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Visions of Hell
There is a place is hell reserved for me and my
friends, and last night I had the opportunity to get a preview.
It probably came around from a bad brew or a strong stick, but
never the less, it seamed real all the same.
Lenin came to collect me and took me to the
kingdom of his master. Similar
to Dante, we passed through many layers until we got to the reserved
rooms. There was an
infinitely long corridor with great doors evenly spaced on which bore
signs indicating the occupant. As
I walked down the corridor I saw a door labeled Oliver Cromwell and my
curiosity took hold of me and I took a peak in. There opened before me where the rolling hills of Connaught
and a lone figure sitting by the rushes crying into his hands while
country folk danced, drank, and sung in the celebration of freedom.
We proceeded further down the hall and I
came across the door of Adolf Hitler.
Again I desired to stop and view the fate of such a horrible
fiend and upon opening the grand door I beheld a small black man with a
yarmulke, being forced to gaze at his reflection in the mirror.
Eventually we got to my room, which was
right next to Morrissey’s, and Lenin showed me in.
It was one of the best pubs that I ever saw and was empty with
the exception of the barkeeper who was some long and forgotten king.
With the trip having a long walk I order a pint from the
barkeeper and took a look around the room.
On one wall was a large television and I flicked it on while I
waited. I turned it on and
the station identified indicated that it was the playboy channel.
This seemed very good so I started to watch the show, but to my
surprise it was naked shots of Janet Reno.
I quickly changed the channel and all I got was some porno
channel with women that looked like Janet Reno.
I quickly turned off the TV.
Oh well, I can do without TV.
I went over to the king who was still pouring my pint and asked
him if there was any music. He nodded and turned on the radio from behind the bar.
The room was instantly filled with Achy Breaky Heart.
I asked him to change the station and on came some other crappy
country western song. After
a few more station changes, all we could get in was country music.
Oh well, I could do without the music especially since Morrissey
will be next door.
Next I asked the bar keeper if there were
any women. With a smile he
pressed a button and the back of the room turned around like something
out of a James Bond flick revealing a strip club stage and lighting.
The room filled with country music again (to my horror), but
beyond the gossamer strands of the stage, a figure of a woman appeared.
Again I could discount the music for the show that I was about to
receive, but to my horror when the gossamer curtains were parted out
strolled Janet Reno in a G String.
Thank God that I did not eat in hours because it would have been
all over the floor. I quickly dove behind the bar and pressed the button that hid
the gruesome site as the end of the room flipped back to a pub.
As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I
shrugged it off because I could do without women because my tool has
been imprisoned in my pants for so long that Amnesty International is
after me; but I do need my drink. I turned to the barkeep and asked for my pint.
He told me he was still working on it and after an endless time
placed a pint full of amber liquid in front of me.
By this time my thirst was great and I quickly grabbed the pint,
brought it to my lips, and drew a large mouthful.
As quickly as it went it, I sprayed it out all over the barkeep.
“What the hell is that?” I asked the barkeep, “I asked for
a beer.”
“It is. It’s
Coors Light,” he said.
“No.
I said I wanted a beer,” I said.
“That’s all we have,” he said.
And with that I woke up yelling in horror.
The next Sunday I showed up bright and early for church for I
could not spend eternity drinking Coors Light.
Eat, drink, and be merry,
--Nutty |
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