Busking 11

Through my friendship with Azradangle, an archdemon of the 7th circle of Hell and a pretty funny dude, I’ve been busking down in the Inferno this weekend. My offerings to the souls of the damned:

$1  I give you a quick spritz, providing you with .o1 seconds of relief from your eternal suffering in the flames of perdition.

$2  I chide you for your past worldly peccadillos, which didn’t seem so bad at the time but yet here you are, for chrissake, my chides distracting you for .02 seconds from the searing heat of the fiery coals of the nether world.

$3  I tell you that joke about the priest, the rabbi, and the imam, which ends up with a humorous reference to all those lost souls like you, insane with pain and trapped in your own self-inflicted Gehenna, just like your mom warned you, but you wouldn’t listen, you.

$4  I show you 4Chan clips of your ex “going wild” in Cancun, where it’s warm, sure, but not like this place, this underword hades of torment where your feet burn off for the first time every morning before breakfast.

$5  I sing and dance until you realize what a mistake you’ve made asking me to do that and beg me to stop, but then for an extra $5 from Azradangle, I keep going for what seems like eternity, but which is actually only a smidgen of a smidgen of eternity.

One Response

  1. I’ve decided to be good. My sister, when she decided to become a protestant (in my family we did not distinguish among different kinds of protestants — none of them counted) to really bug mom, used to give me these tracts that I initially thought were comic books but instead were these stories in which people lived evil lives (they went to Cancun and did bad things, they flirted with men they didn’t know and thought bad thoughts, they lied to their children about things like Santa Claus) and then they ended up in hell, which always involved fire.

    Apparently, also buskers.

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