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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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My idea of hell is singing endless hymns while playing golf on a course without holes.
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Joined: Dec 2000
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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sing hymns for all eternity
I'm with you there, Dr. Bill. However, there is a line from, I believe, the Rutter Requiem, a tenor line, during a portion when the basses aren't singing, that, if I *had to listen to one line for all eternity, would be the line.
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Joined: Jan 2001
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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There is also an old joke about a guy in heaven looking down into hell and seeing a guy with bimbo on each knee and a bottle in each hand, and asking St. Peter if he couldn't be allowed to visit down there. St. Peter replies that he'd be disappointed. "The bottles have no bottoms, and the bottoms have no holes."
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Joined: Oct 2000
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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great post about livid.. i too think of it as being a deep, dark red..
i know the word from cop shows (all you Law & Order fans do too) the cops and the corninors are always talking about the lividity of a corpes.. which i always thought was the deep, bruised like discoloration on the bottom of the corpes, where the blood had settled, not the pale grey, leaden color on top, the was drained of blood.
to be livid, was to be angry enough to be flushed, red faces-- almost blue faces.. with pulsing blue veins visible.
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Joined: Jul 2000
Posts: 3,467
Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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To this day Sam doesn’t know for sure how he ended up (or down) in Hell, but he did. But he succeeded in getting out. Unheard of? Yep. But if anyone could do it, Sam could.
He arrived on the express elevator, where he was met by old Scratch himself.
“Sam,” boomed Mephistopheles, “We’ve been waiting for you. Yep, it’s a bit warm, but as we say, ‘it isn’t the heat, it’s the humidity.’ Well, OK, I lied. It IS the heat. I’m gonna turn you over to this imp right here to get some background, then I’ll decide your punishment.”
After the interview Sam found himself again in Belial’s presence. “So, you like classical music? OK. You get to run a music hall for eternity. Asmodeus here will drop you off.”
Poor Sam. Turns out the “music hall” was a 24-hour disco operation. True torture to someone whose ear was as sophisticated as Sam’s was. In fact, it was so much torture that Satan turned down his request for air conditioning, but did in a moment of weakness allow him to put in ceiling fans. Word of the disco spread, and the place even became known in heaven, where there lived an angel named Glorietta.
Glory, as she was known to her friends, absolutely loved disco music, and importuned St. Peter until he gave her a 12-hour pass to visit Sam. “Remember,” cautioned Pete, “you have until midnight, and if you miss that last elevator you’ll be stuck in hell for eternity.”
Glory hung her harp and her halo at the door and danced divinely for hours and hours. It was only when she heard the clock striking midnight that she ran from the disco, grabbing for her harp and halo. The halo was there, but the harp was nowhere to be seen, so she left without it, just getting her wingtips through the elevator door.
And a week later Satan threw Sam out of hell. That ejection, of course, had nothing to do with Sam’s mentioning to Old Clootie that somewhere up there was an angel wandering around Heaven singing, “I Left My Harp in Sam’s Fan Disco.”
TEd
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Joined: Nov 2000
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Carpal Tunnel
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Ooooo ....  Hell jokes. Well, there's this chappie goes down to Hell almost as a matter of course when he pops his clogs, given his earthly lifestyle which (to not put to fine a point on it) consisted almost exclusively of wine, women and song, not necessarily in that order or in equal parts. He's met by Old Nick (who doubles as a linguist on this Board from time to time). The slippery-heeled not-so-dearly departed's bad habits rather appealed to him and it was a slow day, and so The Man decides to give cut the new arrival some slack. "Right, my man, I'm going to let you inspect three rooms," says Satan. "You can look inside all of them as many times as you like, but you must choose one of them. Once you've gone inside your room of choice, that's it. It will then be your home for the rest of eternity or until the last trump, whichever is the least recent." Our newly-minted deceased is ever so slightly apprehensive, but what choice does he have? He is, after all, only a tyro in Hell, and he doesn't know the rules or the wrinkles or how to work the system. That may come, but now is now. "Room One," says Da Boss, and throws back the door. Inside is a huge pit full of faeces. Inside, damned souls are tiptoeing around up to their necks in it, trying to keep their heads above ... water, so to speak. "W-e-e-l-l, I dunno," demurs our dismayed, deceased diddy-bopper. "Homely. It has possibilities. Something I think I'd have to work up to, Sire. Maybe I'll just have a quick peek at Room 2?" "Done!" cries the Devil and slams the door shut on Room One, opening it again immediately. It has now clearly become Room Two, because while there is again a pit full of faeces, it's not so deep. Damned souls again, of course, milling around in it, indescribable smell, no one looks very happy, but there is one good point. They're only in it up to their waists. Our late lecher purses his lips and strokes his chin while the thinks about it. It doesn't take a genius to work out that if the first one was bad and the second one was better, that may well be an indicator that the third could just conceivably be even better yet, relatively speaking. Which is just as well, because our damnable dude ain't no genius. "Oh, what the hell, let's look at Room Three," he enthuses. The Devil obliging slams the door and opens it again. Inside is definitely different. Yes, there's the pit, and yes it's got faeces in it, but the penitents are only up to their knees. And what's more, there's a nice shiny chrome tea trolley by the door with tea, coffee and there's even some of those dinky little rice cakes which health-conscious people like to nibble at and pretend that they're actually eating something that's good for them. One look at the wraithlike wiggin wonder's face tells the Devil that he's made his choice, and he prods him in and shuts the door. Our friend shrugs, pours himself a cuppa and gingerly steps down into the mire. He's just starting in on his rice cake and gently blowing on his coffee to cool it when the door swings open again. Pouf, and the tea trolley, the cups, the coffee and tea, and even the rice cakes have disappeared. "Okay folks," the Devil shouts, "Coffee break's over. Back on your heads!"
The idiot also known as Capfka ...
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he pops his clogsHow exactly does anyone manage this????  
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Warning! Cross thread!
A new arrival in Hell was brought before the devil. The devil told his demon to put the man to work on a rock pile with a 20-pound sledge hammering 95 degree heat with 95% humidity.
At the end of the day, the devil went to see how the man was doing, only to find him smiling and singing as he pounded rocks. The man explained that the heat and hard labor were very similar to those on his beloved farm back in Massachusetts.
The devil told his demon to turn up the heat to 120 degrees, with 100% humidity. At the end of the next day, he devil again checked on the new man, and found him still happy to be sweating and straining. The man explained that it felt like the old days, when he had to clean out his silo in the middle of August on his beloved farm back in Massachusetts.
At that, the devil told his demon to lower the temperature for this man to -20 degrees with a 40 mph wind. At the end of the next day, the devil was confident that he would find the man miserable. But, the man was instead singing louder than ever, twirling the sledgehammer like a baton.
When the devil asked him why he was so happy, the man answered, "Cold day in hell, the Patriots must have won the Super Bowl!"
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