The other day I got lost in the desert. It was pretty rough, what with the total lack of food and water. I stil have no idea how I got lost, but just found myself wandering as if in a dream. Finally, I got to the foot of a pretty big hill; I figured I should climb it so I could get my bearings.
As I approached, I perceived the pathways were guarded by a mountain lion, a rattlesnake, and a smelly hippie. Fearful of losing my lunch, I withdrew.
As I headed back into the arroyo, I was met by a huge black dude with a shaved head.
My Guide, Virgil
“Aren’t you Virgil? Dude, where’s the Million Dollar Man?”
And Virgil said, “That’s way in my past, when the WWE was the WWF. But now I have another task, to help you journey find your way home.”
“What? Waitasec, I know I’ve read something like this before. Shouldn’t you be dead?”
“Well,” answered Virgil, “I may not be dead, but my wrestling career pretty much is.”
I shrugged, “Fair enough. Lead on, Virgil.”
Onwards was I lead by that Virgil, nemesis of Hulk Hogan and Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka. At length he lead me back to the hippie.
“Hold, I pray thee great Virgil of the shiney dome. The air here thickens to my great disturbance. Directly shall I expire from these odious vapors ‘ere I pass.”
And Virgil replied:
Therefore I think and judge it for thy best
Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,
And lead thee hence through the eternal place,
Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,
Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,
Who cry out each one for the second death;
And I replied, “Isn’t Chicago a little out of the way?”
And Virgil shuddered, “There’s no way I’d go there! I’m talking about Hell.”
I sighed in relief, “Oh, that’s cool then.”
Then he moved on and I behind him followed. A huge piñon jumped at me out of nowhere, and I bumped my head. All was darkness.
Next I knew, I was lead to the very gates of that great malignant city. Below the imposing gates hung a sinister sign.
“Billions and Billions Served” I read, perplexed. “I thought it was supposed to say…”
“They’ve been doing some renovations.” Virgil informed me.
At length we approached grim Charon’s elevator.
“Elevator?”
Charon nodded as Virgil bade him to admit me. “Do you know what back problems I’ve gotten from all those thousands of years of rowing that stupid boat? And that was back when our health plan didn’ t even cover a visit to the chiropractor!”
Sensing my confusion, Virgil confided, “Hoffa unionized the place when he got here. They now have a collective bargaining agreement.”
Stunned, I nodded, “That CBA is a powerful document.” Then I added, “So I guess a lot of the union guys from back in the day are here?”
To wit Charon replied, “Actually no. Most of their overprivileged and spoiled college attending brats are here though.” Virgil concurred, “Not that they’re in heaven, in fact for most of those guys they had to dig an entirely new level of Purgatory at the bottom to accomodate them, mind you. But there are very few rank and file dues paying members in hell. Like Charon said, it’s their leftist children that arrive here.”
“That’s like, totally dysfunctional.”
“Hello-oo! This is Hell, remember?.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Twas then that Virgil bade Charon to push the button for “Circle 8, Ditch 9″. Once the muzak version of “Copa Cabana” began, I truly realized I was in hell.
Charon confided, “We considered playing this throughout all of the City of Dis, but the mystique of hell requires actual demons to be doing actual torture of the damned. There was no way the demons were going to put up with Barry Manilow for all eternity.” Then a grim smile stretched across his skeletal face, “At least, not until he gets here.”
The elevator stopped and I exited, grabbing a visitor’s map from a small rack by the door.
And then I beheld a site so horrendous:
Who ever could, e’en with untrammelled words,
Tell of the blood and of the wounds in full
Which now I saw, by many times narrating?
Each tongue would for a certainty fall short
By reason of our speech and memory,
That have small room to comprehend so much.
It stirred in me the same emotions that would be found in any American male’s heart at the start of the 21st Century.
THAT’S AWESOME!
It was then that I realized my reason for being here. I was being given a chance to interview someone at the of a lot of controversy up here in the land of the living. That’s right, I was being given the chance to speak with one of hell’s most famous denizens: the “prophet” Mohammed.
A cask by losing centre-piece or cant
Was never shattered so, as I saw one
Rent from the chin to where one breaketh wind.
