theres no internet in hell, just aol. so its hard to keep up on the goings ons around the web, but this morning i was catching up with sara's site and she said that her gentleman friend dan's birthday was the other day. from the darkests depths may i wish my man dan a happy 44th. bottoms up, hippies!

sara shared with the world some of her juvenilia and i dug through my permanent record and found this old chestnut from my freshman year of college. its not as good as saras when she was twelve, but it was one of my most well-received stories, as i believe i got a b minus on it.

The Greatest Basketball Player Who Ever Lived

There was a boy who lived on a hill far away from everyone but there were trees near his home and the sun shined there nearly everyday. He had a dog and a cat and a cow and chickens and some pigs that he'd wake up some mornings and see turned into bacon for him to eat. He liked bacon. The trees grew oranges and the cow made milk and from some of the trees he made a basketball hoop so he could enjoy himself, but as the boy turned into a man he realised that he wanted other pleasure than that he got from his animal friends and his trees and sun and basketball so he went down the hill and met girls.

He liked girls because they smelled better than his animal friends and his basketball and some of the girls were even prettier than the sun in the morning and when those girls passed him by he'd try not to stare but as soon as they passed he'd look and watch, like he did the sun, as they'd sink below the horizon.

But the boy who was now a man had not been trained correctly, he soon discovered. To befriend these girls he had to act differently than he did with his animal friends, trees and basketball. You see with them, all he had to do was be kind to them, feed them, and tell them that he was glad that he knew them, and they'd grow and smile and rub up against him. He tried this with some of these girls and the results frustrated him. Some of the girls immediately were repulsed by him and would have nothing to do with him. Other girls were attracted to his sincerity and honesty but soon left him for "more challenging" men - like those in the armed forces. Our boy who was now a man was confused.

A friend of his told him that most girls liked to be told what to do - to be man handled - to be controled, ignored, and then suppressed. This sort of game-playing bored the man and he lost all interest in these nice smelling animals who called themselves women but acted like cats and were called girls.

So he went back up the hill with a new possession - a television.

This helped his situation a little bit - but not for long because on the television, quite frequently were pictures of very beautiful girls who'd grown up to be women. They had no smell but they certainly seemed pleasant enough and as out hero looked at his chickens and cows and trees he took his basketball outside and tried not to think of women but he was not successful.

That night he wondered if he'd ever find a girl who'd turned into a woman - and not a cat - who'd like for him to take her places and hug her and kiss her and not treat her like a pig who'd one day be his bacon - even though he liked bacon. The television told him yes but everything below the hill yelled no and he believed it. This is the story of the greated basketball player who ever lived.

The End

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to say that the subway system in hell is complex is an understatement.

the devil runs a tight ship so you know that shits gonna be on time, but since the streets have no names you have to figure things out through landmarks.

tough trick when youre underneath them.

id just gotten my dick sucked real good by the two headed stewardesses at the sex palace and i towelled off, signed a few autographs and headed to Orientation Square where they said they had been waiting for me.

its quite unusal for someone to acclimate so quickly without any orientation, the woman said. its almost like you were meant for this place.

she had long black hair that went up into a beehive and splayed out like an explosion. she had firehouse red lipstick and wore a smart little tennis bracelette and nothing else so i just nodded and smiled and sat down in the chair that she offered me.

name

dumbass

game

sinner

what are you sorry for?

not learning how to bat left handed.

favorite job?

gas station attendent, beverly hills, california

true love?

ilka.

what do you wish to accomplish in the next six hundred and sixty six hours?

work out a lot, read genesis, and write one decent poem.

why did the chicken cross the road?

fear.

how to you take your coffee?

disquised as a screwdriver, no pulp.

last novel read?

white oleander.

isnt that a chick book?

porn has a lot of chicks in it too.

snoop doggy blog

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on my way home i saw a sign that said Customer Service. i never saw this sign before and i followed the arrow to a long line.

after about an hour i made it to the front of the line and said hello to the woman who said hello back at me.

yes, hi. i was wondering where i can find pants. i have no pants.

