The Road to Hell is Paved with Tar

I apologize for the outburst at the end of my last post. It's been hard the last few months and I've been having trouble fitting in. I guess I tend to push people away because I'm so afraid of rejection. Or because they might grow claws and pluck out my eyeballs.

I just came back from the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new section. It's reserved for people who think Episodes I-III are better than Episodes IV-VI. Some of the residents have already arrived, and they don't just believe this nonsense, they're evangelical about it. You'll see them on street corners in their Jar Jar costumes, whacking passers-by with their $.99 plastic lightsabers, preaching that "the special effects add a new level of realism!"

Son of a bitch!

I don't even know who's being punished with this.

Speaking of assholes, hell if full of assholes. Remember that guy who almost killed you running a stop sign, and then gave you the finger? He'll be two boulders over, laughing every time yours rolls back down hill. Remember your coworker who sat behind you and only stopped snorting and hacking mucus to oink it down her throat? She's your next door neighbor, and the walls are paper thin.

Every day it seems hell's either adding a new section or expanding an old one. We've seen explosive growth in the section for people who've actually used the expression "the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence." It's right next to the area for Creationists.

That surprised me too. You won't find a single Darwinist down here. I even had to ask God about it last time he was down here looking for ringers for the all-Paradise softball tournament. He said, "You think I'd make all this stuff, and then fuck it up so bad? It's a good thing you're already in hell. As if I have time to sit there twisting together trillions and trillions of DNA molecules or hiding fake dinosaur bones so the atheists only think the earth is really older than fifty-seven hundred and whatever the hell you made up years old. At least you guys have natural selection. I don't even know where I come from. I'm like Little Orphan Annie."

There are a lot of orphans in hell, actually.

Their parents too.

As you well know, hell is big on irony, so I suppose it's a new diabolical irony to have punishments that might seem ironic but aren't even slightly. Just the other day I passed a thriving recent addition inspired by one of the most evil songs ever recorded.

For instance, if a pair of young newlyweds die on their honeymoon, they're forced to relive their wedding day over and over…except it's raining! Or perhaps a glutton is surrounded by bowls of soup…but only has a fork! Or maybe a dentist needs to buy a cake…but the store only has ice cream! Which I think was only in an acoustic version.

This reminds me of another new section, the Fizzled Popstar section. Here, if you're a washed out musician, you live an unending episode of VH1's "Why Were They Then?" which takes a critical look at your careers by interviewing each of your fans who range from desperate high school kids who think you "got" them, to the criminally insane. And then contrast your following with the larger number of stable, employed fans of a real musician. As a neat break, you'll sometimes get invited to be lost in the crowd of similarly lasting musicians to record a benefit cd to raise money for a cause no one will remember in three years, and the only time anyone will hear it will be while riding an elevator, with your part replaced by a clarinet.

Anyway, I couldn't possibly detail all the changes around here in a single sitting so I'll sign off now, seeing as I have some important new e-mail, and, well, those barely 18's won't spank themselves!