I’m in Hell. Not the figurative kind, the literal kind. I’m sure you’re curious. What’s it like, then? Your feet toasty warm? Pitchfork poking your butt cheeks? That’s what you’re thinking. I can’t say I blame you. I’m told my butt cheeks are quite something. The early twenties are the peak butt years, or so the demonic laundress and tailor horde would have me believe.
