Archive for strippers

Convo with the Devil

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2013 by deviant11b

My body is moving downwards as I regain consciousness. My eyes flutter open, my lips smack together, and I slowly work my way up to my feet. I shouldn’t be regaining consciousness at all. Before this when I pulled the trigger I had figured that was it, no more waking up and hating every minute of every day of life. The light above me flickers on and off in a very unsettling manner. I look around and realize I’m in an elevator. My ears are still ringing from the sound of the gunshot. I reach my hand up to my temple. I can stick my finger into the hole made by the bullet I sent flying through my brain. The ringing subsides and gives way to the elevator music I recognize the song but can’t quite place the name of it, I hate when that happens. Thankfully it ends, but is replaced by yet another song, the name escapes me again. I realize I’ve been traveling downwards for at least five minutes, I look down at my watch but the hands have stopped moving. This must be what happens when your life slowly drains from your body. I’m hoping no one heard the shot and called 911. They better not revive me.

            “Long ride huh?” I hear a woman’s voice behind me. I turn around in surprise and see a beautiful, no not beautiful that’s a word you would use to describe a wife; this woman is not wife material. She’s the kind of woman you meet in a bar who you take home and have your way with, not make love to, but raw, passionate, animalistic sex. Sexy, she’s sexy. Tall, thin but not too thin, and the outfit she’s wearing accentuates her large breasts and toned body.

            “Who are you?” I ask trying to mask my immediate arousal. “Where am I?”

            “Who I am is not as important as what I am, or what my importance is as to where you are. You are in Hell, and I am its gate keeper.”

            “So I’m”-

            “Yes you’re dead, that bullet made pretty fucking sure of it. Now there are a few things we have to go over before we arrive. First there is no getting out of Hell, and no mistakes are made as to who deserves a spot and who doesn’t. Second try to enjoy yourself. Unlike what your bible may have told you we don’t eternally torture people here. Sure our whips and chains may come out every now and again but as long as you don’t cause us a problem we won’t cause one for you. Lastly you’re here forever so try and get comfortable. Find a place to live, make some friends, find a woman who can make your toes curl cuz forever is a long time to go without having some fun. Or for that matter don’t, I really don’t care. Now are we set?”

            “Uh ya I guess”

            “Good now get off my elevator a Tsunami just hit China and all Buddhists go to Hell.”

            With that the sexy woman in front of me disappears and I’m now standing in the middle of a bustling, dirty street. I look around and take in my surroundings. It looks like a very gothic style of New York, although the buildings aren’t nearly as tall. There is a rich smell of sulfur in the air, and it is just slightly unbearably hot. The image I see in front of me is in direct conflict with everything I had been told about Hell when I was young. There are no pits of fire, or demonic torture demons stringing people up. It’s just…normal. I walk along the street and before long I come across a bar. I walk in and find my way to a stool at the bar top.

            “Whadya want there?” A big man behind the bar asks me. His throat is slashed from ear to ear, but no blood leaks out almost looking like a second mouth.

            “Shot of whiskey” I pull out my wallet and hand him some bills hoping they take cash down here.

            “You’re new here huh?” He asks clearly proud to have made such an easy observance. He rummages around behind the bar and comes up with a credit card with the name Kyle Brownstone on the front. “Credit card companies work for us, every time some asshole gets a new Visa or MasterCard we get a duplicate. You ever had a strange charge from Manila or someplace?” I nod my head. “Well you ever wonder how a country with a reading skill comparable to a fucking pig could ever swindle you like that? They didn’t. That was some guy down here getting a drink, or a hooker, or some blow on your dime.” With that he just laughs and walks away. I lift up my glass and thank Mr. Brownstone for my drink and down it.

            Before I know it I’ve had several drinks on this poor guy’s dime and am feeling pretty good. I look around the bar for the first time. To my left a group of about ten or fifteen men are sitting at a table in white gowns with dark red crosses emblazoned on their chests. Their white hats sit on the table and I can hear them telling stories to each other about their exploits in Mobile, Alabama. To my right sits a group of pastors raising the bible above their head. Fag this fag that, dead soldiers this, hurricanes that. I shake my head and look to the person sitting next to me, and can’t believe my eyes.

            “Hitler?” I can’t even fathom the amount of surprise that must be registered on my face right now.

            “Ja ja ischt me. You vant un autograph?” He scratches the hole in the side of his head as he asks this.

            “No, not really. Just surprised to see you I guess.”

            “But my boy theees ischt mine baaar.” I now realize the name of the bar is Mein Kampf. A book shelf off to the side offers a signed copy of the book.