you can find pants at the store.

she rang a bell.

next!

no no. please i have a few more questions. i heard that on new year's day we can be re-judged.

dont believe your dreams. you didnt follow or believe them on Earth, Hell shouldnt be any different.

yes, but i shouldnt be here. i wasnt all that bad. plus i loved the Lord.

do you want to fill out a complaint?

may i?

no.

she rang a bell again.

next!

just a few more questions, please. im new here.

you didnt take the orientation yet?

no. what orientation?

you need to go to the Welcome Center and tell them youre new.

will they give me pants?

no. you get pants at the store. they will also have shirts for you there too.

when will i get pants?

pardon me?

i am trying to be nice here and i am getting no satisfaction.

what sort of satisfaction were you looking for?

i dont know. doesnt the squeaky wheel get the grease?

she pulled a chain and a bucket of hot grease dumped on me.

it was hot.

and greasy.

she rang a bell.

next

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she said her name was lana. i told her i didnt believe her. the torch lights threw dramatic shadows across her face. she toweled off the grime and sweat and soot and dna i kept waiting for a penis to pop out from down there but it never did.

her tail flicked around as she dragged a comb through her hair and when she was finished she sat down with me.

i hate you, tony.
join the club.
you disgust me.
youre not the first.
i only fuck you because it keeps my mind off of whats going on here.
whats going on here?
misery.
just look away.
but its everywhere.
pretend its just wallpaper.
cant you hear the screams?
all i hear is "hells bells."
where do you hear that?
it comes on after "runnin with the devil."
are you insane?
how come i only see you here at the sex palace?
cuz i work here.
did you have a lot of sex when you were alive?
about the average amount.
whats the average amount?
twice a week.
did you have a boyfriend?
i never didnt have a boyfriend.
i woulda thought you woulda had more sex than just twice a week.
at first, yeah, but after a while is slows down.
how old were you when you died?
25.
how many guys had you done it with?
7.
do you wish you woulda done it more?
yes.
do you wish you woulda done it with more guys?
a few.
why didnt you?
dumb. i didnt want people to think i was a ho.
people like who?
i dont know. me.
what woulda made you a ho?
i could have been a ho so easy.
are you a ho here?
kinda.
how many guys do you do it with here a day?
three or four.
isnt that ho-ish?
sorta, but it's work, and it makes people happy to watch.
am i the best guy you ever did it with?
next question.
am i the biggest?
not even close.
do any famous guys down here?
napolean.
napolean?
yeah, they flamethrew him almost right away he was so bad.
ever do chicks?
nah, thats creeps me out.

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yesterday was a holiday so they didnt have any work for me so i hung out at the sex palace and flamethrew some lameasses.

then a nice girl asked me to join her on stage. she looked pretty good and the guy next to me assured me that she was a girl - i highly recommend getting a second opinion in these matters if you ever find yourself down here.

so we went at it.

at first people flamed us a little, but as we got to know each other everything worked out and people shut up and beat off to us.

when we were done they applauded and then blew flames at the sky in appreciation.

then at us, as is customary.

the chick didnt really want to talk to me. she just wanted to smoke. that was fine. i just wanted to drink some more fire water and get my thoughts together.

we did it three more times before i went back to my little cave. the third time they didnt flame us at all, they threw rocks at us, which is the highest compliment at the sex palace.

at first i didnt know, so i caught a rock and whipped it back at them.

you have pretty good aim here so it wasnt like they were trying to hit us they were just trying to miss by a little. what happens is the "performers" have to stand still and the flying rocks form a little outline around us and it looks pretty from the luxury boxes.

fireworks go off, pyrotechnics, canons.

later a big man in a three peice suit asked me if i wanted to work at the sex palace permanantly. he said they were always looking for a few guys, since they normally burn out quick.

the puns in hell are neverending.

i told him that i appreciated his offer but i didnt want to sign up for anything permanent in hell for the time being and he slipped me his card but i handed it back because i still havent figured out where to get any pants in this damned place.

they play "hells bells" constantly here and sometimes i think it's so that we'd get sick of it, but i never do.

and i never will.

jason sutter

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happy new year, earthlings

Speaking of Ryan, I was referred to another site from his - tonypierce.com. Now, to be perfectly honest with you, I didn't really see what the big deal was when I first went there. Perhaps, I wasn't paying attention. Or perhaps it's because I'm not really a big fan of Kurt Cobain and for days on end this is all I saw when I went there.

