she said her name was lana

i told her i didnt believe her. the torch lights threw dramatic shadows across her face. she toweled off the grime and sweat and soot and dna i kept waiting for a penis to pop out from down there but it never did.

her tail flicked around as she dragged a comb through her hair and when she was finished she sat down with me.

i hate you, tony.

join the club.

you disgust me.

youre not the first.

i only fuck you because it keeps my mind off of whats going on here.

whats going on here?


just look away.

but its everywhere.

pretend its just wallpaper.

cant you hear the screams?

all i hear is “hells bells.”

where do you hear that?

it comes on after “runnin with the devil.”

are you insane?

how come i only see you here at the sex palace?

cuz i work here.

did you have a lot of sex when you were alive?

about the average amount.

whats the average amount?

twice a week.

did you have a boyfriend?

i never didnt have a boyfriend.

i woulda thought you woulda had more sex than just twice a week.

at first, yeah, but after a while is slows down.

how old were you when you died?


how many guys had you done it with?


do you wish you woulda done it more?


do you wish you woulda done it with more guys?

a few.

why didnt you?

dumb. i didnt want people to think i was a ho.

people like who?

i dont know. me.

what woulda made you a ho?

i could have been a ho so easy.

are you a ho here?


how many guys do you do it with here a day?

three or four.

isnt that ho-ish?

sorta, but it’s work, and it makes people happy to watch.

am i the best guy you ever did it with?

next question.

am i the biggest?

not even close.

do any famous guys down here?



yeah, they flamethrew him almost right away he was so bad.

ever do chicks?

nah, thats creeps me out.

dongresign + fussy + 1115 + christie

yesterday was a holiday

so they didnt have any work for me so i hung out at the sex palace and flamethrew some lameasses.

then a nice girl asked me to join her on stage.

she looked pretty good and the guy next to me assured me that she was a girl

– i highly recommend getting a second opinion in these matters if you ever find yourself down here.

so we went at it.

at first people flamed us a little, but as we got to know each other everything worked out and people shut up and beat off to us.

when we were done they applauded and then blew flames at the sky in appreciation.

then at us, as is customary.

the chick didnt really want to talk to me.

she just wanted to smoke. that was fine.

i just wanted to drink some more fire water and get my thoughts together.

we did it three more times before i went back to my little cave. the third time they didnt flame us at all, they threw rocks at us, which is the highest compliment at the sex palace.

at first i didnt know, so i caught a rock and whipped it back at them.

you have pretty good aim here so it wasnt like they were trying to hit us they were just trying to miss by a little. what happens is the “performers” have to stand still and the flying rocks form a little outline around us and it looks pretty from the luxury boxes.

fireworks go off, pyrotechnics, canons.

later a big man in a three peice suit asked me if i wanted to work at the sex palace permanantly. he said they were always looking for a few guys, since they normally burn out quick.

the puns in hell are neverending.

i told him that i appreciated his offer but i didnt want to sign up for anything permanent in hell for the time being and he slipped me his card but i handed it back because i still havent figured out where to get any pants in this damned place.

they play “hells bells” constantly here and sometimes i think it’s so that we’d get sick of it, but i never do.

and i never will.

jason sutter + danielle + science blog

the other day i had to help demolish one of my favorite baseball stadiums.

it wasnt a beautiful stadium.

it was generic, round, full of crappy astroturf, greecian, dull, drab, white.

some might consider it ugly.

but it was the home of the big red machine led by my baseball hero, pete rose.

i dont care if he bet on baseball. i hope bet on baseball. when i bought options of the dot com that i worked at i was betting on my team.

keeping pete rose out of baseball based on that antiquated rule makes as much sense as if the catholic church kicked a female parrishioner for dressing like a man. f baseball and f the catholic church.

friggin catholic convention here in the pits of hell. priests for days.

turns out that the Good Lord doesnt like it when you change his texts and include nuns no sex for priests and a laundry list of made up shit in the name of God.

and child molestation is even frowned upon down here.

they like creativity here more than youd think. which is why they like to punish with repetition.

poor joe strummer. got sent down here nearly right away. he’s been singing “straight to hell” non stop. i used to love that song.

it’s not coca-cola

it’s rice.

straight to hell, boys.

straight to hell, boys.

nothing the demons like more than tearing down buildings.

lot of times they’ll tie up priests and put the explosives in all the typical places, then arrange the long fuses, set up the cameras and watch it over and over in slo mo later that night.

please take me home

the dreams keep coming. last night i was trying to gaurd shaq and it was one of those games where the refs had swallowed their whistles and shaq’s big fucking arm kept pounding me in the chest, and i wanted to flop but how do you flop? shaq will just step on you and crush you and cuz it was a dream i didnt remember that i was already dead. flop fucker, flop!

so i tried to get in a fight with him.

i told him that his momma made me dinner and sucked me off real good.

he just smiled.

i said she took out her teeth and gummed me good.

i told him that i said, gum me, grandma, gum me.

