Hahaha… This was great! The way you set up the Pearly Gates as a kind of cold, bureaucratic checkpoint was brilliant, and the image of Saint Peter calmly but relentlessly interrogating Trump had me hooked. My favorite part, though, was the descent on the down escalator with those mirrors—first flattering, then betraying. That moment captured the hollowness of his vanity so perfectly. It’s darkly funny, sharp, and layered with psychological insight in a way only you could pull off. And honestly, if hell really does have an escalator, I’m just hoping it’s not out of service like the ones at LAX.
“Hell is what you keep making… he suffers like no one in hell has suffered before.“ Rick, you outdid yourself on this one; positively, profoundly great!
Without even reading to the end, I laughed so hard. I just had to let you know it’s terrific! And I’m so glad that Saint Peter was the Marine drill sergeant because he took the cake. OK, now back to reading. I needed this laugh!
What a ride. The journey you took us on was so vivid and believable I felt as though I was right there with you witnessing everything. Great piece, Rick.
A masterpiece of irony. However, my version of Trump's hell is quite different. It resembles that of the wife of Robin Williams' character in "What Dreams May Come". It is a stark, gray world of hopelessness and despair which she bore with her after her suicide, brought about by the deaths of her children and husband. Her voice is as dull and as colorless as her surroundings as she realizes there is no escape from the burden of grief she carried with her to the grave.
During life, however, she had been a loving, caring person. In Trump's instance, compound her dismal eternity with being surrounded both by the souls of the ones whose lives he has destroyed and those dark souls who in life were just like he was. Now THAT is hell.
You guys do really good work. Goodnight.
Hahaha… This was great! The way you set up the Pearly Gates as a kind of cold, bureaucratic checkpoint was brilliant, and the image of Saint Peter calmly but relentlessly interrogating Trump had me hooked. My favorite part, though, was the descent on the down escalator with those mirrors—first flattering, then betraying. That moment captured the hollowness of his vanity so perfectly. It’s darkly funny, sharp, and layered with psychological insight in a way only you could pull off. And honestly, if hell really does have an escalator, I’m just hoping it’s not out of service like the ones at LAX.
Sorry, families. Is what I meant. Interruptined by my friend, Danny. Have a nice evening everyone, and thank you. Goodnight.
Having fun on your vacation. Have a nice weekend everyone enjoy your famies
Rick , just have fun on your vacation with your family. Goodnight.
YouTube some music for, Mr Steven’s and his family. It has to do with. Vermont. Goodnight.
Have fun on your vacation, ✅. USPS really sucks At times. Guess it will have to work itself out. Have a nice vacation.
I don't doubt anything as stated.
No one should take the rot and predict.
I have no idea what comes after, but DJT is hurting.
Perhaps in death he'll be humbled and true retribution will be his.
Perhaps??.
Well done great work, as always. Keep up your amazing work.
I loved this!!
“Hell is what you keep making… he suffers like no one in hell has suffered before.“ Rick, you outdid yourself on this one; positively, profoundly great!
I expect this to be a short story collection
Without even reading to the end, I laughed so hard. I just had to let you know it’s terrific! And I’m so glad that Saint Peter was the Marine drill sergeant because he took the cake. OK, now back to reading. I needed this laugh!
Excellent. If only......
What a ride. The journey you took us on was so vivid and believable I felt as though I was right there with you witnessing everything. Great piece, Rick.
A masterpiece of irony. However, my version of Trump's hell is quite different. It resembles that of the wife of Robin Williams' character in "What Dreams May Come". It is a stark, gray world of hopelessness and despair which she bore with her after her suicide, brought about by the deaths of her children and husband. Her voice is as dull and as colorless as her surroundings as she realizes there is no escape from the burden of grief she carried with her to the grave.
During life, however, she had been a loving, caring person. In Trump's instance, compound her dismal eternity with being surrounded both by the souls of the ones whose lives he has destroyed and those dark souls who in life were just like he was. Now THAT is hell.