Open Letter to the Concierge at Hell’s Finest Hotel:

Dear Hospitality Servant of the Dark Lord Lucifer,

My name is Greg. I am a teacher in Hangzhou city, Zhejiang province, P.R.C. Currently the school is on hiatus for the summer holiday so I have been left at my University with little or no responsibility whatsoever. I was enjoying the time off until July rolled around and the rotation of the Earth put our sun about 100 feet away from the surface of this city. For the past seven days the air temperature has been well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. When you add in humidity and the lack of anything resembling a breeze the heat index is around 500 degrees Fahrenheit. It is literally hotter than Hell (I’m pretty sure, I mean I’ve never been. Call it a guestimation.).

To give you some idea as to the actual heat I can tell you what I have both seen and experienced. Chinese women, in their vain attempts to stay as close to milky white as possible, have been venturing outside, umbrellas in full bloom, since May. At the start of July those umbrellas have, after only a few minutes of exposure to the sun’s rays, burst into flames setting more than one delicate, ebony-haired cranium on fire. Chinese men, the normal bastions of masculinity that they are, have resorted to rolling their T-shirts up to the armpit exposing their mid-sections in a manner only the gayest of gay bar patrons would, in an inebriated and frantic last call effort for drunken cock action, attempt. I, myself, have not been immune either. Besides the frequent headaches that do not allay my frustration with the non-stop sweating, I have actually been able to feel my sperm dying. That’s right, I can feel my sperm succumbing to single celled heat exhaustion. My ball sack as well has reached maximum elasticity. In an attempt to keep my goo globes healthy and productive my glitter sling has stretched south of mid-thigh and took up temporary residence between my knees. If so inclined I could fashion a makeshift hammock out of my slouch pouch large enough to accommodate a full-size, dozing squirrel or medium-sized otter. Sorry for the imagery but it’s that fuckin’ hot.

I’m writing you this letter to inquire as to the availability of any air conditioned room you might have in Hell. I’ve never been but I hear the climate is lovely compared to Hangzhou. Price is not a factor. If the AC works in my room I’ll be more than satisfied to pay my way by helping you gain the souls of atheists and Southern Baptists alike. Seeing as how I am Roman Catholic they are as much my enemy as they are yours. I look forward to a prompt response as my ability to procreate lays in your Satanic, and damned hands.

Your willing servant in evil,

Greg

P.S. I’m really not good at being “evil” so perhaps I could work poolside as a towel boy or inside an air conditioned ballroom as a salsa instructor or something. Enclosed are some pictures of me with your cloven footed mascot. (Are goats cloven-footed? I really don’t know. Your whole “thing” sort of gives me the heebie-jeebies.)

Me and Goat are pals for life:

Rockin’ with Goat to some Dokken: And yes I’m aware that that is the “I love you” sign and not the “Devil, I salute you” sign that is so often thrown violently overhead at Motorhead concerts and the like. I took these pictures myself and only had ten seconds with the self-timer so I rushed to get situated and properly framed up and the damn goat’s horns kept falling off so in my fervor I unintentionally threw up the “I love you” instead of the “Devil, I salute you.” Also, I was drunk.

Me, snuggling up with Devil’s Mascot: For the record, it took a lot of nerve and soul searching for me to put this picture up. I decided to do it for you the reader and for comedy’s sake, so I would appreciate it if everyone would refrain themselves from copying the picture and Photoshopping it into an even more compromising image. I’m self-conscious enough as it is (and I think you can see why), so no fake jizz streams or stains, and no altering the cigarette into a cock and no superimposing a huddle of Japanese men urinating in the direction of my face please.