            “So I managed to get my first drink in Hell from a place that serves degenerates and racists like you?” He laughs at this comment.

            “My boy, you’re in Hell. We are all degenerates. The people in this bar are just honest about who they are.” I look around and see the men in robes and the pastors and the bikers I hadn’t seen sitting in the corner closing around me. I’ve been in Hell less than an hour and so far it’s not going great.

            I land on my face, literally. The bikers took their time in working me over but wasted no time in throwing me out. I find out quickly that in Hell you can still feel pain. Their beatings leave no marks though, and no blood flows from my nose, although it feels like I just had it broken with a sledge hammer. I’m quickly surrounded by a pack of lawyers who ask if I’d like to sue the bar. I really am in Hell.

I make a mental note to be more careful about what bar I stumble into next. Luckily enough there are plenty to choose from. In fact that’s all there is to choose from. Gay bars, Muslim bars, Christian bars, soldier bars, cop bars, rapists bars, and murderers bars. It seems like there is a bar for just about everyone. There are strip clubs everywhere too, so far my opinion of Hell is that it’s not so bad.

            I walk by a kiosk with pamphlets strewn about the desk. I pick one up called So you’re in Hell and another called God rejected you, now what? I walk into a nearby strip club and sit down at the bar. After fifteen minutes of reading it’s clear that almost everyone who has ever lived and died ends up here. In fact the only people who make it to heaven are the Amish. Evidently in the roulette game of picking the right religion they picked right. Hell houses everyone ranging from Jack the Ripper to Mother Theresa. Evidently the good Mother’s good socialist outlook on life enraged the right winged St. Paul and he sent her straight down to Hell. So it’s only fitting that a drinking, philandering, liberal guy like me made it down here.

            A woman comes up to me and puts her hand on my arm.

            “Care for a dance sweetie?” I can’t believe my eyes when I come across the face of Lindsay Lohan. She turns away and sends a bump of cocaine flying up her nose. She turns around and looks at my eyes. I decline quickly. Looking around I realize the name of the strip club is called starlets. Mary Kate and Ashley Olson are both on stage at the moment. To the left of them sits Marilyn Monroe. And that would mean that well-dressed man with a hole in the top of his head must be… Yes, it is. He turns his head and I’m looking straight at JFK himself. He flashes a grin and turns his attention to Miss. Monroe. I can’t help but wonder where Jackie is. I leave the bar and continue my journey of this increasingly interesting place called Hell.

            It’s funny how Hell could double as a historical re-enactment society, but when you think about it doesn’t it make sense how when generations die they would still keep their dress and traditions alive in the afterlife? The puritans have stood on the sidewalks for over 300 years now yelling at drunken passersby. Telling them their souls are doomed, not quite realizing the irony of their own situation. MLK still preaches equality, not quite realizing there has been a black president. The politicians of the 50s are yelling at the top of their lungs about communism.

Just then I see the largest building I’ve seen yet, VFW post #666. I walk in and step up to the ledger. My name is emblazoned on the page as I sign. The tours I’ve had show up next to my name. Iraq 05-06 Afghanistan 07-08, SGT Ross, 2nd Ranger Batt. Before I can take in what just happened on this otherwise blank sheet of paper I’m grabbed by the shoulder and spun around. My oldest brother stands there on one leg and a pair of crutches. Behind him are my two best friends. One with a hole in his throat and the other with the side of his face melted away. They greet me with a beer, a smile, and a long embrace.

“Welcome home brother,” they all say to me. We go and sit down at the bar which is the biggest I’ve seen in my whole life, living or during my short time in hell. Across from me I can see Audie Murphy and John Basilone, two of the most well-known soldiers to live, arguing over something but not truly upset at each other. Soldiers from all wars sit at the bar wearing the clothes they had on the day they died. It’s not just the Americans either. Soldiers from all sides, who had spent their short life trying to kill each other, drink, arm to arm. There is no animosity, and why should there be? We’re all dead now. Enemies in life quickly become friends when faced with the prospect of eternity. I realize now that in Hell everyone can understand each other. It seems to be a sick joke made at God’s anger at the people of Babel.

“We figured you’d be down here sooner or later” my brother says to me. I finish off my beer and signal for another while getting out the poor sap’s credit card. The bartender gives me a death look as he gives me the beer and denies the card.

“Drinks here are always on the house. Soldiers are Satan’s favorites. He has always held a soft spot for those who kill willingly, and do so for noble reasons. He’s not actually a bad guy. In fact I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet.” My brother goes on to explain that Satan meets personally with each war vet soon after they arrive in hell. He motions behind me. “In fact there’s your ride now.” I look behind me and see a man in a black suit, with a black shirt, and a dark red tie. He approaches me and extends his hand.

