I Hate the Fucking Ski Trip—Let’s Go to Hell Instead

January 14, 2019 7:00 pm
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I Hate the Fucking Ski Trip—Let’s Go to Hell Instead

The ski trip sucks, okay? Nobody cares about “mountains”, or “snow”, or “having fun”, or “contracting sepsis from the shitty beds or whatever I don’t really know what causes sepsis or even what sepsis is”. It’s a claustrophobic little fucknest of sin and depravity where you have to be in close proximity to people you absolutely loathe for like three days. It’s a miracle more people aren’t pushed off the slopes in unfortunate accidents or get ski poles rammed up their ass when no one else is looking. At least my PHE got eaten by a yeti last year.

Oh, god—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all worked up like that. It’s just that I think about this ski trip thing, and how many people die from it, and I get so upset—so I’m taking a few deep breaths, counting to ten, just like my therapist told me to do.

Anyways. None of that matters, because I’m here to tell you that instead of a ski trip, this year we’re all going to hell. That’s right—each and every one of us are dead from some freak accident that I’m not going to talk about or I’ll get upset again. And because none of us were good people, we’re going to be sorted into one of the nine circles of hell, from Limbo to Cocytus, or Treachery. And boy oh boy is it a wild-ass ride.

You want fire and brimstone? You got it. You want frozen lakes with Satan gnawing on you? You got it. You wanna get torn to pieces by rabid dogs? You got it. You don’t want any of that bullshit? Too bad. You were a sinner in life and now you get an eternity of suffering in hell with equal measure to the abominable crimes you committed on earth. (I mean, we’re at Stanford, for Beelzebub’s sake. It’s not like any of us are good people, or even good-intentioned people.)

I know some of you may be thinking, “gee whiz golly gosh this doesn’t sound like much of a fun time at all!” And you’re exactly right. But at least you’re not going down a slope of goddamned powdered water on sticks of wood, trying to convince yourself that you’re having a good time before you go back to a little hole in the ground to sleep away your miserable life. For fuck’s sake.

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