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22 December 2023
One is a certifiable genius. The other is Vinnie. Together, they are two of the most brilliant inventors in all of Pangaea. Wayne recognized this, and has given them a column to share with you the wonders of their progressive, modern minds.
THIS PART WAS WRITTEN BY VINNIE
Hell.
For years, fellow drivers, former friends, and ex-girlfriends have been telling #716 we should really go there. Every time someone insists, we politely decline. We rarely have time to take a quick trip anywhere. Plus, we hate hot weather. But, if we’re going to slack on our deadlines, we might as well do it in style.
So, first thing first, I went to Mapquest to find the fastest way there. Fucking Mapquest. I swear they don’t even know how to tell you to get to the front page of their own website, let alone a place as popular as Hell. I decided I’d just stop at a gas station and ask for directions.
Next thing next, I agreed to pack the car if #716 would kindly take on the task of packing us some lunch for the road. His idea of lunch looks a lot like cherry-flavored Hostess Fruit Pies and a six-pack of Mr. Pibb. My idea of lunch looked a lot different than that.
For those of you wondering, yes, the drive to Hell is beautiful. It looks almost exactly like America. Weird, huh? Unfortunately, I can’t remember what the entrance to Hell looks like, as I asked #716 to take over the role of pilot while I rolled over and took a nap. He’ll have to fill you in on the greatness that is H-E-double hockey sticks.
THIS NEXT PART WAS WRITTEN BY #716
I have to admit, Hell pretty much looked like what I was expecting. Nine concentric levels, walls of towering flames, mutilated human remains and excrement everywhere-- check. I even got to see the world-famous sign over the main gate: \"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.\" But nothing could have prepared me for the wasps.
Upon first entering the city limits of Hell, I noticed a marked increase in temperature. The sky grew red as fire, and the stench of sulfur and decay became almost unbearable. Pretty much everything listed in that brochure I grabbed at the rest stop at the Michigan border was proving to be true. Howling winds carried wails of agony to our ears as we crossed the Acheron Bridge, the road ahead wavy in the heat.
As I brought the car to a stop at the corner of Limbo and Dis, thumbing through my trusty travel guide, a veritable stampede of the locals stormed through the intersection at top speed. \"That\'s funny,\" I thought. \"According to the brochure, the Race for the Cure isn\'t for another couple of weeks.\" It was then that a humongous swarm of wasps blew past us, smashing at least a few of themselves onto our already road-trip-filthy windshield with enough force to rock the car nearly off its tires. I figured it was time to wake up Vinnie.
We\'d have to come back some other time, I decided, as I tore through downtown Hell at criminal speeds. Not wanting the trip to be a total bust, we took in as much of the scenery as we could at 70 miles per hour, doing donuts on the Frozen Lake and turfing Beelzebub\'s lawn. On our way out of town after rocketing through the Suicide Woods, I glanced up at the gate marking the edge of town.
I never knew it said \"Flying J: Exit 31\" on the back.
artid
3352
Old Image
8_2_vin716.jpg
issue
vol 8 - issue 02 (oct 2005)
section
stories