i never saw this sign before and i followed the arrow to a long line.

after about an hour i made it to the front of the line and said hello to the woman who said hello back at me.

yes, hi. i was wondering where i can find pants. i have no pants.

you can find pants at the store.

she rang a bell.

next!

no no. please i have a few more questions. i heard that on new year’s day we can be re-judged.

dont believe your dreams. you didnt follow or believe them on Earth, Hell shouldnt be any different.

yes, but i shouldnt be here. i wasnt all that bad. plus i loved the Lord.

do you want to fill out a complaint?

may i?

no.

she rang a bell again.

next!

just a few more questions, please. im new here.

you didnt take the orientation yet?

no. what orientation?

you need to go to the Welcome Center and tell them youre new.

will they give me pants?

no. you get pants at the store. they will also have shirts for you there too.

when will i get pants?

pardon me?

i am trying to be nice here and i am getting no satisfaction.

what sort of satisfaction were you looking for?

i dont know. doesnt the squeaky wheel get the grease?

she pulled a chain and a bucket of hot grease dumped on me.

it was hot.

and greasy.

she rang a bell.

next

stoned nerd + tabasco guy + grow a brain

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?

misery.

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?

25.

how many guys had you done it with?

7.

do you wish you woulda done it more?

yes.

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?

kinda.

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?

napolean.

napolean?

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

ever do chicks?

nah, thats creeps me out.

dongresign + fussy + 1115 + christie

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

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

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

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

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.

yes?

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.

dumbass.

p 73-74 from how to blog

sahalie + bored housewife + green catfish + fook the people

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

sunday evenings i like to watch the sopranos and the simpsons. the sopranos are in reruns and thats fine, but i still have the simpsons.

not tonight though.

pissed my ass off.

my mom has been reading Blook and she says that it’s very visual. she also says she cant put it down.

that makes me happy again.

right before i was gruesomely murdered i had just sketched out the rough draft of How To Blog, the long awaited sequel to Blook.

i emailed it to courtney love, but it might have bounced back. her mailbox gets full quickly.

drudge was on the radio tonight.

in hell they love drudge.

he was going off about how the movie industry shouldnt be so proud just because they just had a decent year.

he said that in 1959 people went to 40 movies a year, today they only go to 5.

i thought, but back then tickets only cost like a dime. so your annual expense to the movies was $4.

you know what, forget it. he was annoying. everyone laughed. theyre annoying too.

they hadnt laughed that hard since when trent lott said that the reasons the democrats are after him is because he’s a Christian.

one of the little jokes in Hell is calling yourself a Christian.

most of the guys werent Christians till they got sent here. but now it’s too late. plus its not even faith any more. we saw Him. He looked at each of us. right in the eye.

then, right in our heart.

it’s easy to believe in someone you can see. someone who you felt.

so if one of the demons on earth wants to throw out a little ironic bitterness, they identify themselves as Christians.

so yes trent lotts a Christian

not everyone has to spend eternity in the pits of hell shovelling lava and being whipped by hooved taskmasters who have chariot wheels for hind legs.

some are allowed to spend time on Earth but of course theres a catch.

you will either be superdeformed or dumb as a rock.

or blind and smelly.

or a chicago cubs fan.

or the inevitable victim of a horrendous attrocity or tragedy.

or a republican senator who knows better but simply cannot do anything other than the work of the devil.

and even though you’d think that some of their life would be better than a day in hell, youre wrong because they know something really super terrible is going to happen at any moment,

so they cant enjoy the good because the bad might happen right when their mouth is open and their eyes are closed.

and this terribleness isnt normal terribleness like annoying neighbors being too loud or no new simpsons this week

this is from their hometown of evil

a name you can trust.

sk smith + dc + listen missy + bing

it’s pretty bad.

i think it’s called the Los Angeles Times.

These people have the opportunity to talk to and write about some of the most fascinating people in the world, and they dont.

All the coolest people in the world stroll through here every day. Is that represented in the newspaper? no.

LA is the capitol of entertainment. is the Calander section that incredible? if it were, there wouldnt be soooo much room for variety, the hollywood reporter, the la weekly, and eonline.

but what do i know?

here in hell today they had me sending off spam.

apparently theres big money in penis enlargement cream and university diplomas.

it was my job to write fake-out spam. the idea was to make an email that didnt look like spam but that would make someone click it so that theyd go to the webpage, which of course would launch a half dozen pop up ads.

unfortunately i was a little too good at this, so sorry if i got you.

anyway the LA Times chose to interview me yesterday morning.

i caught a breif glace at it on the newstands today, but with all the fire down here, newpapers last about 10 seconds after the newsboys toss it from their trucks.

how have you enjoyed your stay in hell so far?

this is a terrible place. i hate it.

whats your favorite part of hell?

hmmm thats a good question. probably the freedom to be creative.

was it what you thought it would be?

sorta. i didnt think you would be able to eat so much, or that youd be able to have sex, and i never imagined it smelling so bad. fuck!

did you leave a will on earth?

yes, i gave everything to the united negro college fund.

what do you miss the most?

are you kidding me?

no, really, what?

ice cream.

are you sorry for the things that you did that brought you here?

yes.

how much?

lots.

you dont sound like it.

maybe you should listen closer.

what do you want to accomplish here?

i want to meet a nice girl and settle down. but sometimes i feel like im just chasing my tail.

annika + moxie + la blogs + brian flemming

of course you cant always get it up.

and your schween isn’t very big.

and most of the only girls who will do it with you have hair in the wrong places.

and bad breath.

and oozing sores.

and sometimes spare testicles

that ooze.

but it is sex.

only place you get to have sex, however, is in the sex palaces.

people pay big money to watch people have sex in the sex palaces, because it is the the strangest show in the universe.

everyone in the stands are given flame throwers.

if the fans don’t like the “performers”, they get to flame throw them.

the winners get flame thrown too, but the couple get to kiss first.

ive had sex twice at the sex palace.

the first time i got flamethrown right away cuz i couldn’t get it up.

if you had seen this “woman” you would understand.

she tried to pretty-up her donkey tail with a pink ribbon but her ability to swat away the horseflies was not only disconcerting but distracting.

first they laughed while pointing at me

then i was fired upon with a bukkake of flame.

i was allowed to beat off on the stage of one of the sideshow tents, and yes i consider that sex.

terms change here.

there are 41 different words for agony.

theres a bunch of guys who run around telling you that they believed in God their whole lives, why would He send them to this pit?

and i tell them that i don’t know.

and these men cry right in front of me.

and i tell myself, it’s probably an illusion. your mind is playing tricks on you. it could all be a big fakeout. don’t trust don’t trust.

how did these people buy cotton candy here on the midway?

i don’t even have pockets.

or pants.

everythings on fire. i walk on hot coals and it hurts and my feet blister, but i just let the tears flow. it’s almost like photosynthesis.

the fire creates pain, the pain creates energy that gets released in locomotion and cooled with tears, which keeps the body moving.

its pretty fucked up.

the music is good though.

oakpark mastermind + elgin roots + true + jaime