- by the Kabob

Hell. H-E-double hockey sticks. You've heard the word many times, but how frequently have you explored the concept? Many writers have approached the subject of the afterlife and the possibility of eternal damnation in their prose. Writers from Dante to Sartre to the illustrious Matt Groening have taken on the subject matter with humor and imagination. I've decided that writing a Grumble article would provide me with a unique opportunity to explore that arid and tropical region many miles below us. Personally, I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Sartre. People are each other's hell, as his play "No Exit" showed us. We don't have to wait to get hit by a bus in order to experience the glorious flesh-eating goodness of a trip to Hell. Why, we have all the conveniences of an eternity of condemnation right here on earth! If I were to have my very own slice of Hell, it would go something like this... First off, my job in Hell would be in administration, just as it was here on earth. Hell doesn't have to invent a new occupation for administrators. They're already got the worst job in the world. Pre-school song circles, each complete with a pre-school teacher and a tinny guitar, would surround my desk in Hell. The pre-school teachers would all play a different Disney song, singing enthusiastically and slightly off-key. Every now and again, the teachers would modulate to a different key while the children and the guitars stayed right where they were. My female co-workers would ask me every day whether or not I was pregnant, and then eye my middle when I assured them that I wasn't. My boss would affectionately call me names like "Sugar Ass" and "Lard Dumplin'" on a daily basis. I would have to balance the checkbooks of thirteen different people who did not hold onto their receipts in Hell. If I screwed up the numbers, the expenses would come out of my paycheck. The private bathrooms in Hell would all be the same. The walls would be a nauseating, institutional green, and every toilet seat would be in an upright position. Every toilet tank in Hell would have a full roll of toilet paper on top of it, while the roll holder in the toilet dispenser would be empty. There would be no toilet paper or paper towels in the public bathrooms in Hell. The produce aisles in Hell would all smell like tinkle, and the expiration dates on all the food packages would be July 14, 1952. Parisians would run restaurants in Hell. The Irish would run gas stations in Hell. Every time you asked for directions, they'd send you to Topeka, Kansas without fail. Even if you were in Amsterdam. On the streets in Hell, you would only be able to make left turns across lanes of traffic, and you would constantly be behind that blue-haired asshole in a boat of a car. You know the one I'm talking about. The one who takes up two lanes of the road and drives at about 20 miles an hour on average - just to be safe. Turn signals would be optional in Hell, just as they are here on earth. In Hell, the lids on the condiment containers in restaurants would be screwed on tightly 50% of the time, making each time you grab a container a game of "condiment roulette". White blouses would always have a coffee or condiment stain in Hell. Poorly parked SUVs all take up three parking spaces in Hell. The only e-mails that you receive in Hell are chain letters and kiddie porn spam. You cannot unsubscribe from e-mail lists in Hell. All the unsubscribe URLs point you to that damn "Punch the Monkey" contest scam. The demons in Hell would look a lot like members of the most popular boy bands, and they would sound a whole lot like them, too. The elevators in Hell would play the song "Hot, Hot, Hot" by Buster Poindexter ad infinitum. What sort of fashion would they have in Hell? Why, men would only be permitted to wear bolo ties and mullets, and women would have to wear itchy polyester pants suits. Neon colored outfits would be all the rage in hell. Every woman's hair would defy the laws of gravity, making every movie theater viewing impossible. Cell phones would only ring in restaurants and movie theaters in Hell. All the phone-answering systems are automated in Hell. There would be no "Dial 0 to reach the operator" option. Calling a local business automatically throws you into an unending whirlpool of suck. The only hold music in Hell would be Journey power ballads. Pediatricians' offices would be manned by the scary clowns from the Tilt-A-Whirl, making visits to the doctor's office intolerable. Marcel Marceau would be the president of Hell. Ed Begley, Jr. would be the vice president of Hell. Barney, the purple dinosaur, and the full cast of the show "Small Wonder" would translate for President Marceau during his weekly fireside chats. The only college majors available to folks in Hell are degrees in interpretive dance and telephone solicitation. Commercials featuring Carrot Top would be the only thing you could see on TV in Hell. Subway performers would only play the jazzy score from the movie "Manos, Hands of Fate" in Hell and you'd have to pay them to stop. Oh, I could go on. While imagining life in Heaven is a nice little escape for folks, I feel that imagining life in Hell is much more entertaining. Why imagine all the things you could have, when reality provides you with so much color and variety already?