“I’m Lucifer. I’m here to take you to see my father.” I look back at my brother and my friends and tell them I’ll see them later. As I walk out several different men pat me on the back or shake my hand telling me I’m always welcome here. I nod in appreciation and leave the bar.

Lucifer leads me to the only car I’ve seen so far. I sit down in the back of the black stretch limo and pour myself a shot of Jack Daniels from the most impressive selection of liquors I’ve ever seen in a limo. The liquor settles in my stomach and warms me. I feel drowsy and decide to take a nap. It’s not every day the prince of darkness drives you to meet Satan, and I want to be well rested for this encounter.

I’m awoken by Lucifer telling me that we’ve arrived. I step out of the backseat and look at where we are. A very gothic looking castle sits in front of me made of old stone. Surrounding it is a moat of what seems to be very hot lava. His house is a stark contrast to the normal seeming city. I wonder why with all the time in the world Satan went so stereotypical with his landscaping. I’m led from room to room, admiring the different decorations from each time period. Lucifer doesn’t say a word as he reaches for the handle to a door that must have stood 15 feet tall. He opens it, lets me in and closes it behind me. A man sits at a chair in front of a large TV. Across the screen are the familiar images of baseball. The Yanks and Red sox are playing right now. I walk up and see it’s a tie game bottom of the ninth. The Sox closer winds up and throws to Jeter who steps up and drives the ball clear of the right field fence.

“God dammit” the man yells at no one in particular. “Damn Yankees always a pain in my ass.” He turns around and sees me. His face is almost too pale of a white, but is accented by a dark black goatee. His eyes are black with no color at all, but his teeth are the whitest and straightest I’ve ever seen. “You you’re a Sox fan aren’t you?”

I nod my head wondering how he knew that.

“I’m the Devil, God isn’t the only one that’s all knowing” He says. Now I wonder if he can read minds too. “Yes I can” he says, and motions for me to sit down in a chair next to him.

“I’m sure your brother and your friends told you why you came here. I always make it a point to sit down and talk with my VIPs. See I know what you’ve done and been through and how let down you are by the society up above.” He motioned to the living world with his hand. “Here you are, just come back from a year of death and mayhem and you turn on the news only to see the leading story is about some Hollywood actress who can’t keep her legs shut, or keep powder out of her nose. Now they say war is the Devils work, and I suppose to a point that may be true. But I ask you this, who gave man free will? God. If he had just done what I had told him and ruled over mankind there would be no wars. But no he cast me out and forced me to live in this asshole of a world. I’ve made the best of it as you can see. It’s not what your Sunday school teacher made it out to be. Yes I have ass holes like Hitler running around, as you already know, but Gandhi is here, Mother Theresa, MLK, Lincoln, et-cetera. How God decided to only let those backwards, living-in-the dark pricks walk the streets of heaven is beyond me. Now here is what I need from you.” I sit waiting for a deal for my soul or to become part of his dark army. He leans close to me as if about to part with all the knowledge of the universe.

“Have a good time, you’re a dead man, kick back and relax. I’m sure Medusa has already told you how long you’re here for.”

“Medusa?” I ask.

“Ah yes she doesn’t give her name out. She thinks she’ll attract too many stalkers. She’s the woman you met on the elevator. Anyway your soul has been damned for all eternity and etcetera so please enjoy yourself. Spend time with your family like your brother, and parents. While you’re living you spend all your time working for money to buy useless shit with. Down here everything is free, so spend time with the ones you love, and find you a good girl; there are plenty of them down here. Enjoy this time like you couldn’t enjoy your days living.” Satan shifts in his seat and falls silent.

“I must ask you to leave, another of your fellow soldiers has found his way home and I have to meet with him soon.” His eyes fall and for the first time I sense a sadness that I’ve never sensed or felt before in my life. “When a man volunteers his life for others it is the noblest thing one can do, and when God elects to turn his back on those who have given so much it hurts me much more than you can ever know.” With that our meeting is done as he gets up and walks out a side door. I get up to leave and notice next to the TV remote and a bottle of scotch sits a very worn bible. I shake my head thinking that if I were to stay in hell for one thousand years I may not be able to figure out everything about this place.

I stand, walk outside to the limo waiting for me, and pass another man walking past me we make eye contact and nod, no words are needed. I climb into the back of the car and head back to where my brothers are, and will always be.