Like most people, religious affiliation not withstanding, I, too, invoke heaven and hell an exorbitant amount of times throughout an average day. Hell with this, for heaven’s sake, come hell or high water, dear God, hail Satan, etc. These are the epithets of modern secularism, not literal invocations of The Bearded One or Beelzebub, but who decides if God or the Devil is stirred from their heavenly perch or subterranean crypt when I smash my finger in the car door, invoke Saint Pete while impatiently waiting for my DQ Blizzard, or eternally damn God because my pen ran out of ink?

Questions you indubitably believe that have no answers. But, I am here to allay any uncertainty, for I have been to the gates of hell. In fact, I’m writing this dispatch is from the deepest, hottest, and darkest (intermittently dark, of course, between the flicker of perpetually licking flames) catacombs man could possibly envision, and then some. Take the dark recesses of an Hieronymus Bosch triptych, multiply it by the vivid yet ineffable fear which characterizes your most searing fever dream, and add vermin of endless variety, only then will you start approaching the infernal landscape I am now confronted with.

Hell, I didn’t think it would be so bad. Hell, I didn’t even think it existed. God, don’t I feel dumb. From the diabolical alter of Diablo, I do.

Not that I thought much about it, but my best guess would have put me in proximity of the Promised Land, or at the very least purgatory. For Christ’s sake, what had I done to end up here! One moment I was in Hell on Earth, the next I’m confronted with the spiked wrought iron fences of the Dark Prince, instead of the sterling gates of everlasting empyrean. It’s been the rudest of awakenings, to be sure.

The queue is long. Longer than long. Opening weekend at The Tower of Terror long, free fries line long, new Furby and Beanie Baby line long. Here’s a little thought experiment, think of all the people you have come across in your life that should take an eternal vacation at the red hot trident park. It’s longer than that. Apparently, membership isn’t very exclusive, there’s a lot of Hell and damnation to go around, it’s the fire and brimstone of Sam’s Club, in my estimation.

Unlike Sam’s Club, however, there appears to be a shortage of toilet paper. “Too hot for it”, the short cropped “Karen Cut” Kate Gosselin look alike in front of me relays back, barely looking in my direction. This, along with board shorts, loafers, Affliction t-shirts, and puka shell jewelry seems to be the fashion du jour. It’s as if all the moms of dance recitals and beauty pageants got together to adopt and improve upon the look T-Boz popularized in the mid 90s, except, they are white women trying to emulate one of the biggest stars of the 90s, in 2021, and, honestly, it was a sus cut to begin with.

Actually, given the setting, I’m convinced Kate Gosselin is in front of me. I’d ask for an autograph, but something tells me I’ll be running into quite a few notables down here.

Hell, it could be fun.