Please Sign Your Name On Hell's Guest Registry

Sure, I have written about heaven and hell fairly recently. But I don't care. You're not the boss of me.

I have been thinking a lot about the devil. Not in a perverted way, necessarily, just pondering his existence. Do you think the devil is fork tongued and carries a pitchfork like he is normally portrayed? Or maybe he is some serpent that slithers throughout the earth and bites people on the ankle, injecting the venom of bad thoughts like: "yellow lights mean go as fast as you can" or "take 2 fortune cookies even though it says to only take one." ? Or maybe he just looks like any other white person (I guess in my mind a white person is the most viable to be the devil, but I guess he could be Asian. or Russian.) and he wanders around creating chaos, and slips into the shadows undetected like Bigfoot or some other fairytale hoax like a narwhal. 

I hope I don't ever have to find out what the devil looks like unless I am mooning him from on high, but when I tally up my life points of good deeds versus evil, my accountant suggests it more likely I will be meeting the devil than God. So maybe that's why I have been thinking about the devil and hell more often, because I am pondering my future there. I hope that there is a system where you could move up the ranks and get into heaven, or at least eventually become an assistant torturer. 

But therein lies the biggest question of all; what is hell like? Is it rivers of poop that flow freely from the mouth of a giant poop waterfall, and there is nothing to eat but stale bread, and all you can smell is poop? So it kind of tastes like eating poop. And anywhere you look there is just pigeons. Everywhere you cast your eyes, there are rats of the skies eating the bread you don't get to first. Do you have a cell there, or can you wander aimlessly through the corridors without purpose, sitting idly by the river of excrement, passing your time in hell?

I would like to imagine that hell is some kind of holding place where I could go, pay off my debts as a sentence in hell for a period of time, then move on to the great beyond where I work at a celestial McDonalds, trying to move up the chain and buy a bigger mansion in a better part of heaven.

Here is what I would suggest that hell should be like, it could be like the American "justice" system where people die, get sentenced, and have the opportunity to move up to a level of hell from the one they are currently on. Similar to Dante's Inferno, there would be levels of lower hell for the more heinous crimes, but the upper levels would offer mild torture, then after a time and, coupled with good behavior, you can get into heaven and do arduous labor for people who were worthy.

The upper levels of hell would be for people who jay walked, skipped class, gave a titty twister to an unexpectant victim, and lied to their mother. This level would basically be spending time in a cell where they served you plain rice cakes and irrigation water for every meal, and you could earn rights to read books like Who Moved My Cheese?, anything by Dave Ramses, or some other dry self-help book, and the especially well behaved could watch 1 episode of Murder, She Wrote on Fridays. You have a toilet but can only flush it once every 3 days. People here would typically only spend 20-50 years time and could move on. 

The middle levels of hell would be for more serious crimes, or sins, if you will. People here might be the ones who leave shopping carts in the middle of the parking lots rather than putting them in the corrals, trampled someone at a Black Friday deal, drew phallic images in their school-owned text books, got several piercings, dyed their hair an unnatural color, watched HBO after midnight when their parents were asleep, went to Burger King on a Sunday, wore a shirt that revealed their midriff in public, called someone a dumbass or dipshit, purchased thong underwear, has worn a toe ring, or read the 50 Shades Of Grey series. (This list is not exhaustive, just examples of crimes in the afterlife)

This level of hell would be slightly more severe. The temperature would always be either too hot or too cold. And you could never manage to get your pants off when it's too hot, or find a jacket when it's too cold. Typically you would be all alone, and wandering some kind of wilderness. You would be thirsty but all that would be available to quench your thirst would be flat 7-Up or Diet Pepsi. When you are hungry all you can find is Boston Baked Beans candy, and someone's leftover plate from thanksgiving, being mostly gravy and fragments of mashed potatoes and turkey that is dry. Occasionally someone will come along and their sole purpose is to hurt you, so that would depend on what kind of person you are. If you are the type of person who liked getting spanked, obviously they wouldn't hit you, they would probably compliment you and make excessive eye contact. I will likely be in this level of hell, so as an example for me, they would send a new person every time and the person would want to make small talk and invite me over for dinner, where they would ask me about my work and hobbies (Of which I have none). Maybe you can work up from this level of hell after wandering for so long, but unlike the first level there isn't a prison system to determine your good or bad behavior. So maybe it's time contingent, and after so long you get sent to the upper level where you could make license plates and move into heaven.

