Just so you know, I don’t give a good god damn.

Right now, I’ve got this shovel in my hand, and what I’m doing with the shovel is digging myself out of Hell. I bet you didn’t know you could do that, did you? You can. Just so you know, that big blue blob doesn’t let just anybody into Heaven. He’s got a big old' Christmas list full of people that he’s hand-picked or circled in a catalog, or whatever. And if you’re not on that Christmas list, those angels won’t take you up to Heaven. Is that okay with you? It wasn’t okay with me. If you die, and that big blue blob in a throne tells you to walk down a black hallway into this big fire pit because you weren‘t pretty enough in the toy store window, do what I do, and don’t give a good god damn. Get a goddamn shovel and free yourself.

I haven‘t been here a long time. A lot of people have, though. Accidentally staying a long time in Hell is an easy thing to do. That big blue blob doesn’t give two shits to just leave people in Hell for as long as they’re willing to stay down there. He doesn’t even think about us, I bet. He’s too busy creating brand new things, and thinking about them. With such a short attention span like that, it’s a wonder he just doesn’t turn us all into fireworks.

Merry Christmas, and happy fourth of July.

Right now, I’m so black from the fire down here that I remind myself of a night on earth. You’d think if that big blue blob that created existence was going to let me turn as black as a night on earth, he’d at least give me a little moon and a few little stars to wear around my neck. Whatever. You think I give a good god damn about all that? I don’t. A bright little necklace with a moon and stars on them, you can mark that off my Christmas list.

I heard a rumor one time. I don’t remember who told it to me, but that’s not important anyway. The rumor said that if you can escape from Hell, that big blue sack of shit will make you one of his angels as a reward for your courage, letting you run around, picking people up and flying them through space and time using your pretty white wings.

Whatever.

If that rumor’s true, do you know what the first thing I’m going to do with my new white wings? Take off all the feathers and stuff them into a pillow case. Then I’m going to find a bed, lay my head down on my angel-winged pillow, and die in my sleep. I won’t wake up either. No reason to wake up. I’ll give you a brand new five dollar bill if you can give me a reason to wake up. Deal? Deal.

I’m still going to dig myself the fuck out of here, though, whether I turn into an angel or not. Right now, I’ve probably dug about six hundred feet with my shovel. It takes a while because the rock is so hard. And this shovel, it doesn’t have any magical powers. You just have to chip away at the hard rock with the spade, just like you would if you were still alive on earth. If my shovel breaks, I can always find another one. If I can’t find another one, then I’ll just use my teeth to clear away all this rock. You think I give a good god damn if all my teeth break and fall out? I don’t.

Back when I started digging my tunnel, I was digging and scooping through the rock with my non-magical shovel when I found a wedding ring. It was small and tarnished, and starting to turn into rock itself, just like all the other rock around it. For a little while, I carried that ring around in my pocket, taking it out every once in a while to try it on and whatever, feeling like goddamn Bilbo Baggins. That got old fast. And there aren’t any pretty girls in Hell to give that ring to, unless you want to give it to some dumb charred-up bitch, so I just threw it back down, letting it turn back into rock. It sort of makes you wonder what other kind of stuff all this rock once was, before it became the rock of Hell, or whatever you want to call it.

It sort of makes you wonder what that big blue blob made Hell out of, doesn’t it?

I bet my shovel here, it’ll be Hell’s rock one day. Whatever. I bet everything down here will be.

You want to know how I died? I was camping with my family on this little Kentucky lake. It was a designated camp site, so a lot of other families were around camping, too. Well, I was coming out of this port-o-potty, pulling up my pants and trying to zip up my zipper when all the sudden, some asshole shoots me in the chest with a shotgun. I have no idea why, because I died right then and didn’t get a chance to ask him. I have no idea what happened.

As soon as I got in front of that big blue blob, he looked at me, and then he grabbed his Christmas list.

“What’s your name?” said the big blue blob.

And then I said, “Teddy Derwood.” That’s my name, by the way. Teddy Derwood.

Then the blob read through his Christmas list a little ways, decided that he wasn’t going to find me on there, and then told me, “Happy New Year.”

That’s what that big blue sack of shit says to you if you’re not on the list. “Happy New Year.”

Those who are on the list are welcomed with a big blue smile and a “Merry Christmas.”

One of his angels led me down the big black hallway which leads to Hell.

The angel made a joke on the way. This was it: “Let me know if you ever run into Santa Claus down there.” The angel laughed. I didn’t. I imagine the angel makes that same joke to anyone who has the misfortune of going down that big black hallway.That joke is bad news. If you ever hear it, cover your ears.

And here's what the tunnel to Hell looks like, if you're interested: It's about as long as the sidewalk I had in front of my house. It's pitch black, with no moon or stars or any of that bullshit. It doesn't have a smell. It doesn't really have a sound either, unless you count your breathing and the angel's breathing.