Between his legs were hanging down his entrails;
His heart was visible, and the dismal sack
That maketh excrement of what is eaten.
Sucks To Be You, Mohammed
While approaching, I noticed the demon assigned to cleave these damned souls for eternity. He was a bit different than I would have imagined him.
HASSAN CHOP!
“They get cable TV down here as part of the CBA. The demons are nuts about the Cartoon Network. They’ve really gotten creative because of it.
“HASSAN CHOP” shrieked the demon, slicing the next damned soul to approach on the eternal circus of misery.
“So, who do they give the Three Stooges treatment to?” I mused aloud.
Virgil pointed to the next ditch, where Luther, Calvin, and Henry VIII eye gouged each other for eternity.
Nodding sagely, I noted, “So Luther is Larry, Calvin is Moe and Henry VII is Curly? That makes sense.”
It was at this point that Mohammed passed closest to me on his circuit. I attempted to parley, “Mo! You da bomb, man!”
I think he looked pretty ticked off about that, but it was hard to tell what with the bottom of his face being cleaved in two and all. “What do you want from me, you who still draws breath?”
“I was just curious. Did you get seventy-two virgins or seventy-two raisins?”
That seemed to set him off, “Shut the..”
“HASSAN CHOP”
I winced, “Oh, that hadda hurt!” At that point, I followed him around from the ledge on which I stood.
“But seriously, why aren’t you up a few levels among the blasphemers?” I checked my little map, “From what I see here, you’d like it in the Seventh Circle, Inner Ring.” I perused the blurb describing the torments therein, “Hmm..burning sand and a rain of fire. After living in Arabia that sounds like a vacation spot, doesn’t it? Let me see, you’d be chillin’ (heh) with blasphemers, sodomites and usurers. Two out of three ain’t bad, is it?”
The fury welled inside him, “I did not blaspheme!”
“Dude, you placed yourself above the Christ!”
All hell shook, knocking me from my feet. Parts of the stone ceiling came cascading about me, any one chunk capable of crushing me to a pulp. Virgil offered a hand and hauled me up.
“You can really mess things up here just by saying that Name.”
“Oh, oops. Where’s my head? Sorry about that there, Hassan.”
The demon shrugged, “No big whoop. It was time for my coffee break anyhow.”
“Wow. Hoffa’s still got it, I guess.” I turned back to Mohammed, “You proclaimed yourself greater than the Most High. And what you did with that little girl….”
“Ayesha was my wife! It was lawful!” Mohammed shrieked.
“She was nine!” queasy, I turned to Virgil. “I’m going to need a shower when I get out of here. I feel dirty.”
“Who would have thought Hell would make you feel that way.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it Virgil. Now settle down or I’ll have Rowdy Roddy Piper smack you upside the head.”
Then came a glint to Mohammed’s eye, “Besides, the One Above is merciful. That level is filled with usurers, with moneylenders. He did not put me there in his mercy. After all, we know what those are codewords for. He wouldn’t put me among the Juh..”
“HASSAN CHOP!”
“Nice follow through on that one.” Figuring it was time to go, I left Mohammed with one last thought. “Oh, just so you know. Up above, people refer to Islam as being a sister religion to Christianity and Judaism. They’re trying to make your followers into happy brothers with the Christian and the Jew. Happy torment, Mo.”
I perceived he was preparing to retort in anger, but it was time for Mohammed to be force-fed his McRib. We took our leave of him and headed back to the elevator.
Unfortunately, we were not to go unchallenged. Several demons had decided that once we were not going to leave. As they descended upon us, Virgil shoved me into the elevator. The savaged him without mercy, rending him and tearing him to pieces. At the same time, he seemed…content. I guess it reminded him of all the times he had to job in the WWF. Those were the good ol’ days for him, I suppose.
Overwhelmed by what I had observed, my mind slipped into unconsciousness as the doors of the elevator closed.
Next I knew, it was daylight in my own room. My wife came in, “That was one pretty bad fever. When they brought you in here, you kepy muttering, ‘Where’s my fatwa? Where’s my fatwa?”
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