The lower level of hell would be for very serious crimes and sins. Examples: Fornicators, thieves, politicians, people who leave babies in hot cars, auto mechanics (see also: thieves), people who honk immediately when the light turns green, DJ's, murderers, rapists, Keith Urban, anyone who held a Playboy subscription, the person who wrote the 50 Shades Of Grey series, Charles Manson, people with nipple piercings, most newscasters, belly dancers, people who wear cowboy hats in public, Anne Hathaway, the creators of candy corn, people who posed nude for an artist, grifters, anyone who exploited poor people, most, if not all, landlords, the inventors of screamo music, people who have watched Friends, Hitler, the inventor of the bikini, masturbators, drug users, most people who own motorcycles, vegans, Stalin, members of Florida Georgia Line and their fans, people who follow very closely on the freeway, and Miley Cyrus.

This last level of hell would be the full blown torture stage. Women would have to experience blue balls. Men would have to give birth. A steam roller would run over penises. You would be forced to listen to Luke Bryan play for 80 straight hours. You could eat, but all the food is on the floor and most people aren't wearing shoes and walking all over it. Occasionally you could find one of those stale tins of popcorn from Christmas 1995, but all that is left is the cheese popcorn with a little mold on it. Vegans would cry about not being able to eat anything at all. There is always someone with a cowboy hat nearby asking who you voted for, and saying he doesn't want taxes to go up. There is a girl crying constantly. You are allowed to drink but all that is available is peppermint schnapps, skunked Bud Light, and hot water that they filtered from the poop river. You always have an itch on your back that you can't reach. When you lay down to sleep you wake up suddenly thinking you're late for school, even though you are dead. You always have the sensation to pee. Your clothes smell like cigarettes. Your back hurts always. You have to go to the dentist every single day and he gives you a root canal. The floor is made of loose Legos. You cannot work your way out of this level of hell. They have determined you are too bad to move up. 

I don't really think any of this is true, I am just hopeful that it is, as I am likely on a fast track to the underworld. If this does turn out to be true and I have discovered the blue print for the afterlife, mention this blog and I can get you 10% off your mandatory sentence in hell.

I think the best we can hope for is a little grace, because we all kind of suck in our own way. You just have to do your best along the way. Maybe we will all end up in hell. Maybe we will all end up in heaven. Or maybe all of you will end up in hell and I will end up in heaven. Or vice versa.

DIEting

Do you think that God invented food, or the devil? Let's just say for argument's sake that it was God. My follow up question would be this: Does God have a twisted sense of humor? I just can't understand why he would make everything that tastes good, lovely, praiseworthy, or of good report be so bad for you. And everything that tastes like dirt, dog shit, and water be so good for you. 

Maybe he enjoys seeing us all suffer? Or have you ever wondered if God is fat and he wants you to be more like Him? The 600 lb people are closest to God? So in this scenario, skinny people would be like the devil. I enjoy, very much, painting skinny people out to be the bad guys for once. I mean, to be fair, every artist depiction of the devil I have seen, he is usually skinny or has a six pack. Can't think of any time I have seen the devil portrayed as fat. Food for thought. But the other side of that is that fat people die fast and have a lot of health problems. Every medical diagnosis I have ever received they have directly correlated with me being 'morbidly obese'. Which I am pretty sure is the highest level of obese. So at least I am in first at something. Sick burn by doctors though, they're just like "you're not just fat, you are going to DIE because you're so fat. You are morbidly obese bro. Do you want to pick out which piano box you'd like to be buried in tomorrow? You fat loser?"

Have you ever just thought passingly about food and it arouses a feeling in you? That sounds oddly sexual, but it's something I am working through right now. I have been doing a diet for a total of 4 days and just the thought of certain foods evokes a reaction in me that I can't explain. I sometimes think about Raising Cane's, In-N-Out, and Astro Burger the way mothers think of their sons who never returned from the war. Just longingly gazing at pictures of their food for an ineffable amount of time, while tears gently roll down my cheeks, and I help myself to a tall glass of water to curb the appetite, like the dumb ass I am.

