Apparently there are a lot of levels in Hell and the worse you were here on Earth, the farther down you go, closer to the fire.
I hope, and in my prayers tonight I will recommend, that the person who invented the “gable-top” milk carton spends eternity hopping around on the hot coals he or she deserves because this little carton is truly evil.
I wrestled with another one today as I sat at my table in a sub shop and if it hadn’t been for the prominent sign over the door which read, “No Screaming Allowed”, I would have let loose. A person needs the hands and fingers of a brain surgeon to open these stupid outfits and unfortunately, my paws are almost as big and delicate as a bear’s.
I know there is a way to open these awful things as I have been shown all the tricks many times by someone several decades younger than me. But he always demonstrates it so quickly I can never quite get it, like a magician reluctant to show you his whole method.
So there I sat today, ripping and tearing at this horrible little box like the aforementioned bear might have had he been in the sub shop at the time. (Had he wandered in and saw the look on my face, I think he would have run away, maybe even screaming, in violation of the sub shop code.)
By the time my milk was accessible, it was sitting in a pathetically mangled cardboard container and being chocolate milk, it was then I realized it needed to be shaken up. So I tried to close the wreck and gave it a shake. Milk spewed everywhere.
When I finally did get it open again and put it to my lips, the milk dribbled down my face and onto my jeans.
You know, I hope I go to Hell too so I can hop around next to the idiot who invented this abomination and spend my eternity screaming in his ear. I really do.
I have heard there is no prohibition against screaming in Hell. In fact, apparently, it is encouraged.
©2013 Jim Hagarty
