I believe in a literal hell. Dante did too, although he was a far better writer than I, and his perspective on hell is distinctively colored by Roman Catholic traditions and the political intrigues of his day. The French have a saying: “Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.” The literal English translation is, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” The Cliff’s Notes English translation is a simple acronym: SSDD. (Same Shit, Different Day.) It can be not only good satire to envision the populace of hell from time to time, it can also prove cathartic. The thought that greater punishment awaits those who offend me might keep me from throttling someone, who knows?
I’m going to start off my virtual tour of hell with Beezelbub himself, even though Ol’ Splitfoot is on a brief hiatus from life in hell, and is currently wreaking nine kinds of havoc here on earth:
As you can see, right now, Lucifer has been loosed upon the earth to deceive the masses and to gather up his minions. He is acting swiftly, and with a vengeance, because his time is short. I hope his time in office is very short. My countdown to January 20, 2013 reads 626 days, 7 hours and 53 minutes as of the minute I am typing this.
Fannyzilla, at the Gates of Hell, says: “Yoose is Skrewed! Abandonn Yer Chezebooger! Yoose No Can Has Chezebooger No Mo!”
The first level of hell belongs to People Who Drive Like Assholes.
You know them. We have all been behind the idiot who doesn’t realize he is tooling all over creation with only one (barely) working tail light. That’s bad enough, but if you rear-end the prick, the cop is going to cite you. I’ve had more than a few ABS checks (believe me, you will know it when you lock up your brakes and engage the ABS system) because some people are too stupid to occasionally check their bulbs. Included in this category also is the idiot who insists in staying in your blind spot and not letting you over, the rapper whose car vibrates his car, your car and the pavement at every stop light while he’s treating everyone in half the county to a hideous diatribe about cop killing and sister-rape, and the bimbo who can’t talk on the phone and operate her turn signal at the same time.
The first level people will get to spend eternity forced to sit in a Dr.s’ office waiting room whilst being bombarded with whatever swill is on daytime network TV,i.e., Oprah, Montel, Jerry Springer, Judge du Jour, and you will be surrounded by sickies who are snotting and sneezing all over you. The worst part is, just like in Dr.s’ offices here on earth, you will wait and wait and wait and you will never be called in.
Level Two is reserved for people who fail to control their heathen rugrats in Target, Wal Mart, Kroger’s or any other public emporium where everyone must go at some point to buy survival items (such as food, hair color and toilet paper) that can’t generally be purchased online.
The punishment will fit the crime. Level Two residents will be condemned to walk the aisles of Target for eternity, surrounded by Queen Banchee (the memorable five year old who once stood in the end of the shopping cart screaming her lungs out all over Target while her Mom just kept plodding along in an apparent Valium-induced catatonic haze) and her minions as they scream, writhe on the floor, run all over the store, throw pointy things, and generally make you forget why you went to Target in the first place. You are doomed to wander the Target store, with these wretched urchins as your constant companions, and you never will remember that you went to Target in the first place because you were out of toilet paper.
Level Three is for corrupt politicians and bold face liars, such as those who gravitate toward pandering careers in media.
I won’t just go ahead and just say “Democrats” because there might be one or two good ones out there, and there may be a GOP’er or two that lands on the shady side. I mean corrupt politicians on the scale of a Bill Clinton- a guy who seriously questions things like the meaning of the word “is,” and who answers to a moral dilemma by stating that oral sex isn’t really sex. I also mean media personalities who can flat out lie to the American people and spin the truth a 180- with a straight face. Level Three residents will be doomed to an eternity of living in a giant cat box. Imagine if you were about the same size as a Barbie doll and you were forced to stay in the cat box forever, even when the cat, who is three times your size, drops in to drop a deuce. On your head. And the cat “offerings” are also your dinner. That would be Level Three. In life you fed people shit and expected them to eat it and like it. Now it’s your turn. Bon Appetit!
The Fourth Level (and this is the final level in my version of hell, because you can’t get much worse than living in a cat box and eating cat shit for eternity) is reserved for the most vile of them all. Child molesters, rapists and murderers end up here.
Fourth Level scumbags will receive kerosene enemas 24-7, with eternally burning kerosene. While the enemas are taking place, all will be forced to listen to the song “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” by Culture Club, and watch the accompanying video. All Boy George, all the time.
Yes, for the record, I would like to hurt him. I’d kick him in the crotch, but I doubt if there’s anything there.
Life here in the Central Ohio swamp would be a bit nicer if we actually did see the sun once in awhile (this pic was taken last year) but the torrential rains (yes, I know May is still Monsoon season) this year are a bit much. Poor Sheena had to drop a deuce in a driving downpour this morning. They have the “Potty Patch” for ankle biters so they can do the deed in the house, but that’s not practical for bigger dogs who put off gallons of liquid waste and solid wastes are measured in “shovelfuls.” For reference: a dog will eliminate ten percent of his/her body weight per day. A 50# dog will leave 5# of waste per day. Given that my dogs are 55#, 65# and 65#, that’s 18 1/2# of dog waste generated by my girls every day. They are not going to use the inside of the house as their toilet. Short of them actually using the toilet and flushing, I can’t think of any containment device that can deal with that volume of toxic waste.
Big dogs need a lean-to relief station- outside, sort of like the beer tent at a street festival, only the dogs would be more discreet in relieving themselves. This way they’re still outside but they don’t have to stand and squat in a downpour. I have to contemplate this one. Everyone needs a hobby. Keeping my dogs dry while they pinch a loaf would be a very good thing.
The Squattin’ Station. For big dogs, so they can drop their loads outside and still stay dry. The only thing is that in Central Ohio you would need to be sure to anchor it securely otherwise the wind will pick it up and drop it off in the next county.