I have tried to come up with goals ever since I got my A&P licensing in July, and needed something else to work on. So I have been trying to exercise and lose weight. It's been going well, except I have this problem where, now that I lift weights 4 times a week, I justify eating whatever I want. Cake for breakfast? I'll burn it off at the gym later. 64 oz soda? Gym later baby. So I have been stagnant, for the most part. But I have been doing well otherwise.

I have always been a big proponent of the idea that "fad diets don't work" and in a lot of ways, I think thats true. Most diets aren't that sustainable unless you're Oprah and have the funding to be able to do Weight Watchers for the rest of your life. Most people I know don't have that. Most people say: "you just need to change some eating habits" and I hear that, but when you're someone like me, changing my eating habits would take an act of congress, God, or the British Parliament. You can't just tell me to "Stop eating when I am full" the same way you can't tell a dog to look up. There are some things that aren't possible. Whether in this life or the life to come. So please stop saying that to me, it's hurting my big fat feelings. So yeah, I am trying a fad diet. And it's going okay. I stuffed a donut down my pants just to try and curb the desire to stuff it entirely into my mouth like an anaconda, but otherwise it's been fine.

So yeah, I guess I am an emotional eater. Everybody has problems. Some people don't eat because of their feelings and that's something I don't understand even a little. But that's okay. We all just have to suffer through this thing together. You don't have to understand things to support people who are trying to change and be better, or not. Even if someone is just trying to survive, you can be nice to them. I'm not sure what that has to do with food, but it felt like a bridge.

So good luck to everyone who is trying to make changes, whether it be for the new year or not. I wish you the best of luck. If you see me and I act like a caged animal, it's just because I am hungry. Which could also double as the title of my memoir. Just pound on the glass and keep moving.

The Shame Of It All

Do you ever remember when you were younger people telling you: "There are 2 things you should never talk about (to coworkers, I think), religion and politics."? Or was that just something I dreamt or imagined? I have tried very fervently to maintain this status quo throughout my life, and it has proved to serve me quite well. I desperately try to NOT discuss those 2 topics with not only coworkers, but also friends, strangers, people standing outside the grocery store, homeless people, cashiers, ugly people, handsome people, the guy who works at the root beer store (It's a real store in Lynnwood Washington look it up) my parents, my siblings, really anyone who has ears and eyes. I don't want to talk about it regardless of situation, it seems impolite. 

I know many of you may be sitting back in your chair, stifling laughter saying: "OH! The fat man is going to give US a lesson on being polite!" And I don't disagree with you. I am far from an expert on this topic, or any topic really. But this is just an observation from somebody who really despises talking to people.

I don't think I have ever witnessed anything that has divided people more in my life than this prior election has; and my wife is a Red Sox fan. I can't even say the words Alex Rodriguez in my house without a visceral reaction; or the words Big Papi without causing an eye to get misty. But, that's a topic for a different day.

Maybe I am wrong, I am only 29, so I am about halfway done with my life. Maybe things were always this contentious. Maybe everyone always hated each other, but they didn't have Facebook or Twitter to just violently retch their opinions to the public via. Which is a viable answer. But I always felt like there was a common thread among the American people that brought us together instead of turned us against each other. 

My guess is that we no longer have to beat Russia in a race to the moon, or to beat Russia in a hockey game, or to beat Russia in a boxing match after Ivan Drago kills Apollo Creed. Mainly we don't have Russia to root against anymore. Is that the problem? Do we need another Russian enemy? Will that save us from ourselves?

It seems that it's all anyone can talk about anymore, either barfing their political opinions or talking about religion. It has come to the point where people are threatening to dismember or steal property from someone if they fly a political flag that they don't agree with. I have one question for anyone who is sharing things on facebook that are violent towards their political opponent: Have you lost your damn mind?

I have always stayed pretty neutral politically because, to me, it's always felt like: "Would you like to vote for Senator Palpetine, or Darth Vader?" I mean, both parties are kind of dog shit. There isn't a single one who doesn't present their own set of problems and harbor a party of political corruption and filth. We have certainly painted ourselves into a corner. And that is just my personal opinion, your honor.

