By Snake and Fizz contributor Isaac G.
Being gay in hell sucks.
My parents totally don’t get me. I’m supposed to be
this macho, blood-thirsty, monster who loves impaling people, but all
I want to do is dance and pound butt. I don’t enjoy the same
things that most demons do -- The Evil Dead, Cannibal Corpse, Hitler
house parties. I like watching “The Hills” in my jammies,
throwing on some LFO, and occasionally whacking to my life-sized
ALF poster (you know, the totally dreamy TV star from the 80’s.)
Sometimes, when I’m alone,
I cry. I cry because I know I will never be allowed to fall in
love with an ass that can crack walnuts. I will never be
able to fondle demon-meat without fear of redress. I will never
be able to stare into the dark, black, eyes of my luscious and say:
“Here’s looking at you, Demon. Now let me pulverize your hole.” One day I will step out of the torture closet. Until then, the
struggle continues. Does anybody have any orange Fanta?
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