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A shiny red room, overlit & glossy like shiny leather. There are slots in the wall where people can return their rented videotapes & DVDs, but the metal of these slots is very cheap and tinny, so you're definitely taking a chance by using them. A kid comes into the room with a muddy backpack and takes out a pair of wrinkly pantyhose. He does this in a sheepish, embarrassed way, then sticks them to the wall with a piece of masking tape. He stops and listens. There are footsteps down the echoey hall. He panics and readies himself for a fight. A fluorescent lighting fixture breaks from the ceiling and crushes his head & spine like a milk carton that's been sat upon quickly by a hungry fat man. So the kid is on his way to hell. The kid's getting all nervous now-- you would be nervous, too, if you were going to hell-- so he decides to make up a song, but the only tune he knows is The American National Anthem. He doesn't know the words, just the tune, so he decides to invent new words. This is what he sang: Jack
Spratt could eat no fat, Upon arrival in hell, the kid is locked in a gymnasium without any clothing. The grit on the floor-- toe jam and crispy-dry boogers, mainly-- creeps between his naked toes and bites at him, kind of like when an eyelash gets stuck behind your contact lens. He spends the rest of eternity like this. Oh,
and one other thing: whenever the kid starts to get tired, a basketball
from nowhere strikes him in the back of the head. POONT!
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