This is the story of my unfortunate and very short career in Hell. I hadn’t planned on visiting, let alone living there, but life will often throw these little surprises at you. It was so surprising that I forgot to pack some suntan lotion. And, sure, while there’s no actual sun in Hell, the Earth’s molten core may as well be the same thing.
Someone said I was lucky to be leaving the boondocks as they were miles from the nearest telephone or free WiFi—or pretty much anything really. That someone said I’d be moving to a place where hot water in the shower was no problem. That’s right. Hot water in Hell was actually hot, not like the lukewarm piss that dribbled down your face back where I came from. As a connoisseur of bathroom facilities, this was all I needed to clinch the deal.
So, no suntan lotion but plenty of hot water. What could go wrong? Well, plenty as it happens. I hadn’t counted on the natives. Those fucking feral natives! They were… well, strange. And not only because they wore iridium rings in their nostrils and braided chest hair. Nope. It was something else. It was the fact that they wore open business jackets and aviator goggles, but no pants. And they’d fly over you with those huge, leathery wings in the hopes of landing a huge shit on your head. What fucking weirdos!
Also, they were eager wranglers—like they’d been watching too many cowboy movies. I would even say it was their cacoethes (fancy word there). Firstly it scared me, then it became merely rather irritating. Being shat on then lassoed and transported to another postcode in Hell would really put a crimp on anyone’s day. The psychotic bastards just couldn’t help themselves! But I did eventually get used to it—strange as it sounds—and even realised that I could turn this to my benefit. That’s right, I eventually figured out that I might be able to use them as free transportation to work and back instead of dialing an Uber. All I had to do was steer them like I was paragliding or something. Sure, they’d probably shit on you the entire way but all I’d need to do is wear a disposable raincoat and hat to compensate for this, and change into my work uniform when I arrived at the office.
Of course, you’re going to ask how any of this concerns science. Well, it has a direct and vital correlation with science! My top priority when I accepted the offer from Hell was not hot water and free transport (even though these tipped me over into saying yes). No, it was the chance to join an unique project where the most talented scientists from throughout time—from Jabir ibn Hayyan to Ortizphine Hunterpin CCCXXV—would study the cellular dehydration and osmoreceptor stimulation of Pompeii worms. Any true intellect would eat their own hat with a side order of fries from envy!
Such a pity that I never made it there. To work, I mean. It turns out that steering a batshit crazy demon just isn’t possible. It’s like trying to wrestle a rabid wolverine towards an anger management class. So, I would spend hours trying to reach my destination, only to end up nosediving into the roof of somebody’s house—all while covered in shit, of course. Can’t forget the shit!
So naturally, I was soon kicked back up to Earth for my constant tardiness. Scientists prefer it if you’re punctual. Bureaucracy is hell, man!