There is a theory that each man and woman has a personal Hell waiting for them. No, not the checkout line at Starbucks. I mean after we die, sillies. A Hell comprised of our worst fears. Surely then, my hell would include:
Environment of Hell:
- All the inhabitants of Hell are clowns. They are all named Biff. Each one pronounces “Biff” differently and takes great offense should you mispronounce it.
- Everything is painted puce. There are old, buzzing neon Bud Light signs covering every wall.
- There are no outdoors. Hell is one enormous indoor mall populated with screaming toddlers who break things and are badly in need of a diaper refresh.
- The only pets you can own are untrainable Yorkies with bladder control issues. Everyone must own twenty of them. They never sleep.
- There are plenty of hair salons because your hair grows 13″ a day in Hell. The hair stylists are only capable of creating mullets and the shampoo smells like garlic toast and wet dog fur.
Entertainment in Hell:
- Clowns follow you everywhere and sing Celine Dion to a karaoke machine the size of Kansas.
- There is only one television station and it only runs televangelists (who are the true rulers of Hell).
- At random intervals each day, the clowns break out in song (and lesions). Their favorites include Kumbaya, Come Sail Away and Skinnamarink.
Eating in Hell:
- You are force-fed cereal every morning at 4am. It’s Grape-Nuts. Grape Nuts with spiders.
- Lunch is the same every day: Slug-Kabobs with prune-ade.
- You get Girl Scout cookies in Hell, not that you’d want them. The only flavor they have is Thin Flints.
- The catsup tastes like metal and milk all comes from stoats.
- On your birthday, you get a giant cake. Obese stripper clowns pop out of it and ruin your day.