The guitar solos puke forth without resolution like cats in unendurable heat, a wailing mix of horror and desire. Think Yngwie Malmsteen crossed with that dude from Asia. And for your mortal sins, you will suffer the perpetual hangover of a beer-bender without ever having partaken. There is no ale for you down here, no pancakes or popcorn. You will eat gristle for breakfast, fat for lunch and a vat of McDonald's grease for supper.
Thirsty? Two choices: Worcestershire sauce or Diet Mountain Dew.
In the eternal abyss, flaming pterodactyls peck at your head while gargoyles sit perched on the gutters of your mold-infested ranch-style home. They taunt you with Jewel lyrics and drink from goblets filled with Dead Guy Ale. The minions dump it down their gullets and swish it around in their mouths, and spill as much as they drink. But they don't care, because their mugs are forever replenished, and the Jewel songs just keep on coming: "An unfortunate accident in a canoe," they wail. "Doctor said, 'I'm sorry, not much I can do.'"
Your pint glass, which says Dewey's Pizza on it, is white-hot and forever dry. The taste of Dead Guy Ale, brewed by the Rogue Brewery of Newport, Oregon, will be in your memory, but just out of reach. Created as a private brew to celebrate the Mayan Day of the Dead (November 1, All Souls Day), it's a German-style Maibach beer that sits somewhere between a pale and an amber, with a soft, velvety mouthfeel and a sweet, slightly bitter hoppiness. Combined, Rogue's Dead Guy is easy to guzzle and your thirst will remain forever unquenched.
Needless to say, in Hell there is only Domino's Pizza. No Dewey's, the pride of downtown Kirkwood (on the earthly plane), which roared into St. Louis about a year ago and offers one of the best pies in town. With their creative concoctions (the Billy Goat has olive oil, minced garlic, mozzarella and goat cheese, mushrooms, both sun-dried and fresh tomatoes and green peppers) and slightly chewy crust, Dewey's has quickly established itself as a force, and a destination.
Dewey's doesn't deliver, and there's not a shop in Hell, so too bad for you. Enjoy roasting with week-old Domino's -- you and your next-door neighbors Pol Pot and Jim Jones, who howl with laughter as they swallow pizzas whole. They hoist their glasses, brimming with Dead Guy, and chug the remarkable ale. Guitar arpeggios cascade across the landscape. There will be no Dead Guy for you, no bottom end.
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