Either way, I now see why the entire blog world is in love with this guy. His writing is fantastic. I have become another fan.

Haha. Anyway, I feel kind of nerdy and gay talking about blogs so I will desist. For now.. *gasp*

- Chrystal
popie.blogspot.com

people think that if they say nice things about me it will give me a big head. they're so wrong.

i'm in love with tony pierce

- Anonymous
fastharddeep.diaryland.com

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the end of the old year

the crows came down.

fuckers.

what are you doing here?

why me? what the hell have i done to you and they caw theyre so happy that its me this time.

theyve been sitting on the light poles, waiting.

they fly above and when i look they land on a clothesline but theyre so big and fat that the line sags and they flap and then tuck their wings behind their back when stability has returned, cocking their head to the side to get a good look at me and my sneer.

caw, motherfuckers, caw.

then another one arrives landing on the statute of jebidiah springfield and then another on a fence post and another on an empty clay pot.

i pull out my .38 and pick the one off the pot and his brothers scatter, cawing. awaiting the flock.

i see one on the street-cleaning sign and nail him. then another on a trash can, gone.

i take off the silencer because these birds dont understand, i am not the one to fuck with. i am not the one that they get to harrass anymore. they are the bringer of bad tidings and i am the bringer of joy.

bam, motherfucker and its loud this time. im just walking up the block, get the fuck away from me. the gun's barrel is warm against my lower back and in my wake is the death of sadness and fear.

talk to me birds. tell me why you're doing this. tell me before i kill you all.

but they stalk me. they lurk. theyve got the numbers and still i confuse them. they hear the wiz and if it doesnt register to them.

it must have been a mosquito but wasnt their cousin there?

oh, look, he's on the ground with just one wing flapping and look now its not flapping. who is this dark shadow, why wont he stand still, why do the leaders keep changing?

whats that he's got pointed at me?

# | |

the other day i had to help demolish one of my favorite baseball stadiums.

it wasnt a beautiful stadium.

it was generic, round, full of crappy astroturf, greecian, dull, drab, white.

some might consider it ugly.

but it was the home of the big red machine led by my hero, pete rose.

i dont care if he bet on baseball. i hope bet on baseball. when i bought options of the dot com that i worked at i was betting on my team.

keeping pete rose out of baseball based on that antiquated rule makes as much sense as if the catholic church kicked a female parrishioner for dressing like a man. f baseball and f the catholic church.

friggin catholic convention here in the pits of hell. priests for days.

turns out that the Good Lord doesnt like it when you change his texts and include nuns no sex for priests and a laundry list of made up shit in the name of God.

and child molestation is even frowned upon down here.

they like creativity here more than youd think. which is why they like to punish with repetition.

poor joe strummer. got sent down here nearly right away. he's been singing "straight to hell" non stop. i used to love that song.

it's not coca-cola

it's rice.

straight to hell, boys.

straight to hell, boys.

nothing the demons like more than tearing down buildings.

lot of times they'll tie up priests and put the explosives in all the typical places, then arrange the long fuses, set up the cameras and watch it over and over in slo mo later that night.

please take me home

the dreams keep coming. last night i was trying to gaurd shaq and it was one of those games where the refs had swallowed their whistles and shaq's big fucking arm kept pounding me in the chest, and i wanted to flop but how do you flop? shaq will just step on you and crush you and cuz it was a dream i didnt remember that i was already dead. flop fucker, flop!

so i tried to get in a fight with him.

i told him that his momma made me dinner and sucked me off real good.

he just smiled.

i said she took out her teeth and gummed me good.

i told him that i said, gum me, grandma, gum me.

