A letter arrived this morning, and I already don't want to open the shit. At 6 am, the doorbell rang, which sounded like an exploding bell jar. The noise awakened me from a luxurious sex dream that found me at a tarted-up swinger penthouse on the Upper East Side in NYC. My toes were being sucked by a dreamy chocolate man, complete with a full beard, hulking-prison muscles, and tattoos. As I was about to climax, the sound of planes falling from the sky jolted me awake.

Frantic and glistening with a thin sheet of sweat, I high-tailed to my front door. As the door swung open, Marcleese, an Ogar with a lazy eye and an unreasonable amount of body hair, was standing in my doorway with his enormous mouth agape. He's an aqatiuneces from my nights of partying in the underworld, and only one entity could have sent him here. With his big, clunky arms outstretched, he presents a red envelope with crimson embossed letters that said, for Shay.

Who’s this from, or do I even need to guess? I asked with a hint of bitchy cunt in my voice. There’s nothing more infuriating than NOT getting off in a sex dream, and I wanted to pick up where I left off.

Victor, he said.

Do you mean Hades? Of course, that dramatic bitch would send an invite during an erotic dream. About 200 years ago, we had a tumultuous affair that ended badly, but what should I expect from a God? Lousy. Mother fuckers, the lot of them.

Then the smell of garbage water hit my nose. And before I could bitch about the stench, Marcleese disappeared in a cloud of scented vapour. Fucken Dick, I shout, slamming the door.

What is this about the invite? I think to myself, kind of laughing and slightly terrified. Not bothering to find my envelope opener, I slide my raspberry blue fingernail across the sealed letter.

Upon opening the letter, lilac petals and butterflies erupt from the envelope. What in the HELL, I murmur. With a deep sigh, I prepare myself for the bullshit that I’m about to read.

Dear Shay,

I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been many years since I have seen you and I love to catch up. We just got a Sardees and Apples Bees in the third rung of Hell, and let me tell you, I live for the quesadilla burger. Last weekend, I was a Grotto 666, and they added this to die for Squid the Dragon livers, and I thought of you and all our food adventures. None of my concubines or prisoners enjoy fine food, and I often dine alone. Then this thought: Shay would love this, but I would not be truthful because that was not my first time thinking that thought. I would love a dinner date. I know things ended badly— I really fucked up. I know we had hook-up rules, and I broke them over and over again. Time has changed me, and I learned that the best advisors did not surround me. If you like, they opened a Unicorn BBQ in Purgatory 5, and I would love it if you could come—no pressure, of course, but just a little. Please let me know soon because the host is a grade-a-prick from Des Moines, Iowa.

With Love

Victor