Halloween Repaintance

The bus departed a few seconds after I'd sat my bruised ass down on a spare bench near the back. The bus was packed full of pastor-looking blokes in suits, prune-like older women in dresses buttoned up to their pointy chins and one or two fellas who I'm sure I'd seen on a shooting range or three back in the good old days when Apartheid was in full force and blacks were kept in check (by the righteous bullet and holy noose). Speaking of blacks, not one in sight on this bus. Except for the bus driver. Back home in the land of the living, this would have been a comforting and familiar sight ... here in the grey environment of Purgatory, it was nothing short of chilling. Where the hell was he taking us?

As if reading my mind, the driver, in a distinctly Nigerian accent, spoke over the bus intercom, telling us that we were going to be purged of our Halloween offenses. I was about to protest -- after all, my reputation as the bloke who attacked poor innocent kids with paintballs sticks like jam to a blanket, but how many times must I explain that those kids had it coming -- but then I had a sudden mental image of the Third Leg and bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.

The bus lurched forward and we seemed to shoot through time and space -- if there is such a thing in the nether-regions -- and suddenly I was being expelled from the bus and onto a dark street in a suburb which looked a hell of a lot like my old home turf.

I caught my reflection in the tinted window of a car that had pulled up beside me ... it was not the reflection of the fearsome Paintball Pete who put the fear of Jesus into little satanists celebrating the devil's birthday. I was a little satanist! All dressed up in a little devil costume and holding a packet of sweets in one hand and a rotten egg in another. It was enough to make my spirit bowels turn to water.

As I stood there, mouth hanging open like a stupid retard, a paintball flew through the air, aimed right at my gaping jaw. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. It smacked into my face with a splattering thud -- goddam, those frozen paintballs can pack a punch! I'd never been on the receiving end of one of these beauties, until tonight that is. Then another, and another, and on and on it went until I thought my face would simply explode like a rotten egg smacking into the side of an atheist parent's head.

It wasn't fun. At one point I tried to throw my rotten egg at the driver of the car -- he looked familiar, even through the haze of paint caking my eyes -- but I couldn't do a damn thing to fight back. So much for fighting the good fight!

At last, when I was reduced to a whimpering, paintball splattered, face-bruised (even more than my ass) repentant, and calling out to God for mercy like a school girl, the paintball onslaught ceased and I was left alone in the dark street for what seemed like an eternity before the bus picked me up. I don't even want to know what the other passengers must have gone through, but suffice to say that a good few hell-fire preachers on board looked like the fire had been blown out their asses for a change. And some of those spinster sisters looked like fire had been blown up theirs.

Please, for the love of God, pray that I get out of here before I have to work as the garden slave of a Sudanese prince ... or worse ...

All About The Third Leg

Right, Butt-ugly and his three legs ... did that thought disturb you as much as me? Let's just say his third leg is more of a weapon of mass punishment than something used to walk on, a tool forged in the depths of Sodom before God smote it with His fires of wrath. It still feels as hot as hell, believe me ... but I'm shaking as I type so I'm going to ignore this initiation into the life of Purgatory and have promised myself that I'll never speak of the three-legged sodomising motherfucker again in derogatory terms ... to his butt-ugly face, anyway.

On to more current matters ... as you may have figured out by now, Purgatory is exactly what those goddam Mary-worshipping Catholics said it is ... the last chance for the half-pure to mend their ways and make their way back to Heaven where the fortunate few who managed to serve Jesus like good Christians should are singing 'Kumbaya My Lord'. I'm still pretty sure some little fucker of an angel messed up my papers and sent me to the wrong place, but when I finally make my way back to the Holy of holies I'll track down that feathered bastard and make sure the blessed Lord kicks his white-robed ass all the way into the Lake of Fire where he belongs.

The Three-Legged Beast has just popped his head into my cell to inform me that I am to be seated on the bus in less than five minutes ... unless I would like another intimate admonition from his third leg, I think I better end this post and get my bruised ass onto the bus. I hear from the Purgatory forums that the bus trip involves those of us who made it part of our misguided mission to teach kids that Halloween is the devil's birthday ... with the help of a paintball or three. I had no idea there were other paintball militia in this place, so the bus ride should be fun.

