If, Hypothetically, Hell Were Real and Satan Extremely Lazy

I knew I was going to Hell long before I got there. In fact, I'd been working most of my life to ensure it, which surprisingly was not that difficult. Most people would be shocked at some of the things that could technically land you in Hell—getting tattoos, trimming your beard, wearing clothes made out of mixed fabrics, standing in the presence of the elderly, permanently selling land, etcetera etcetera etcetera. The Book of Leviticus did not mess around.

Of course, now it was 2020 AD. Thousands of years had passed since the rules had been written. I'd heard God had become more flexible in recent centuries, but I figured if I managed to check enough boxes, I'd have a damn good chance of getting myself damned.

So I sinned like it was my job. I shaved daily. I wore wool and linen together. I had premarital sex—phew, did I have a lot of premarital sex! I got permanently inked with a poorly-drawn illustration of a narwhal impaling Jesus, who was depicted floating at sea while nailed to the cross—a tattoo and blasphemy all at once, two birds with one stone! And speaking of stones, I cast them left and right.

I'd even taken a vacation to a vineyard just to pick up fallen grapes, a fairly obscure sin that I'm honestly kind of proud of. And while I was there, I sneakily scattered the seeds from an herb variety pack. After all, planting more than one kind of seed in a field is also a biblical no-no.

I know what you're probably thinking: Nobody in their right mind would want to go to Hell! Well, let me explain. It all started 30 years ago with a Ouija board.

I was 10 years old, spending the night at my cousin Harold's house. I didn't have many friends when I was that age, so I'd spent most of my time watching TV and had developed quite an addiction to the History Channel. Seeing what this world had gone through simultaneously enlightened and hardened me. I learned about the good and the bad: the discovery of electricity and the Holocaust, Mahatma Gandhi and Vlad the Impaler, incredible progress and devastating wars. So when my 10-year-old self saw the ghost of Hitler move our hands around the Ouija board to explain that Hell was "a lot of fun," I was enraged.

"Parties," the evil spirit had spelled out. "Pina coladas. Daily massages. Personal manicurist." The more he described, the more angry I got, until I finally threw that board straight out the third-story attic window. It toppled over tree branches and cracked in half when it hit the ground, much to Harold's dismay. He had found the whole thing quite amusing, the little psychopath.

That was the day that I discovered my purpose in life…or rather, my purpose in death. I had to go to Hell and make it as miserable a place as possible for the monsters inhabiting it. I made a mental note to find Harold when I got down there—that asshole would almost certainly end up in Hell, and with the way his parents fed him, there was no doubt in my mind that he'd get there before me.

And today, 30 years later, was finally the day! It was just another Tuesday; I was walking at the park and had just reached into a stroller and snatched a fruit snack right out of a toddler's grubby little hand. Stealing candy from a baby and all that. A Canadian goose came barrelling toward me and knocked me off my feet, straight into the duck pond. It forced my head underwater and I struggled to breathe, choking as I thrashed about. I know this sounds unbelievable, but if you've ever encountered a Canadian goose, you've got to know that those things are the biggest dicks on the planet. If you told me that Satan was a Canadian goose, I would not be the least bit surprised.

Anyway, not long after that feathery wretch held its webbed foot on my neck, I found myself standing in front of the fiery, red gates of Hell. I looked around the vast, molten expanse. Lava bubbled loudly as it flowed around a rather precarious path of blackened stone. I held tightly to the shotgun and bag of grenades I'd insisted I be buried with.

As I waited, a herd of monstrous horrors assembled one by one around me. They were an integral part of my plan; I'd spent years contacting the nastiest demons I could summon and convincing them to turn against their lazy, partying overlord. A pack of flayed, decaying hellhounds joined us, snarling as bloody saliva dripped from their mouths and sizzled against the lava.

As the crowd of unholy beasts and demons grew, I felt a smile spread across my face. Satan, and all of the souls of his evil little buddies, were in for a painful surprise.

I cocked my shotgun. Hell was officially under new management.