And believe me, it was really hard to masturbate when all I could picture in my mind was a mountain of dead kittens piling up somewhere in Nepal with my name plastered all over it.
She also used to tell me that every time I masturbated, God would take one minute off my life. Since I died today in my early 30's, she was absolutely correct. Damn you all to hell, Sears catalog.
So sure enough I was sent directly to the Gates of Hell, where not surprisingly, I found these guys.
Anyway, I was given three options:
1. Spend eternity in the "Snake Room", where I would find myslef forever stewing in a boiling hot cauldron of angry asps endlessly stabbing my anus with razor-sharp fangs and injecting my thorax with searing acids that melted my innards into molten steel, all the while being forced to watch Jay Leno perform an endless comedy monologue. Or:
2. Spend eternity in the "Room of The Condor", where I would find myself forever at the mercy of starved vultures, who would tear out my intestines in a feverish battle to satiate their never-ending thirst for flesh and warm blood. Meanwhile, diseased rats would slowly gnaw at my flesh, and According to Jim would play 24 hours a day on a 60 inch plasma TV. Or:
3. I could have my life back, along with $250 million in the bank and a harem of Penthouse Pets as wives. But first I had to spend three continuous minutes in a car with five guys from Secaucus, New Jersey. (Ed note: Youtube is apparently down so video may not appear. Believe me, it's fucking annoying.)
I chose The Snake Room.
And I'm very comfortable with that decision.