When I pause to think about it, and look at all the knee jerk reactions that people are posting in response to the election, it shouldn't surprise me. You get people who are horrible to each other, you certainly breed leaders who are horrible to each other. "Garbage in, garbage out" -George Carlin

I guess my solution isn't the typical Bill And Ted's "Be excellent to each other!" although I think that is good advice, I think we are a little beyond that. I don't know what the solution is. I doubt anyone does. I seriously wonder what it would take to make us all realize that we are all on the same ship. It's neither red nor blue. It isn't us versus them. It is literally just us. And if we make moves that causes "their" boat to take on water, we are all going to drown. Not just who you hope does.

I hope people who are stirred up to hatred toward someone based on their political opinions one day realizes they're being insane. Maybe your mom needs to drag you by your ear to your room. Or you need to be grounded from the world wide web. Or maybe you just need a hobby. I think political activism is fine, but, just like anything, if it consumes you you should probably stop. And if you are threatening people with MAGA hats or Biden stickers, it is too late.

Speaking to people not giving a shit about each other, there have been plenty of people show their colors amid this pandemic. I am not here to tell you one way is correct and the other isn't. But if this virus made your dick fall off if you were between the ages of 19-60, you would definitely not be acting the way you do. But because it only kills sick people and old people, who cares, right? And we don't know if it's real or not! Doctors are saying it is, but someone on youtube said otherwise and I don't know who to believe. They're both pretty credible sources. Plus, doctors have been telling me for years that I am overweight when I am clearly not, so reason suggests that they are lying, and they all made a pact to lie to all of us. But especially me. I am not overweight my bones are just super heavy.

I am under no illusion that this blog who reaches an entire 40 people is going to change the world. I just don't think I can stomach you twits continuing to be horrible to each other without saying something.

I would like the internet to go back to when we watched videos of that English kid getting his finger bitten or people falling down. I liked when the internet was fun. Now it's just a place for us all to whine to each other and tell each other to shut up. So here's my advice: listen to ME whine and you shut up.

I guess my closing thought/question is this: What kind of world are you/we wanting to leave behind? Do you want to make it a better place, or do you want to wipe your ass with it and pass it on to your/our kids and make them deal with the smell? Because we can't fix anything if we are fighting each other.

In the words of Rick from Rick and Morty, "Your boos mean nothing, I have seen what makes you cheer."

Listen to Spooky Book Report if you haven't yet. It's my podcast and it's where all my creative efforts have been going into. We swear a lot and a lot of people have either complained vocally or subtly jabbed and to them I say: You don't have to listen to it. It's MY podcast. Get your own where you don't swear if you're so concerned about it. Here's a link: https://anchor.fm/spooky-book-report

Snooze Buttons (Activate Instant Death)

I saw a dead crow in the parking lot when I was walking into my apartment, just now. It has been raining all day out there too, so it's probably pretty soft if some animal or person were wanting a free meal. The bird was also smashed, like someone ran it over with their car after it died and all it's entrails were coming out of it's ass. Wait, do birds have asses? I mean I guess they would have to in order to be able to shit all over everything like they do... I guess I never really thought about birds asses before.

I don't normally revel in death.... well..... usually not. Sometimes I think people meet their just end, sure. But I don't really celebrate it. That's a little too emo for even me. And my mom made me buy white and grey shirts in high school because she said I 'wear too much black' and she was worried I was super emo. Now look at me, almost thirty and I wear nothing but black and there's nothing she can do to stop me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am emo now and nobody can tell me not to do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I haven't ever really been happy something or someone died until I saw that bird gored to death out in the parking lot. I even kicked its intestines around just to make sure it was a real dead bird. You know, instead of a fake one.

So we live on the top floor of an apartment building. Not like, the nice kind where you have a view, it's just what was offered to us, so now I have to hike my lard ass up the stairs just to sit and/or lie down in my own house. It's bullshit, right? Even bringing home candy and soda to indulge in, I still have to carry it upstairs. Suffering from success.

Anyway, so we live on the top floor so there has been a particularly pestering crow that must have had a nest somewhere on the roof. Because the God forsaken bird would never shut up. And we could always hear it, even with the windows closed. However in the spring, summer and fall (And winter. Idk she is weird) my wife likes to sleep with the window open. And literally every morning between 5 and 6 that damn bird would start cawing. For like an hour. I have to be to work at 5:30 every day, so I am usually somewhat lucid by the time he would start yakking, but my wife likes to sleep in until 8 or 9. So naturally this bird became a pestilence. Every morning she would sigh heavily and slam the window shut and try (unsuccessfully) to go back to sleep. But she couldn't ever go back to sleep. It was kind of like the Edgar Allan Poe raven, but worse because he couldn't talk he could just shriek in a language unknown. What a dickhead, right?

