Hell isn’t all flames and pitchforks and obscure, antiquated forms of bodily torture: Satan is a creative beast, and when it comes time to punish you for a lifetime of sins, he will unleash a vast range of horrors upon you, many of which you never saw coming. Sure, he’ll starve you for a fortnight—anyone could’ve guessed that—but the real kicker is that when you’re finally allowed to eat again, you have to plow your way through the entirety of a 1,087-pound, 70-layer tub of bean dip in one sitting. We all know there’s no water Down There—but what might surprise you is that instead, the only potable beverage on offer is boiling-hot Java Monster: Loca Moca, which you have to drink from a stinky old shoe.
Between sips of coffee-flavored energy drink and mouthfuls of bean meal, all throughout your stints on the Iron Maiden and the Pear of Anguish, hell’s full-time DJ (Moby) plays one song, and one song only: “Vote Trump 2020,” a deranged campaign anthem written and performed by this disturbingly cheerful, mask-less family band that showed up to the President’s rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, on Wednesday.
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There is no escape from this song. It plays on a loop for all eternity, growing louder and louder each time Moby cues it back up to the beginning. As you lose count of how many times you’ve heard it—100? 1,000? 10,000?—you find that you’ve memorized the lyrics, though the words have lost their meaning. The song devolves into an hollow, numbing refrain that would haunt your dreams, if only you were allowed to sleep:
Four more years, come on everybody
Four more years, come on everybody
Four more years…
There will never be another U.S.A.
Freedom won’t come back if you give it away
It’s time to vote, it’s time to pray
Let’s join as one, let me hear you say
Vote Trump: 2020
Vote Trump: 2020
Vote Trump: 2020
Keep America great
Keep America great…
As your years in Hades drag on, you become accustomed to the pain of physical torment, the oppressive heat of the fire that rages all around you. But this song—this curséd, curséd canticle—is too much to bear. It is the bane of your interminable, miserable existence. It is a horror the likes of which you have never known. It is your least favorite part of hell, and it is the only part of hell from which there is no reprieve.
Good luck down there.
Follow Drew Schwartz on Twitter.
