Tuesday, March 24, 2015


I am conflicted about hell. 

You see, I’ve always operated under the assumption that I am going to hell.  This is as much an acknowledgement of my darker self (no I haven’t killed anyone, but if you’ve ever driven with me at rush hour you know there is some dark shit in there) AND a way of managing my own expectations.  You see:

·      If I think I’m going to heaven and I go to hell, well I think we can agree the disappointment will be just crushing. 
·      If I think I’m going to hell and I go to heaven – “WHAT?  I DID NOT expect this!  Where’s the wine?” is my response. 
·      If I think I’m going to hell and I do go to hell, then I am both unsurprised and I also get to be right.  And I think everyone knows that there is no better feeling in this world for a woman than to be right. 

Regardless, I will not be disappointed. 

Anyway, I’ve been pretty comfortable with the idea of spending eternity surrounded by what I’m hoping will be exciting and colorful fire and brimstone.  I’m thinking it might be a bit like Hawaii with the volcanoes and the heat.   But one thing I’ve also been really looking forward to is the company.  I mean if Pat Robertson and the other Evangelical Christians are right, and they sure think they are, the attendees in hell reads like my dream party gathering. I mean, I am going to be hanging out with the likes of Ozzy Osbourne, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Mae West and George Carlin!  How can you beat that!? 

But then, ruh- roh, I realized we’re still gonna have Stalin, Hitler and Melissa Howard (my 8th grade nemesis).  The primary problem here is that ALL of these people are notorious for knowing how to ruin a perfectly good time.  I mean Stalin with all the marching, Hitler with all his yelling, he’ll probably be like super angry to see a Jew or two there with us, and with Melissa starting every single sentence with “Oh my God you guys!” – it could actually turn out to be a pretty tough row to hoe despite all the cool cats.  So yeah, obviously, I’m conflicted.

Post Script:

When I was working on this I decided I would bone up (no jokes) on Stalin and I found a page called “Stalin for kids” and I thought, “Is there some version of Stalin that is good for kids?  Was he like John Wayne Gacy and sometimes dressed as a clown?”  The answer is no.  Stalin for kids is just like Stalin for adults but with fewer pictures of corpses.  Anyway, it also had this picture of young Stalin. 

Hold the phones!  I mean look who is dreamy!  Look at that hair! I mean he looks like he plays the guitar and writes his own lyrics!  I think I would totally have dated young Stalin. I mean the hair alone!   Obviously, I don’t think I would date him for a long time though because knowing what I know, I bet he wouldn’t do karaoke and would just want to sit around and get high and talk about his stupid ideas all the time!  Then again I think, what if he dated someone delightful and awesome like me?  Like someone who said “You know, maybe you should just really concentrate on your poetry.  Its really good.” One supportive girlfriend could have changed the course of human history! 

So serious boyfriend no, but at the very least, I would make eyes and let him buy me a drink.  Ok, yes, fine, I probably would have made out with him a few times too.  Yeah, so all of this has turned out to be more disturbing than I anticipated, but really, who knew Stalin was a hot young poet once and I’m still conflicted about hell, but I wonder...........................will there be like hot young Stalin there or the old one????

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