Hell

Forget all that fire and brimstone, horned half-goat fallen angel, and burning in lakes of fire for some eternal damnation bullshit. Hell is a never ending office job with no windows. It’s always 2:17pm, and you will be uncomfortable from over eating at lunch time in a vain attempt at infusing a tiny fraction of happiness into your existence. When you walk to the water cooler there will be people congregated there whose names you can’t remember but who know your name and talk to you about things you don’t care about… mostly how you look like some guy on American Idol and/or Chris Angel, or if you enjoy Ugly Betty as much as they do. When you walk into the bathroom, each stall will be filled with grown men flipping through pages of magazine and newspapers which will further perpetuate your already slightly above moderate germaphobia. You will not be able to relieve yourself either. Not because you have that clichéd ‘Urinal Shyness’ hack writers always use as lame ‘Dude-Joke’ punch lines in retarded frat-boy movies like The 40 Year Old Virgin, but because you are in fact in Hell and that would make things to easy. That coupled with the fact that the newspapers readers are also flatulating like a fuking 4 bassoon quartet and you just want to get out of the room as fast as you can. Running out the door will only return you instantly to the very spot you were sitting when you looked at the corner of your computer screen and saw that it was only 2:17pm and started to feel like maybe you should go take a piss.