See me got photo photo

photograph of you

and Mamma Mamma Mamma-san

shaq just steamrolled me harder.

i said dont be jealous, im sure she'll give you some.

of you and mamma mamma mamma san

as riverfront smoldered we smoked menthols nibbled on devils food and listened to the muffled groans of the damned as the sun rose over the river.

King Solomon he never lived round here

Go straight to hell boys

that broken girl

# | |

hell hath no fury like a woman scorpion. not everyone gets to keep their bodies when they get sent to hell.

tailgaters are sometimes turned into trees. the devil will make them just stand there for a couple hundred years. then maybe turned into a house. then torn down. never burned. that would be too cute. he'd waterlog the wood. warp it. then allowed to float down styx back home to be reassigned.

some get turned into bugs. some into animals. some into peoples pets. some get turned into dangerous animals. some get turned into fish.

i used to be afraid of fish and when i got down here and they showed me my file it was cuz a long time ago i was sent to hell and then turned into a fish and had to swim around in the dark cold depths of the atlantic for a few dozen years.

apparently a while back i was given a reprieve from whatever i was doing and reassigned as a lightskinned black american male born to a well educated middle class family and raised in the suburbs in the midwest.

now, apparently, the giver of grace was not very happy with what i did with those blessings.

so there i was banging some girl at the sex palace and all of this was dawning on me. life is all context. perspective. compared to contracting stds nightly in the pits of pandemonium, flying chopper one across the skies of hollywood wasnt so bad.

and if i didnt like it, it wasnt like i was some old growth redwood, i could go do something else with my life. i could actually take control of my destiny as opposed to waiting on the universe to decide.

f the universe.

the universe is 2/3s lost souls doing what some guy more lost than them is telling them what to do.

i was getting used to my demonic body. my thing wasnt falling off any more. the crowd didnt flamethrow me as much any more. usually they waited until the end when i wasnt looking. then they all laughed and then applauded my incinerated smoking remains.

that night i went to bed and before i did i heard a still soft voice.

tony

yes?

today is the last day of the year.

it is?

yes, do you know what that means down here?

no, i dont.

it means that you can be judged again.

it does?

yes, are you sorry for what you did to get here?

yes i am.

do you think youve learned some valueable things here?

oh yes. definately.

do you think youd make a better person if you were given another chance?

oh yes! yes i would!

and then i woke up.

still in hell.

it was just a dream.

and then my dirty rag of a pillow said.

nobody gets out of hell.

dumbass.

Jack Bogdanski of Portland, Oregon

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there are no days off in hell. no holidays. no personal days. no vacations but the kids like to keep a nice sense of humor so on mondays people stand around the coffee maker and ask each other how their weekends were.

banged a cheerleader by the tire fire.

sure she was a woman?

i dont ask, they dont tell.

everything ends up nightmarish anyway, so if you open your eyes and that playmate is really a mountain goat, it wouldnt suprise me. i dont want to say im jaded, i guess ive just grown used to the horrific hallucination that is this hellish afterlife.

grits turn into maggots. beer turns into light beer. a vote for gore turns into a vote for bush.

a lot of time if youre trying to eat a steak it'll get right off the table and run back onto the carcass of the dead beast.

and people really dont know how to cook anything medium-well here. it's either rare or burnt.

Heaven has all the best chefs.

thanks to the xbi, on earth i never dreamed that much. here i dream all the time. its how they torture me. i'll be in a meadow having a picnic with a french girl. the sun will be shining, the blanket will be spread out. the wicker basket is buldging with goodies. i uncork the wine without even a corkscrew. the wind is blowing out to left gently. no ants anywhere. no bees. no crows.

shes naked.

her girlfriend appears over the dale with an armful of freshly picked wildflowers. nude, except for her big floppy sunhat and a wet tshirt that says busblog.

a string quartet comfortably sitting under a weeping willow goes through several of aerosmiths greatest hits, their melodies drifting away in the breeze.

