs Bunny was torturing Daffy Duck, where it turned out Daffy was on a blank page and Bugs was just drawing shit. It's like that blank page here. Nothing going on at all. Every morning, they brew us a pot of coffee. Sanka. Shit's worse than the burned to shit stuff they serve at Starbucks. And the creamer is curdled. No sugar, either. The internet access is only 2400 baud here, remember the 90's?

They do pipe in music in my circle, but Costello was right, my favorite things are playing again and again but it's by Julie Andrews and not by John Coltrane. I actually got to meet Trane, nice guy. I asked him what he thought of all this and he let me know that it gets old fast. They won't let him play his saxomaphone, so he and Miles Davis have to find other ways to pass the time. They say they're looking for Charlie Parker to find out how his drug addled ass has to spend eternity. They figure he's been relegated to Kansas City, the place he despised the most. Meanwhile, I have to continue on my quest to find #1. Don't cry for me, Argentina.

said Tommy T. at 10:57 AM - #

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