I am not accusing my wife of murdering this bird, because I genuinely don't think she is capable of murder, but I would like to imagine it so. I also cannot be exactly sure that the morbid pile of a carcass out in the parking lot is the same bird that woke my wife up every day this past summer. Maybe he is still at large. Eating people's steak and ruining their lives in another, sunnier part of the world. I don't know crows migration patterns. However I do like to imagine my wife in camouflage with a huge blunderbuss and binoculars scoping out the roof of our apartment. Then, upon positively identifying the culprit, she blasts it to smithereens. She follows this up by running it over with her car and making sure he is, in fact, 100% dead. She then celebrates by smoking a large cigar and drinking a Perrier.

So, I hope that that is the bitter end for my wife's unasked-for alarm clock. Time will tell. In the meantime, there is a lady in our apartment who, literally every Saturday morning takes her children out into the parking lot and screams them into their carseats. Fortunately though, the kids yell back at her. So there is just a shouting match every Saturday morning at 7 AM out in our parking lot. I have considering shouting at them and telling them to shut the hell up, but I doubt they could hear me over the metal grinding loudness of their Saturday morning routine.

I am not suggesting that I hope this woman and her train horns for children get killed and run over in the parking lot... But that would be poetic justice. However that would make for an eerie streak of events that happened to people and birds that wake my wife up consistently. I should tread lightly. I have woken her up by farting too loudly more than once. If you find me in our parking lot ran over and all my guts are smushing out of my ass, you'll know I farted too early, and loudly, one too many times. But I died doing what I loved.

Take It From Me, I Am A Doctor.

Have you ever seen someone blow their nose into a plastic sandwich bag while you were trying to eat your lunch? Because I have. The problem isn't really that it happened, as much as it is that I haven't been able to stop reliving it. I think this is what they refer to in the medical world as 'emotional trauma'. Don't worry, I never got medically diagnosed for that. That is just what I, Dr. Mantis Toboggan, diagnosed myself with.

Isn't that such a strange thing? That people can literally read about shit online and diagnose themselves with problems? Some dumb ass website designer makes this thing that says "That this quiz to find out if you are bipolar!" and then this 40 year old lady does, it 'passes' the test, then just ASSUMES she has a chronic and debilitating mental illness. We went from 'Take this test to find out which Disney character you are!' alllllllllll the way to 'Take this test to find out if you have AIDS!' I hate to say this, but you should really be seeing a doctor, and not the Internet to get diagnosed with problems. The reason I hate to say that is because I straight up hate going to the doctor. Doctors are essentially people who can get away with insulting people, in the name of health. Every time I see a doctor, doesn't matter which one, they all say the same thing. "You probably don't feel very good because you are fat as SHIT!" And then the nurse comes in and high fives them.

I might have been exaggerating that last bit, but you will never know because I am protected under HIPAA law, bitch. Call the cops.

My biggest complaint amongst all of the Internet cures, diagnoses, and so forth is that people will go on generally believing whatever they read on the Internet, and then question what a licensed medical professional tells them. And just continue to believe whatever they want. I suppose that is their right, but hot damn.

I have found that this is particularly true amongst the tangled web of mental health/illnesses. People will read about someone who has actual diagnosed anxiety and/or depression disorder and will be like: "Dang. sometimes, I get nervous... I also sometimes get sad... I must have anxiety and depression, too!" And then will just believe that. Some side effects that they absolutely made up, and will believe that they have those problems. To me, this is criminally idiotic. That is like saying that your ass gets itchy sometimes, so you must have hemorrhoids. If you have ever met someone who truly has diagnosed anxiety or depression, you would not assume that you have those disorders because sometimes you like to stay in bed, or you get nervous before you go take a test. You would also not wish those disorders upon yourself.

I find humor in everything. The reason I write this is because I hope to make someone out there laugh, or at least smile. We are facing a harder and harder time, and mental health is something that we have to start taking seriously. We no longer live in 1920 where you can just go to work all day while you simultaneously smoke cigarettes and then come home and drink yourself into a stupor to forget all your problems. (Sounds nice though, if I am being honest) So take good care and watch out for those that you love, stab all the ones that you don't.