The Complaint (Part 6)

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The Maitre’ d led them to a table near the window where they sat, munching on breadsticks and drinking water. The restaurant slowly revolved and Rhonda pointed out all the various sections of Hades to Ellen.

“Right over there are your famous leaders, Pol Pot is there he labors all day at growing potatoes that he only gets one bite of when they grow. He’s only weighs like 90 pounds; he’s got scurvy and liver disease too.

Hitler is right there. He constantly has to make clothing out of his own skin.”

Ellen looked down to see a boney man tearing skin off his leg with a large knife and screaming.

“That’s exactly the kind of punishment Satan likes most by the way. You’ll get further faster if you think outside the box a bit.”

“Have you met Satan?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, no that would be like meeting the president. In fact there’s an election every four years, only the demons get to vote.”

Their meals came without their having ordered anything. Rhonda was presented with a Caesar salad while and Ellen got SpaghettiOs.

“Um, we didn’t order yet,” Ellen said.

The waiter walked away without a word.

“It’s not a mistake, it’s what you get,” Rhonda said. “You get SpagettiOs until you get your first approved punishment. The quality of your meals improves from there.”

The same thing goes for housing. You will live in a dorm with six other interns. You’ll all sleep in the same bunk until you have three approved punishments.”

They moved into the next section of Hell which was devoted to heirs and celebrities.

Ellen looked down to see a group of people wrapped in bubble wrap who were trying to climb an endlessly long shoelace, one of them was wearing George Bush.

“Just be glad you get to eat better than the Hollywood producers, “ said Rhonda pointing to a group of men in sunglasses. “ When they first got here, they were force feed a diet of stale popcorn and  gas station nachos;  now all they get to eat is their own vomit.”

“Oh my God; is that Whitney Houston over there? “ Ellen asked pointing down at the singer who appeared to be locked in a vice.

“ Oh yeah that was mine, actually. She’s watching The Bodyguard: she’s always watching The Bodyguard,” Rhonda said a bit sadistically.

 

The restaurant turned another inch or so to reveal an ugly naked woman in a glass box she was surrounded by mirrors. Ellen knew without having to ask that the woman had been a gossip.

 

 

 

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