Christopher Saint's Humor Column

Of Monks and Men

I'm not really sure why I titled this column, "Of Monks and Men"; it just seemed like a good title, very Dickensian. Although I'm not really sure who wrote "Of Mice and Men". It could have been Dickens, or Shakespeare, or even Dante for all I remember. In fact, now that I think about it, it was Dante.

*Edit, 6-1-2004*
Right now, you are all thinking: "John Steinbeck! Geez!" But of COURSE I know that John Steinbeck wrote Dante's Inferno, and you needn't remind me. It was the story of his Step-Uncle Dante, and how he set his barn on fire, and the wacky and touching hijinks that happened during and after. Something about Chicago burning down, if I remember right. But we all know that "Of Mice and Men" was written by Bob Dante (who just happens to have the same name as Steinbeck's Step-Uncle) right after the Hundred Years War, in which Russia was, finally, declared an independant nation.
*End Edit*

DEMENTIA WARNING! THE REST OF THIS COLUMN IS EXTREMELY DEMENTED, BE THOU FOREWARNED.

"Of Mice and Men" is the horrifying story of a man named "Mice" who travels into a world of darkness and red, flickering light. The pit of Hell. There he meets a young lad named Oliver Twist, who leads him further down, always down, but who doesn't ever say anything.

On the third level of Hell, they meet up with Romeo and Juliet, who are moving rocks from one pile to another pile in endless, futile torment. When Mice protests to the overlord of that level of Hell, the overlord tells him why Romeo and Juliet, the most consummate lovers in the history of the world (at THAT time anyway, later, they were much surpassed by Ronald and Nancy Regan), are confined to the burning depths of Hell.

"They are here because they turned a happy ending into possibly the WORST ending of a story ever invented. So here they are, atoning for their sins."

Mice, of course, was astounded, "But I thought that the ending to War and Peace was even worse!"

The overlord was flabbergasted. "Hmmmm...I shall have to look into that. For now, I think that Romeo and Juliet can move up a level or two to the first level of Hell, which is, naturally, gardening."

Mice shuddered at the thought of gardening for eternity, but he also snickered to himself because he knew that nobody ever actually finished War and Peace. Then he continued on. Soon he reached the fifth level of Hell, and then he saw a sign. The sign was stuck into the ground, and on either side of it were two thick white lines, about 6 feet apart and 7 or 8 feet long. The sign read, "Reserved for Bill Gates."

Mice stared, mouth agape.

Soon, the Overlord of the fifth level saw Mice, standing and staring. He sauntered over, "Hey buddy, what're you doing? Can't you see that this spot is reserved?"

Mice just continued to stare.

The Overlord spoke again, "Look, the handicapped spots are up on the first level, so I'll thank you to leave."

Mice blinked, then came out of his trance. "Oh, right, thanks. Actually, I'm just exploring and I was a little surprised by the reservation sign."

The Overlord grinned, "We know who is ours. We even offer a valet parking service! Although the price is your immortal soul, of course! Haw haw haw!"

The Overlord walked off, chortling to himself.

What a horrible place! Thought Mice, but continued bravely on, wondering what other lessons he could learn from this trip.

Soon he reached the sixth level. The entrance to this level was a huge archway that had a sign on it that said, "Lawyers' Level."

Hmmmm... Thought Mice. That's odd.

He continued on into the level, and soon came to a fork in the road, on the right hand side was another arch that said "Way to the Lawyers' Level" and on the left hand side was an arch that said, "To the Seventh Level."

On the right hand side, just inside the arch, was a Bar, with lots of people gathered around it drinking and talking. On the end of the bar was a sign that said, "Do not pass."

Taking an interest in the scene, and feeling very thirsty all of a sudden, Mice walked up to the bar. "I'll take a espresso mochachino."

The bartender started in fear and backed up against the wall behind him. "No wonder you're in Hell kid! The Starbucks is down two levels. Get out of here!"

Mice shrugged and said, "Alright, you don't have to be so hostile about it."

The bartender spoke again, "Look, this is Hell, you think we get paid to be nice? Now get out of here! I would say 'get the hell out of here' but..."

But Mice didn't stick around, he was already on his way to the seventh level. Although, on his way out, he did notice a group of lawyers chatting as they walked under the arch, passed the bar, and continued down into...whatever was that way.

