So I’ve been an asshole for most of my life but I’m not a bad guy.
There’s levels to being an asshole.
Right at the top, you have Hitler and the real, grade a, assholes like him. Even the rest of us assholes aren’t exactly into those guys.
Me? I’m pretty close to the bottom of the asshole pyramid.
Me? I’m pretty close to the bottom of the asshole pyramid. I'm down in slums with all the other miserable assholes who’ve bumbled their way through life not thanking people when they’ve held doors open for us.
I’ve always enjoyed being an asshole. It’s my special ‘thing’. Some people are gymnasts and good luck to them. I am just an asshole and I always will be. It comes naturally to me.
I’ve never been religious and I’m not sure about the grand scheme of things but I know one thing for sure. I am,
I’ve never been religious and I’m not sure about the grand scheme of things but I know one thing for sure. I am, without doubt,
I’ve never been religious and I’m not sure about the grand scheme of things but I know one thing for sure. I am, without doubt, in hell.
It’s hot down here (I’m kind of working under the assumption that hell is down somewhere at least).
It’s that uncomfortable heat where you’re always a bit sweaty and getting to sleep is a real problem. There is also kind of a base level of body odour down here but I’m used to it now.
I’d say the worst part about this place is the queue to get in.
I know some people have some pretty intense and often quite kinky ideas about what eternal damnation is like but trust me, Lucifer (or Lucy, as she likes to be called) knows what she’s doing.
When I first arrived, there was a ginormous queue just to the gate. I couldn’t even see the gate, just a seemingly never-ending snake of disgruntled people.
Of course, everyone in the queue to hell is an asshole at best. I actually got murdered a couple of times by some real hardcore assholes and that simply sent me to the back of the queue. That is real torture.
What’s worse is that the guy on hell’s gate who actually checked me in to the place looks about as old as the gate itself.
Everything he does is done at an excruciatingly slow pace. All the while, you’re trying not to get murdered for the 47th time.
By the time I actually got to the gate, he asked the same inane questions a few times.
Whether it’s his hearing, his memory or if he’s just an asshole like the rest of us is a mystery I can’t be bothered to solve.
Once I got in, it wasn’t all that bad. It’s just like the roughest neighbourhood you’ve ever seen. I actually have a place for myself these days. It’s by no means nice, but I can’t really complain. After all, it’s free accommodation for the rest of ever.
I’ve never had the chance to speak to Lucy. I once bumped into her at the convenience store which as you can imagine is not actually that convenient down here.
She picked up the last carton of milk and smiled wickedly as a small tear formed in the corner of my eye at the thought of yet more dry cereal for breakfast.
Lucy looks at you like the asshole you are. She is that girl that knows she’s better than you. What’s annoying is that she’s justified in looking at you that way. She runs this place and I’m just another asshole living in her world.
Anyway, I realise I’ve waffled on for too long here.
Anyway, I realise I’ve waffled on for too long here. Welcome to hell.