25
May
11

code name: human garbage

Like most people, I was pretty disappointed to learn that hell existed, and even more disappointed to learn that I had been sentenced to eternal torment there. Yeah, God, sorry I lost my job and had to pay for my kids’ school clothes by selling fake “pregnant teenager’s underwear” in Ziploc bags on ebay. Anyway, it was terrible down there. They’d torture us all day, then horribly, we magically awoke every morning with our bodies made whole again (save for the fact that we were always so weak from hunger). Which was weird, because it’s not like we were getting restful sleep, either. We’re talking about a place where they would keep you awake with paper cuts for days until you could recite word-for-word the “P.P.S.” section of the breakup letter from your eighth grade girlfriend that you kept until you went to college. They could fact check that shit too, because Satan made Pol Pot and John Holmes drag over the comprehensive human memory database that God left sitting on His curb the morning after Judgment Day. Also, apparently God is so rich that He can afford to just dump a perfectly good glowing crystal cube into the street? Jesus, that guy.

Trust me, getting impaled onto a stalagmite every morning is every bit as awful as you would imagine. And while it was something of a surprise to discover that the only aquatic body in hell was not a lake of fire as had been extensively reported, but a river of blood, we were still left without many thirst-slaking options, save for the occasional demon urine, served only from the tap, if you get what I’m saying (on a side note, it never got old to see newbies take a demon up on its offer, only to discover that demon urine is like 80% ammonia, and has very little hydratic value).

Finally, we got fed up. Not only were all the sandwiches ferociously guarded by the hellbeasts for whom the term “hellbeasts” was practically invented, but the whispers about several high-profile misfires by management grew impossible to ignore. Now, I don’t want to judge the guy, and I’m sure a lot of this can be attributed to the stress of running the day-to-day operations of hell, but Satan was really kind of difficult to approach as his policies grew increasingly out of touch, and he responded to our modest request of more than one cable service provider with overwhelming brutality. Bad move, though, trying to crush a citizenry known for its willingness to disobey the rules to get what they want, especially one which contains in its numbers tons of convicted felons and every member of a motorcycle gang that has ever lived. We outlasted the devil and his minions in a long, bloody war that only ended because a team of Wall Street bankers chronically mismanaged Satan’s financial assets, leaving him unable to afford the expensive diamond tips for his pitchfork that kept us trembling in fear for all those millenia. And that’s where the real work of rebuilding hell began. Not gonna even make a stupid lazy montage joke here; you get it.

Sure, it’s not perfect. For example, three hundred years later, we still haven’t completely gotten the brimstone smell out of our clothes. And for a place is literally crawling with huge pervos and slutbags, there’s really not much sex down here. I mean, hardly anyone’s dicks still work anymore after having had them ripped off, then sewn on again the next morning, only to be ripped off again that afternoon, day after day after day ad fucking nauseam. Hell’s not heaven, not by any stretch of the imagination. For one thing, it’s still pretty ugly; one problem of everyone living in what is essentially a really complex series of caves is that a lot of decorating options are eliminated right off as a possibility. Plus, there are a lot of jerks down here, you know? And that’s sort of the point: unlike those saps in heaven whose existences have been free of trouble for so long they’ve forgotten what they’re singing about, we appreciate what we’ve got. You have not experienced the full range of emotions available to humans until you have laughed, cried, and vomited live hornets simultaneously like we all did at one time or another, and having suffered together has bonded us despite our many differences. We’re packed like sardines down here nowadays, piling onto subways every morning to go to work, we can hear our neighbors doing the dishes on the other side of a shared wall, strangers at diners who don’t know how to mind their own business butt into our conversations about the playoffs. Every day’s a huge pain in the ass because we’re all just trying to get by, maybe set aside enough to quit paying our landlord’s mortgage and buy a place one day; but if you’re not struggling, are you even existing?

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1 Response to “code name: human garbage”


  1. 1 DS3M
    May 25, 2011 at 10:55 pm

    This was amazing. Good with, sir


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