i'm the skeleton with the funny voice who says "bone voyage!" to everyone who boards Charon's ferry
The same job I'm currently doing, because this is hell actually
I worked my entire life and I still gotta work after I die??? This is some bullshit
in charge of the 24/7 ronald reagan torture room and gift shop
I must imagine Sisyphus happy. And once I do, I have to start all over again.
As I recall if sisyphus gets the boulder to stay at the top of the hill he is restored to life so the very fact he pushes the boulder means he isn't happy
"Pit maintenance" is what's on my job description but I end up doing freakin' evening around here!
I'm the database architect, creating functional templates and a comprehensive system to manage all hell related data. Every day, I send all residents a huge excel file that they have to read and contribute to. It's important you have the right program on your computer so said excel file can pull data directly from your hard drive. To make this happen, you have to give me access to your email contact list. Here I have attached a handy 40 min video detailing how to exactly do this, now let's talk about pop and imap. Better yet, this weekend I've scheduled a 2 day workshop on email migration. Everyone in hell has to attend, but it's OK, I ordered a pizza. One pizza. Vegetarian tofu pizza. But before anyone can eat the pizza, we all have to talk about our feelings and write a poem about said feelings. Then we hug, do mandatory yoga, then talk some more about our feelings.
Thought about taking that out. No offense meant to tofu lovers. I accept you, friend.
Imagine making a database/excel sheet over all the personal hells. How do you systematize that shit? And every day it grows by thousands. Seems like the kinda thing that would be a hell in itself
I'm a middle level bureaucrat. Someones gotta keep the wheels of hell turning and make sure the correct forms are filled and filed.
I'm imagining you telling Ftumch The Flayer that they need to fill out proper requisition forms before they go flaying, and this poor devil that has existed since before the invention of the word "Byzantine" suddenly has to do all sorts of admin work before they can get on with their actual job. Hell got bought by private equity
"Look Ftumch, the consultants from level 7 have put a new system in place. You will not be flaying until you can provide these forms signed in triplicate and filed with the correct departments."
"But I need to flay 789377 more souls for me to get acknowledged as a greater devil! I don't have time for this"
"Actually Ftumch, and I'm sorry to tell you this, you actually need to flay 8788444 souls. You didn't fill out the forms properly for the last century. Of course you can decrease the number of souls you need to flay if you volunteer as a rhymer, you just need to fill out this formula in iambic pentameter."
"RAAAARGH"
"Also, you did accidentially file yourself as Ftumch The Layer. You will have to start doing something about that."
I'd be a disembodied skull that sits in a pile that cackles at your joke :)
You: "Fella makes it to the underworld and now the ferryman demands a tip too? What a Charon! Nah just kidding he's a wonderful guy"
Me:
"Gakgakgak! Nice one boss"
I pedal the big Machine.
No, I don't know what it does, there's only so much I can see from my seat and I don't get breaks to get up and walk around to peek at the full extent of it.
I stand by the entrance holding a pitchfork, cackling menacingly at the newcomers
I'm making boulder-pushing workout videos (only available on betamax)
