Hell

by Pa Rock

I have always contended that my definition of Hell would be a Disney cruise, a long ocean voyage on a big red ship with hordes of crumb-snatchers swarming across every deck like so many crazed and starving locusts. A recent article on the Internet, however, has led me to a clearer understanding of just how truly awful Hell could be.

It happened this week when a large group of adolescent girls who were attending cheerleading camp at the University of Texas decided to see how many of their group could squeeze into an elevator. Twenty-six of them managed to get inside and then ride the elevator down three floors without mishap - until they tried to exit their big sardine can. It was then that they discovered the doors wouldn’t open. Fortunately, each was equipped with a minimum of one cell phone, so they were able to call for help - and then, most likely, spent the rest of their ordeal texting each other about their tragic situation. (OMG!) The vacuous teens were pasted to each other for twenty-five minutes until a repairman managed to pry the doors open.

If I expire in the pursuit of sin, may I wake up screaming on a cruise ship crammed with out-of-control children rather than in an intellectual vacuum of compressed cheerleaders. There is Hell, and then there is Hell!