Raves in the Stygian caves. Stygian mists stink of piss. Discorporate in
the Stygian mists. Walking in the Stygian gloom, to the city of Dis.
Filled with the ornate Dantean images. Culling three or four hell-bitches
from the throng and leading them out of the city to a more modern Hell.
The City of Dys-Function. A city filled with talk-show guests and members
of support groups. A wan, non-threatening city of the inner conflicted.
Only the vibes are hellish here, and enervating.

Cages in Stygian caves. Stinking cages sinking in the stygian muck.
Where those chains disappear into the slime — remember, there's a Damned
in each. Were those slim chains to snap in the slime, no-one would
notice. Until noon. Then demons come to collect the chains for re-use.
The snapping is all part of the plan. The slime is Hell's Belly.

Sinners are digested. The cages are ejected in a hidden grotto by a
pool of fresh water. The Dejected digested, broken down to constituent
sins, and each morsel metabolized. Mitochondria flash and spark. Nerves
sizzle, veins roam with imps & pitchforks riding in blood-cell saucers.
Each sinner sizzles in the juices.

God burps.

Digestive systems shunt the discorporate sinner-soul to God's Womb.
There he searches for an open space on the wall of placentae like a
kitten for a nipple. There's plenty of room, even though everywhere hang
embryos & fetuses in varying stages of development, moist and pale, like
cheese, or fungus. Now and then, one cries, hurls backward in space —
the umbilicus parts, and the thing skydives into the depths below.

Above the clouds, God's slimy, mucusy tube mechanism ploorts a tiny
goopy massball into the atmosphere. Below wait nimble storks with linen
sacks.