a mexican icecream man pushes his cart and rings his sleighbells and calls out in spanish that he has some sort of frozen treats.

a lion lays down with a lamb

and they rot in fast motion

the mexican icecream man scoops up the mess and puts it into his cart, it freezes and he sells it to the children for seventy five cents.

the french girl's friend seems to be skipping closer to us but she never makes it over the dale.

the quartet is playing Incubus.

theres no food in the basket.

the wine is non alcoholic.

my breasts have developed.

fimoculous

# | |

the tv in hell sucks. sunday evenings i like to watch the sopranos and the simpsons. the sopranos are over for a while, thats fine, but i still have the simpsons.

not tonight though.

pissed my ass off.

my mom has been reading Blook and she says that it's very visual. she also says she cant put it down.

that makes me happy again.

right before i was gruesomely murdered i had just sketched out the rough draft of For Your Ass, the long awaited sequel to Blook.

i emailed it to courtney love, but it might have bounced back. her mailbox gets full a lot.

drudge was on the radio tonight.

in hell they love drudge.

he was going off about how the movie industry shouldnt be so happy because they had a decent year.

he said that in 1959 people went to 40 movies a year, today they only go to 5.

but back then tickets only cost like a dime. so your annual expense to the movies was $4?

you know what, forget it. he was annoying. everyone laughed.

they hadnt laughed that hard since when trent lott said that the reasons the democrats are after him is because he's a Christian.

thats one of the little jokes down here.

most of the guys down here werent Christians till they got sent here. but now it's too late. plus its not even faith any more. we saw him.

it's easy to believe in someone you can see.

so if one of the demons on earth want to throw out a little ironic bitterness, they identify themselves as Christians.

trent lott a Christian?

not everyone has to spend eternity in the pits of hell shovelling lava and being whipped by hooved taskmasters who have chariot wheels for hind legs.

some are allowed to spend time in Earth.

of course theres a catch.

you will either be superdeformed.

or dumb as a rock.

or blind and smelly.

or a chicago cubs fan.

or the enivitable victim of a horrendous attrocity or tragedy.

and even though you'd think that some of their life would be better than a day in hell, youre wrong because they know something really super terrible is going to happen, so dont enjoy the good because it might happen right when your mouth is open and your eyes are closed.

and this terribleness is from the hometown of evil.

a name you can trust.

fast hard deep

# | |

there is a newspaper here in hell.

it's pretty bad.

i think it's called the Los Angeles Times.

These people have the opportunity to talk to and write about some of the most fascinating people in the world, and they dont.

All the coolest people in the world stroll through this here every day. Is that represented in the newspaper? no.

its the capitol of entertainment. is the Calander section that incredible? if it were, there wouldnt be soooo much room for variety, the hollywood reporter, the la weekly, and eonline.

but what do i know?

today they had me sending off spam.

apparently theres big money in penis enlargement cream and university diplomas.

it was my job to write fake-out spam. the idea was to make an email that didnt look like spam but that would make someone click it so that theyd go to the webpage, which of course would launch a half dozen pop up ads.

unfortunately i was a little too good at this, so sorry if i got you.

anyway the Times chose to interview me yesterday morning.

i caught a breif glace at it on the newstands today, but with all the fire down here, newpapers last about 10 seconds after the newsboys toss it from their trucks.

how have you enjoyed your stay in hell so far?

this is a terrible place. i hate it.

whats your favorite part of hell?

hmmm thats a good question. probably the freedom to be creative.

was it what you thought it would be?

sorta. i didnt think you would be able to eat so much, or that youd be able to have sex, and i never imagined it smelling so bad. fuck!

did you leave a will on earth?

yes, i gave everything to the united negro college fund.

what do you miss the most?

are you kidding me?

no, really, what?

ice cream.

are you sorry for the things that you did that brought you here?

yes.

how much?

lots.

you dont sound like it.

maybe you should listen closer.

what do you want to accomplish here?

i want to meet a nice girl and settle down.

sometimes i feel like im just chasing my tail.

1000 journals

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