May 07, 2024, 06:27AM

Goofy Gods, Dopey Dictators and Crazy Folks

It’s always party time here in hell.

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Are you tired of the same old insanity? Join the new improved crazy club! No one will be turned away. Step right on up here and bring the kids. Watch your step. It’s not exclusive; it's all-inclusive, and anyone can join. It’s free. There’s a catch, though: you must sell your soul. You pay for a ticket with blood money. Come one, come all; these are the hottest properties in the world. Get your official tickets at the door. The only premium purchase that’s printed right on the ticket stub.

We’re going to float elegantly to hell on a leaky luxury yacht, toasting our good fortune with endless rounds of boat drinks. Here’s to us! As we sink fast into the depths of the dark sea's abyss, there are no lifeboats, lifesavers or flotation devices anywhere on board. Does it sound vaguely like Charon crossing the river Styx? The buffet lines are too long, so graze at the salad bar. Hell is the tourist destination of the 21st century. All eyes are on Hades. Everybody wants to be seen in the scene down there. Rabid consumers stalk abandoned shopping malls like the dawn of the dead. But in hell, everything’s free. You must see it to believe it. Hell is where it’s all happening. The ultimate vacation hot spot. Screaming down the information highway across from the no-tell motel in the alleyway of Innuendo to the parking garage of broken dreams near the cul-de-sac of dead-end conclusions.

The more I travel through the so-called real world, the less I want to be in the thick of it. Around here, that’s known as unpatriotic anti-American sentiment. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be free. It’s an elaborate hoax. The old okey-dokey double-take flimflam. It’s good enough for me. And upon the 40th day, Heyzeus rose to the heavens to sit on the golden throne next to the big cheese.

You’re welcome to come along for the ride and stick around for the never-ending open bar. It’s always party time here in hell. Forget about heaven or that two-bit planet Earth. A simulacrum of the pivotal fulcrum’s pull of the lever to the last level. The final ring of fire. The place where everyone wants to be, and you can’t get there from hereafter, later on down the road. It’s swell, the sweetest place in hell. Everyone’s there. It’s a daisy chain circle jerk of world leaders and celebrities. Netanyahu is rubbing elbows with Hitler. Putin is sodomizing Trump while performing fallacious acts on Idi Amin, Osama bin Laden, and P Diddy. Like slimy pesticide residue from millions of microplastic particles clogging up your arteries. These forever chemical cocktails are free for the public. Drink up! All despots and despicable degenerates are invited. Are they heroes or zeros?

Only a lunatic would think that this is the best thing for a holiday. Go to hell without leaving the comfort zone of your home. It’s the worst of all worlds to be alive while not knowing how you got there. Eventually, we’ll become approximately 99 percent plastic and melt into a gelatinous mess of petrochemical byproducts and gaseous chemicals, with a little dust thrown in for good measure. With any luck, survive the night until the next morning to repeat the process again. Buckle up and get in line. It’s the poetry of the damned. The only game without winners. Grab the brass ring on your way around the clock to make it look easy, like real good, clean fun.

Just ask anyone who’s been there. The problem is that you can’t because they don’t return. If you can’t beat them, then burn them. Spit on their faces and make the sign of the cross. Pray for mercy and forgiveness. Eventually, they’ll get their due. Their hands are dirty, and nobody wants anything to do with them. They’re pariahs in this land. Creating a bloody mess now, they must live in the filth of the past they manifested. Lay down with beautiful beasts, making love to themselves while applying makeup. Getting all gussied up with no place to go. Except straight to hell. Unconditional surrender is guaranteed. No refunds.


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