See me got photo photo

photograph of you

and Mamma Mamma Mamma-san

shaq just steamrolled me harder.

i said dont be jealous, im sure she’ll give you some.

of you and mamma mamma mamma san

as riverfront smoldered we smoked menthols nibbled on devils food and listened to the muffled groans of the damned as the sun rose over the river.

King Solomon he never lived round here

Go straight to hell boys

thanks for the props ernie the attorney + jim lowney + raymi and the goods played monopoly

hell hath no fury like a woman scorpion

not everyone gets to keep their bodies when they get sent to here.

tailgaters are sometimes turned into trees. the devil will make them just stand there for a couple hundred years. then maybe turned into a house. then torn down. never burned. that would be too cute. he’d waterlog the wood. warp it. then allow it to float down the river styx back home to be reassigned.

some get turned into bugs. some into animals. some into peoples pets. some get turned into dangerous animals. some get turned into fish.

i used to be afraid of fish and when i got down here and they showed me my file. apparently a long time ago i was sent to hell and then turned into a fish and had to swim around in the dark cold depths of the atlantic for a few dozen years.

a while back i was given a reprieve from whatever i was doing and reassigned as a lightskinned black american male born to a well educated middle class family and raised in the suburbs in the midwest.

later, it seems, the giver of grace was not very happy with what i did with those blessings.

so there i was banging some girl in hell’s sex palace and all of this was dawning on me: life is all context. perspective. compared to contracting stds nightly in the pits of pandemonium, flying chopper one across the skies of hollywood wasnt so bad.

and if i didnt like it, it wasnt like i was some old growth redwood, i could go do something else with my life. i could actually take control of my destiny as opposed to waiting on the universe to decide.

f the universe.

the universe is 2/3s lost souls doing what some guy more lost than them is telling them to do.

the good news was i was getting used to my demonic body. my thing wasnt falling off any more.

the crowd didnt flamethrow me as much any more. usually they waited until the end when i wasnt looking. then they all laughed and then applauded my incinerated smoking remains.

that night i went to bed and before i fell asleep i heard a still soft voice.

tony it said.


today is the last day of the year.

it is?

yes, do you know what that means down here?

no, i dont.

it means that you can be judged again.

it does?

yes, are you sorry for what you did to get here?

yes i am.

do you think youve learned some valueable things here?

oh yes. definately.

do you think youd make a better person if you were given another chance?

oh yes! yes i would!

and then i woke up.

still in hell.

it was just a dream.

and then my dirty rag of a pillow said.

nobody gets out of hell.


p 73-74 from how to blog

sahalie + bored housewife + green catfish + fook the people

there are no days off in hell. no holidays. no personal days. no vacations

but the kids like to keep a nice sense of humor so on mondays people stand around the coffee maker and ask each other how their weekends were.

banged a cheerleader by the tire fire.

sure she was a woman?

i dont ask, they dont tell.

everything ends up nightmarish anyway, so if you open your eyes and that playmate is really a mountain goat, it wouldnt suprise me. i dont want to say im jaded, i guess ive just grown used to the horrific hallucination that is this hellish afterlife.

grits turn into maggots. beer turns into light beer. a vote for gore turns into a vote for bush.

a lot of time if youre trying to eat a steak it’ll get right off the table and run back onto the carcass of the dead beast.

and people really dont know how to cook anything medium-well here. it’s either rare or burnt.

Heaven has all the best chefs.

thanks to the xbi, on earth i never dreamed that much. here i dream all the time. its how they torture me. i’ll be in a meadow having a picnic with a french girl. the sun will be shining, the blanket will be spread out. the wicker basket is buldging with goodies. i uncork the wine without even a corkscrew. the wind is blowing out to left gently. no ants anywhere. no bees. no crows.

shes naked.

her girlfriend appears over the dale with an armful of freshly picked wildflowers. nude, except for her big floppy sunhat and a wet tshirt that says busblog.

a string quartet comfortably sitting under a weeping willow goes through several of aerosmiths greatest hits, their melodies drifting away in the breeze.

a mexican icecream man pushes his cart and rings his sleighbells and calls out in spanish that he has some sort of frozen treats.

a lion lays down with a lamb

and they rot in fast motion

the mexican icecream man scoops up the mess and puts it into his cart, it freezes and he sells it to the children for seventy five cents.

the french girl’s friend seems to be skipping closer to us but she never makes it over the dale.

the quartet is playing Incubus.

theres no food in the basket.

the wine is non alcoholic.

my breasts have developed.

fimoculous + amy + o dub has a new design