Say your prayers ... and make sure you put in a good word for me. I'm innocent and will be vindicated. But if I have to get kicked up the ass by that third leg again because you didn't pray hard enough, I really don't know if I'll be such a friendly chap when I finally get out of here!

Pete Meets Butt-ugly

So Manson's demonic twin was apparently not interested in the new guy in the house (me) but some other poor bastard who whimpered his way through the entire unfortunate episode I'd rather not speak more about, just in case it ends up being me next on the naughty list. I'll just say this – I have a funny feeling it's Jerry Falwell, because at one point I did hear him screaming something about not being able to help his homophobic fascination with the pink Telly Tubby.

Instead of Manson, my Personal Purgatory Guide paid me a visit. Apparently in this nearly-hell hole, departed souls who are being purged of their half-evil ways are given a spirit guide of sorts – I have given a thought to the wretched who have descended lower than me into Satan's foul dungeon of the damned. I just can't bear to think what devil guides they get when the elevator door opens into the inferno of Satan's inner bowels, if this is what we get in Middle-Hell.

My guide, who I will henceforth refer to as The Ugliest Motherfucker Ever to Have Walked on Three Legs, or Butt-ugly for short, at least had the decency to knock before he entered. He asked me if I was comfortable, to which I replied something along the lines of, "I know people in high places and I was a paintball warrior for Jesus once so there's been a horrible mess up with the afterlife paperwork so get me the fucking hell out of this place before I call the Big Guy on my cellphone, you ugly sonofabitch!"

That was not the cleverest thing I've ever done since shooting those kids with paintballs on Halloween.

I'll let you know how that all went down in my next post.

Please, please, I don't care if you're a goddam Catholic and pray to Mary and other demons, just put in a good word for me and get me the hell out of here!

My First Day In Hell ... Or Somewhere Nearby

I'm back. Not like Arnold or Jesus, you retard. Back in the blogosphere. Yes, I am a dead dude. You may remember that I kicked the bucket ... or more specifically, I impaled my righteous brain on a scalpel when I was spying on the pisscat Minister of Health while she was in a drunken stupour. I know, I know, you've read all the media reports and it looks more like I was going to have my way with her in the middle of the night because I was found dead, and completely butt-naked, by a male nurse (read: raving homo). But seriously, who are you going to believe, a goddam bum-chum nurse, or me, the guy who went around teaching devil-worshipping kids on Halloween not to mess with Jesus, or worse, with Paintball Pete?

So here I am, in Hell. Well, word on the street is, this is Purgatory, but seen as I was never Catholic, I just feel this has to be Hell as there are only two places you end up after you die -- you either go to be with Jesus, the angels and the right-wing Christians who have gone before you, or you go to Hell where you get sodomised by legions of demons who all look like a cross between Ozzy Osborne and Marilyn Manson. I'm seriously hoping this is Purgatory and not the Pit. As soon as I meet a Catholic, I'll know ...

Ever since the scalpel incident I've been hiding in a tiny dingy room with a small computer connected to the internet, so I've been spared the demon-rape for the moment .... This can't be heaven. I've not seen a single goddam angel and all I can hear is what sounds like heavy metal music pounding in the distance like a demonic hangover from hell.

In case you hadn't figured it out, I must have fucked up. Big time! I must have pissed off God so badly, that I've landed up either half way between Heaven and Hell .... or a burning coal away from Lucifer's laboratory for the systematic torture of former fundamentalist Christians (and paintballers for Jesus). Right now, it's anyone's guess, but I was not Paintball Pete for nothing ... I'll find a way out of this hell-hole the same way I fought my way out of terrorist camps in the war zones of Africa. Or malls filled with dagga-smoking teenagers wearing 'I Love Cheeses' t-shirts.

Wait a minute, did you hear that? Of course not, you're alive and I'm dead ... but seriously, what the jesusmaryandjoseph is that god-aweful noise?

I've got to cut this post short ... the noisy racket is coming closer ... Jesus have mercy, I think I see someone shuffling around the corner who looks just like Marilyn Manson with a bottle of absinth in his goddam black-nailed hands and his pants further down his ass than a ridiculous-looking rapper ...

God, please get me out of here!