by Writelife on November 29, 2009
In Hell there are no agreements unless you are a disagreeable person in which case it is all agreements. It’s beside the point, however, since all agreements are broken, the exceptions being those agreements that should be broken. These are kept with an absolutism that would even astonish the radical left (and the radical right, for that matter).
There is a very contrarian tone to Hell.
This is brought up because of the way it affected Harcourt and the angel Alicia who had agreed to help Harcourt leave Hell. I don’t think it takes a great deal of explanation to convey the problems this entailed.
She agreed to help Harcourt leave.
He wanted to leave.
All agreements are broken except …
You see? Harcourt had to find a way to make himself want to remain in Hell. Otherwise the sweet angel Alicia would not be able to help, certainly not with any success.
It was a conundrum, that’s for sure.
by Writelife on November 28, 2009
The holiday season lasts all year long in Hell. It is forever. For this reason, seasonal music plays continually, without respite, except for the month of December when it is the hits of the 1910 Fruitgum Company over and over and over.
Though it has been repeatedly stressed it warrants one more iteration: time is non-existent in Hell so December is really a pointless concept, as is the holiday season. But the Devil likes the look of ongoing distress the music produces in the Damned so he keeps his iPod playing through the sound system — the Christmas playlist, on shuffle. Forever.
Santa is in Hell too, stuck in a fireplace where a fire rages till the end of time. He’s there because he failed to bring the Devil a Wii for Christmas.
by Writelife on October 28, 2009
“If your biggest worry here is not remembering what acronyms mean, you’re the lostest of lost souls,” the Devil said.
“That’s not a word!”
“Is now,” the Devil replied calmly.
“I want out!” Harcourt cried petulantly.
“No one gets out of Hell.” The Devil was cross now. “Don’t start being a shit disturber!”
It was remarkable to Harcourt how much the Devil sounded like his father.
“Do you know what happens to shit disturbers? Do you?”
Harcourt shook his head.
“They get shafted big time. Big time! Need proof? Here I am - take a good look!”
I must have struck a nerve, Harcourt thought.
by Writelife on October 28, 2009
It was only a matter of time before Harcourt finally met the Devil. It happened on a Thursday, despite (as has been mentioned on numerous occasions) the meaninglessness of distinctions like “days.”
“You slay me!” the Devil said, almost crying with laughter. “Walls! You actually asked walls! ‘Are you the Devil?’”
Harcourt’s face reddened like a spanked bum.
He said, “I’d like to protest.”
“Feel free!” the Devil replied, still laughing.
“I don’t remember what acronyms mean! I use to. Now I don’t! I think you did that.”
“Well, they’re dumb in the first place. Why worry?”
“I wouldn’t except people keep using them.”
“Listen,” the Devil explained, “There are no people here. Get use to it. There’s just lost souls that once were people. And they all got here D.O.A.”
“What’s that mean?”
“D.O.A.? How stupid are you?”
The Devil had a devilish sense of humour. That, too, may have been mentioned already.
by Writelife on October 12, 2009
As you would expect, all political parties were in Hell, as were all the people who had never voted and were now condemned to campaigns that never ended.
What do you think the horror for political parties was in Hell?
They could only be honest. And they always agreed with each other.
It made them so mad.
by Writelife on October 12, 2009
Many celebrities were in Hell, including a large representation from the world of music. Among them there was Johnny Bigshot, whom Harcourt met one day.
Johnny Bigshot was a pop star. He was a rock star. He was a star in hip-hop, popular jazz, folk music, world music, alternative and every kind of music there was as he was very fluid when it came to genre. Sadly, he had never been good in any of them. He was a lousy singer, an inept musician. He had what is often referred to as a ‘tin ear.’
But that was no barrier to success. You could fudge a lot in the studio.
A good part of Johnny’s problem was his complete lack of interest in music. He was into music merely as a way to become a hugely popular celebrity, one with clothing lines and perfumes and who could wear a lot of ‘bling.’
Harcourt was a bit put off by his meeting with Johnny. The celebrity had a strange way of looking at him yet not actually seeing him. It was creepy, Harcourt thought. Johnny even grabbed Harcourt’s hand at one point and with a felt-tipped marker autographed it.
It made Harcourt feel icky.
Johnny was tremendously frustrated in Hell. Being a celebrity, he expected to get “sexed up,” as he enjoyed putting it.
He would actually cry out, in a booming voice, “Who wants to play hide the salami?” As he did he would point at his overly padded crotch as the source of potential fun and frolic.
No one would answer, however, except for the sad and thin little man with receding hair and squiggly smile. He would always answer, “I would!”
His name was Arland. He was in Hell for “no good reason” (as the Devil liked to put it).
By the way, Johnny Bigshot’s real name was Joe Brown. He was from the suburbs.
by Writelife on October 12, 2009
One day in Hell Harcourt no longer knew what any acronyms referred to. It was a thing Hell liked to do every so often because the Devil found it so funny.
No longer knowing the meaning of any acronym, and acronyms being letters rather than words and thus resistant to any deciphering for meaning, Harcourt was frustrated.
He wanted to listen to MP3’s but couldn’t because he had no idea what they were, or why or how someone would listen to them. It just seemed a peculiar teaming of letters and numbers.
He was moved to watch HD TV but was flummoxed by both acronyms - HD and TV. What could they mean? To calm himself, he went off and watched television which was remarkably crisp and clear.
Eventually he decided he would lodge a protest with the Devil himself but, whenever he asked anyone where the Devil was, they would say they didn’t know. They said the Devil was AWOL.
Harcourt spent much of the remainder of his day stopping in front of the many walls he encountered and asking, “Are you the Devil?”
Wherever the Devil was, he was laughing so hard he was crying. He was laughing his ass off!
He thought Harcourt’s troubles were a riot.
by Writelife on June 12, 2009
The existential philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre was in Hell. He spoke to no one. He didn’t acknowledge anyone’s existence.
This bothered Harcourt. He wanted an autograph.
He danced in front of Sartre.
He waved his hands.
He did cartwheels and somersaults and shouted and screamed.
Sartre was unmoved. He stood in lonely isolation as if utterly unaware of anyone else around him, which was exactly the case.
In Sartre’s Hell, people did not exist.
Hell, for Sartre, was no people.
