Davezilla: Clean Humor, Filthy Comments

There is a theory that each man and woman has a personal Hell waiting for them. No, not the checkout line at Starbucks. I mean after we die, sillies. A Hell comprised of our worst fears. Surely then, my hell would include:

Environment of Hell:

1. All the inhabitants of Hell are clowns. They are all named Biff. Each one pronounces “Biff” differently and takes great offense should you mispronounce it.
2. Everything is painted puce. There are old, buzzing neon Bud Light signs covering every wall.
3. There are no outdoors. Hell is one enormous indoor mall populated with screaming toddlers who break things and are badly in need of a diaper refresh.
4. The only pets you can own are untrainable Yorkies with bladder control issues. Everyone must own twenty of them. They never sleep.
5. There are plenty of hair salons because your hair grows 13″ a day in Hell. The hair stylists are only capable of creating mullets and the shampoo smells like garlic toast and wet dog fur.

Entertainment in Hell:

1. Clowns follow you everywhere and sing Celine Dion to a karaoke machine the size of Kansas.
2. There is only one television station and it only runs televangelists (who are the true rulers of Hell).
3. At random intervals each day, the clowns break out in song (and lesions). Their favorites include Kumbaya, Come Sail Away and Skinnamarink.

Eating in Hell:

1. You are force-fed cereal every morning at 4am. It’s Grape-Nuts. Grape Nuts with spiders.
2. Lunch is the same every day: Slug-Kabobs with prune-ade.
3. You get Girl Scout cookies in Hell, not that you’d want them. The only flavor they have is Thin Flints.
4. The catsup tastes like metal and milk all comes from stoats.
5. On your birthday, you get a giant cake. Obese stripper clowns pop out of it and ruin your day.

The Canadian Election Results are in and in a surprise victory, the __________ party won.

It’s true. I may be the last human left in my building. I’m in the center apartment, upstairs. To my left are chimpanzees, that screech and whoop during ESPN Sports Center and The Man Show. To my right, the party animals. A young couple of indeterminate species that enjoy drinking until they vomit over their balcony, or playing a quiet game of “throw empties at the raccoons”. Below my are the Albanian hyenas which I have written extensively on. On the lower right, a flock of flamingos that enjoy preening their scaly legs on the balcony and flashing their boobies to passing vehicles.

These all pale in comparison to the family of were-ferrets to my lower left. Yes, were-ferrets.

Mustelithropes that assume the shape of manic ferrets every time NASCAR is on. An episode of NASCAR is like crack to them. It sends them into a feeding frenzy of chips, hot dogs, no-brand beer and furniture. Last night must have been a Dale Earnhardt Tribute. Not only did the noise resemble the “fun house” at Abu Ghraib, but this morning their porch was strewn with the chewed up remains of their sofa, box spring and clothing.

Photo by Tamity