I bet if there was a light switch in there, you could turn it on and see hundreds of little cockroaches scattering around on the floor.

The tunnel gets warmer as you're going down it, of course. The tunnel also kind of makes you horny, for some strange reason. Well, it made me horny, anyway.

Getting horny in the dark is bad news, just so you know.

I sort of think I’m reaching the end of my tunnel to the outside of Hell, but there’s no way to know. Either way, I am very excited.

In case you were wondering, no one’s ever come up to me while I was digging my tunnel and asked me what I was doing. I guess Hell sort of conditions everyone not to give a good goddamn. They know it doesn't make a goddamn bit of difference. They know that no matter what kind of bullshit I'm doing, they're still going to be down here. They’re right about that, because as soon as I’m out of here, I’m closing up the tunnel. I’ll do that by throwing big rocks down it. How do I know there will be big rocks around when I get out of the tunnel? Because I’m so used to there being big rocks in Hell that it’s almost impossible for me to believe there aren’t big rocks everywhere else. Sound stupid? It is.

I think I’ll leave a note here at the base of the tunnel, for anyone to find, just in case they start wondering what ever happened to old Teddy Derwood.

I’m going to write it right now. Here’s what it will say:

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Toys in every store.

-Your Friend,
Teddy

Right now, I’m seeing my first glimpse of light in about ninety years. The way it’s hitting my face right now, oh my god, I love it.

I’m really quite cold. If you were used to the extremely hot temperature of Hell, you’d be quite cold out here in sixty-degree weather, too.

I haven’t broken through the surface all the way yet, there’s some concrete I have to break through. Then some carpet, which isn’t a big deal.

My non-magical shovel is still intact, if you can believe it. I can’t.

Right now, I’m about to crawl out of my tunnel, through my little earth hole (or whatever you want to call it), and into freedom!

I am very excited.

I repeat: I am very excited.

Let me tell you about my former wife first, before I emerge into the outside world.

There are two reasons why I want to tell you about my former wife. The first one is, I’m nervous about the outside world and am trying to stall as much as I can. Sound stupid? Maybe you’ll understand some day.

The second reason, is that my wife was the best woman in the world. I used to tell her that we shouldn’t even be together, because the only man good enough for her was God himself, who I pictured at the time to be a very handsome man. Needless to say, whenever I died and saw god himself for the first time, sitting in his throne like a blob of jelly sits at the bottom of a jar, I understood why my wife chose me instead.

But why was my wife the best woman in the world? Well, what makes a woman good?

Attractiveness? Check. My wife was staggeringly attractive. You’re goddamn right she was. I’m no poet, so I won’t go comparing her face to a sunset or any of that bullshit. Just picture in your head the best looking woman you’ve ever seen. My wife is in that ballpark, I guarantee!

Intelligence? Check. My former wife was a high school science teacher. She knew how almost everything in the world worked. I once said to her, “I bet it gets pressuring, knowing all the world’s secrets.”

She said, I remember, “If the world didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag, it shouldn’t have given us all eyes and ears.”

I once asked her what happens after you die. She put my head on her lap and started brushing my hair from front to back. It feels so good. She said, "When you die, you appear in an old house. There are lots of soothing pictures on the wall-- Norman Rockwells. You walk down the hallway into the den where an old man is rocking back in forth in his rocking chair. You two talk about your life. You can talk for as little or as long as you like, while he listens patiently. When you're done, you go into the bedroom, lay your head on that soft pillow, and go to sleep."

That’s enough about my former wife. I'm depressed now, and about to climb through my hole and into the world.

Right now, I am saying the same phrase that big blue tub of shit’s going to say right before he makes his second coming, or whatever you want to call it when he returns to earth:

“Heeeeeeere’s Johnny.”

And here I am.

I’ve come back up in my living room. Yep, that’s right. Right inside the living room of my house. How's that for luck? And I’m not in Hell, either! How’s that for luck?

The TV is on. Some goddamn stupid show that I don’t give a shit about is on. I haven’t watched TV in a hundred years and I’m not about to start now.

The big blue blob is sitting in my recliner.

I half-expect him to start slowly clapping his hands, or something really sarcastic like that. He doesn’t, though. He says, “Happy Groundhog day.”

I say, “Oh, it’s Groundhog day? I didn’t know.”

And the big blue blob says, “No, that’s just what I say to people when they escape from Hell. ‘Happy Groundhog day.’”

“Oh. So, I guess you're gonna send me back down there, huh?”

And that big blue blob says, “Since you’re on earth, you can do whatever you want.”

And so I do. I go back to being an atheist and playing the lottery once a week. Believe me when I tell you, I couldn’t be more excited.

Praise God!