Feb 152008

When I think of Hell, I always imagine a large atrium-type  room  (but with like, less of the pretty botanical touches and more of the speared shit and car exhaust) where everyone goes to do their chores while enjoying a cocktail of some mighty fine ass rape by staggering penises coated with AIDS, followed by an enema of stagnant leech-filled pond water and battery acid. But after all that daily socializing, everyone relocates to their bunkers — their own little personal Hells-with-the-lid-on.

I think that my room would probably have a row of bottled Henry-snores, the caps of which will lift up in random intervals, broadcasting a nasal symphony around the walls. Eleanore will be seated two feet from me, no matter where I am she’ll be two feet from me, ripping up sheets of paper, slamming desk drawers, and sighing heavily.

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Then she’ll stuff her mouth with food and start ranting about racism, while hurling a pair of scissors down against the desk top.

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The clatter of that will reverberate inside my head, making my teeth chatter.

The Gum Popper will have a permanent perch upon my shoulders, cracking and slurping and snapping her fat Bazooka Joe-wrapped tongue in my ear and down my neck and even when she pauses, it’s still all I can hear, the ghosts of the gum echoing inside my skull and no matter how many times I gouge flaming twigs into my ear drums, the drums Satanically repair themselves and the new carnations come packing amazing clarity.

A parade of strangers will back me up against the wall with their overused sayings, like “Any-who,” “om nom nom,” “Asshat,” and “Exsqueeze me” and every third one will touch my eyeball.

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  And one by one all of my favorite bands will announce their tour dates but I’ll have to miss every single show because if I stop data processing for even three seconds, I’ll be eviscerated by a tag team of Fran Drescher and Jessica Simpson, who will laugh and sing in my face while strangling me with my intestines.

Then Henry’s ex-wife will come strutting around in a tie-dyed shirt, wearing her vagina on her face.

I guess it could be worse. No, that sucks.

  8 Responses to “Hell: Where all my dreams will come true”

  1. Ahh, this reads like a Dr. Seuss book. Of sorts.

    Is “exsqueeze me” overused? I thought it was retro. I’m always saying to my children, “exsqueeze me, please me” instead of excuse me please.

    It rhymes.

    Hell probably rhymes, too. /

  2. your imagry is so good… it makes me ill.

    that’s an interesting concept… what would my hell be?
    this is thought-provoking.

    disturbing, BUT thought provoking.

  3. Eleanore and Henry!! *cracking up*

    Anywho IS a dumb word.

    • Ooh, you know what I forgot?? “That’s how I roll.” I fucking hate that. Especially when it’s on a fucking middle aged housewife’s blog and they’re trying to sound so fucking cool and urban. I hate those women. Unless you’re saying it with a heaping spoonful of irony, you better be Dr. Dre or some shit.

  4. oh snap!! I hardly think oh snap is overused, i almost never hear anyone saying oh snap, even when something oh snappable happens, ya know……snap

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