At the bar with… Satan

The prince of darkness drinks wine coolers.  He's a little bitch.

Nash Herringtonby Nash Herrington

Every Friday you will join me in Bar Fiction, a magical place where the rich, famous and/or beautiful come to drown their sorrows after a long week spent in the spotlight. This week we honour Halloween by taking a trip to Hell.

 

You:  It’s a bit hot here, isn’t it?

Me:  Well we are in the depths of Hell.

You:  I know, but still. They could put the air-con on or something…

Me:  I think the idea of Hell is that its inhabitants face an eternity of pain and punishment. Somehow I don’t think that air-conditioning would fit in with that idea.

You:  What are we doing here anyway?

Me:  Well it’s almost Halloween, so I thought what better way to celebrate it than to visit the home of the ghouls – the only place where King Henry VIII can share a pint with that clown from IT.

You:  The beer’s a bit warm.

Me:  Again, it’s Hell. Pain and punishment, remember?

You:  Well I haven’t done anything wrong so I don’t see why I should have to suffer.

Me:  We could visit Heaven afterwards if you like and have a nice cold pint, but I’ll be honest with you, it’s pretty boring.

You:  Really?

Me:  Yeah. Down here in Hell you can watch Bill Hicks do stand-up; in Heaven you can play Chess with Mother Theresa.

You:  That doesn’t sound that bad.

Me:  It is. She’s an awful Chess player, but it’s Mother Theresa so you have to let her win. Imagine checkmating Mother fucking Theresa.

You:  Motherfucking Theresa? Wow, that’s a bit disrespectful.

Me: No, Mother Fucking Theresa, not Motherfucking Theresa.

You:  Dude, you don’t need to keep saying it. I get it. She beat you at Chess. You’re resentful. Let’s move on.

Me: No, I meant –

You:  — HOLY SH*T IT’S HITLER.

Me:  You’ll be surprised to find that that’s actually Charlie Chaplin.

You:  Wow, really?

Me:  Yup. Turns out that God doesn’t really like slapstick humour. Y’know the cinema here? It plays nothing but Rob Schneider movies.

You:  *Shudder*

Me:  I know. And some say that if you listen real closely you can hear the distant screams of Adam Sandler, as Satan himself is punishing him in his own personal torture room.

You:  I quite like Adam Sandler.

Me:  SHH! What do you think you’re doing?! D’you want to get us killed?!

You:  What, aren’t you allowed your own opinions in Hell? Surely everyone is here in the first place for having disagreeable opinions.

Me:  Yeah, but liking Adam Sandler? C’mon, you know that saying that kind of stuff is going to cause controversy. Look at Stalin. You’ve really pissed him off.

You:  Woah, is that…?

Me:  Yes, that’s Satan sitting at the bar.

You:  Wow. He looks a lot different than he does in real life.

Me:  What were you expecting?

You:  I dunno. Something a bit, y’know, larger. And redder.

Me:  Are you basing this vision on fictional cartoons?

You:  No, I’m basing it on The Bible.

Me:  Exactly.

You:  Who’s that guy wearing a Gaddafi costume next to him?

Me:  That’s not a costume. That’s Gaddafi.

You:  Shit, why does his face hang off of his skull like that?

Me:  That’s the face of true evil, my friend.

You:  He looks like Michael Jackson with sun stroke.

Me:  Oh God, he’s looking over at us… he must’ve heard you…

You:  It’s not my fault that he’s hideously ugly. It’s the 21st century guy, let a little botox into your life y’know what I mean?

Me: Keep your voice down! You’ve already annoyed one evil dictator tonight! C’mon, let’s get out of here…

You: Where are we going?

Me: I dunno, maybe Heaven or somewhere.

You: I thought Heaven was boring?

Me: Honestly, I’d checkmate Mother Theresa all night to avoid Gaddafi giving us the stink eye.

You: Well, that was disgusting.

Me: As disgusting as Gaddafi’s jowls?

You: Good point. Let’s go.