The seventh level was not really interesting. But on the eighth level, Mice found the Starbucks. However, it was beginning to get really hot, so he ordered a frappacino instead of a mocha.

The cashier said, "One frappacino, okay, that'll be your soul, please."

Mice stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Or your first-born child, if you wish..." Said the cashier, trying to sound reasonable.

Mice thought for a moment, then said, "Okay."

The cashier rummaged under the counter and pulled out a long form. "Fill this out. In triplicates."

Mice looked at the form. "You want my Father's Mother's maiden name?"

"Just for identification purposes. Also, I'm supposed to ask if you want to get our free newsletter."

"Um...no." Said Mice, then he sighed and filled out the form. An hour later, he drank his frappacino with a deep sense of satisfaction. Then he dropped a quarter in the tip jar. The quarter melted, then evaporated, and evil laughter resounded throughout the Starbucks.

"See." Said the cashier. "This really is Hell. Eternity without tips, and they always lose our paychecks too."

Mice shook his head sympathetically, but then he continued on, laughing to himself. Mice, you see, was a eunuch.

The entrance to the Ninth and last level of Hell was an arch that said, "Soul Containment" on it. Inside the arch, a muscular man was standing in front of a large, bowl shaped valley. Mice walked up to the man and said, "What is this place?"

The man said, "This is the area where we keep the souls of the people who sell them to us. You can walk down among them if you wish, they will not harm you."

Mice walked down among the souls accompanied by Oliver Twist and the muscular man. The souls were all in pain, terrible pain. They screamed silently in the red, flickering light.

This is hideous! Thought Mice.

The muscular man, who was apparently psychic, said, "This is Hell, mate. Just wouldn't be right without some tortured souls."

Mice supposed that he was right. Looking around, Mice noticed something, "There are an awful lot of TV Network executives down here."

"Yeah." Said the man, "They tend to sell their souls pretty quickly. Actually, we have an overabundance of them right now. Also, we have pretty much every member of the ACLU down here."

Mice looked around, astounded by the sheer number of souls, suddenly he saw one he thought he recognized, "Is that Hillary Clinton?!"

"Yes," said the man, "How do you think she won the election in New York? Anyway, come, there is one last thing you must see here before you go back to your world."

The man led Mice and Oliver Twist (who still said nothing) through the valley of souls and out the other side. Soon they came to the edge of a pit. It was dark, and they couldn't see either the bottom or the other side of it. There were screams echoing up from below, and every once in a while, someone would fall past them and down into the darkness, out of sight.

"What is this new horror?!" Squeaked Mice.

"Don't squeak like that, you sound like a mouse." said Oliver Twist.

Mice was surprised that Oliver had spoken, but he soon recovered, "Well, Oliver, now that you mention it-"

"Save it." Said Oliver.

"Yes, do," said the man. "This is the Endless Abyss. This is where we throw the ones we don't like."

Mice had to ask, "Is there a specific kind of person you don't like?"

"No indeed!" said the man. "Hell is an equal opportunity employer, we'll toss you in regardless of race, gender, or sexual preference. Mainly, though, we throw in the repentant ones."

"What?!" Mice was aghast. "Why?!"

"Because they are a bunch of wimps, of course." Said the man. "All self-pitying whiners. 'I'm sorry!' They say. 'Please let me out!' They just don't get that down here there is only one rule: 'Life is Hell. Deal with it.' So we toss them in."

"So why are people falling past us?" Asked Mice. "Are they throwing people down from above us?"

"No." Said the man, "It's just that the Endless Abyss sort of wraps around. It's an endless cycle of falling. After a while, they all get used to it, the only ones that scream are the new ones. They only scream for about the first two days. Then they either realize that it's pointless, or they lose their voice. Then it just becomes endless boredom, which is, I think, far worse. But now the time has come for you to return to your own world."

Mice suddenly noticed that there were sparkling red slippers on his feet.

The man spoke one last time: "Now, click your heels together three times while repeating 'There's no place like home'."

Oliver Twist rolled his eyes, then he and the muscular man disappeared.

Mice did as he had been told, and poof! He was back in the real world, with a blue sky and fields of green. He kissed the ground in joy, and then he resolved to share the lessons he had learned with the rest of the world. So he sat down and wrote the rippingly good novel: "The Confessions of St. Augustine." In which, I am sure, there was some mention of Monks, unlike this column, which does not in the least feel fettered by its title.