St. Peter, it seems had some trick up his sleeve – for after all being appointed as the Gatekeeper doesn’t necessarily mean that you always open the door which leads to the right destination, at least as far as the image of the destination in the mind of the one crossing the gates is concerned. Which is why although Hades might conjure up images of an abysmal coal chamber, it might feel like a never ending orgy which always manages to just stop short of that orgasmic crescendo and stays at that level. Conversely, an overzealous incorruptible purist might see his expectations sent shattering down to the Earth from which he rose above to the Heavens, all just in case he exercised a overtly active imagination of rewards in anticipation of deeds performed while seeking a justifiably higher moral ground.
**
Damn, something does need to be done to wipe off the menace of global terror, I am really getting sick of my frequencies getting hijacked, oh no, not the Whorehouse again this time, weren’t we supposed to enter Hell’s Bells, after all I had made up my mind to tweak my receiver’s frequencies a wee bit to accommodate the changes there now, but whoa, this looks like I may need to compromise way too much than I would want to, but then these Pimps make sure that they have their frequency jammers equipped with the latest technology to take over your airwaves.
Recent years had seen the Pimps ramp up their technology by leaps and bounds which would have put a Flash Gordon on an interstellar sprint to shame; something which allowed them to hijack collective masses of frequencies and condense them all into one huge sonic ball in an attempt to resonate them with their subsonic airmines which promised to rig anything which closely resembled an airwave, although it does seem that they weren’t really as successful as they actually set out to be. You can’t really blame the Whores for all this; they are after all born to haggle for meat out in the street, who gets the biggest chunk of ‘em all is what matters after all. Just that this time around they weren’t being able to figure out who was supposed to get that choice cut which would have bestowed the honor of having bought about imagined perpetual favor as being the favorite whorehouse amongst Big Daddy’s entire harem. To a large extent, it’s the Pimps who deserve a huge credit of the immense disservice they have accorded to this blatant misuse of technology, and as with any dealings in this trade, they are the ones who keep the lions’ share, Whores grow old, and they get either too big or too small in absolutely unwarranted locations and times, simply put, reasons for being out of business, but Pimps are the ones who carry on by recruiting the next lot of nubile nymphets. Whores can be a noisy lot, and an entertaining lot at that too, and watching them haggle as they refute and counter-refute allegations of fair play amongst themselves is an fortuitous journey in time which evoke parallels of a much higher intensity compared to the most melodramatic compositions of the familial disjunctive syndromes which have spawned clones in yet another attempt to hijack frequencies (but then we will try to keep this phenomenon for a separate time, hopefully not because technology has enabled us to interfere with their transmission successfully).
Good fun, I actually don’t recall the last time I had so much fun from the Whorehouse, out of my bed actually, with the Whores entertaining my mind, rather than titillations of other varieties, and leaving it in raptures with their pretentious displays of comic debauchery, which would probably make a 5 year old walk up to them and box their ears to drill some sense into whatever is left between them, at least they should be quiet for some more time before erupting with who knows what this time. Till then, let me try and locate the gate I was actually meant to go through; St Peter is really tripping high time these days.
The fraternal twins were out on their usual rampage, but this time they had to wade through the underbelly of everything that felt gross in their eyes – the wrong kind of music, the wrong kind of women, even the wrong kind of shoes, GOD DAMN IT! An underbelly which reeked of a smutty sleaziness consisting of swinging booties and under-wired boobies coupled with Botox injected pouts puckering to the tunes of come hither glances from under mascara smudged lashes containing an ice green crystal gaze.
They weren’t allowed in today.
**
Swoosh – Boom – Crackle
Fuck Funk, haven’t I told you so many times in the past not to startle me by doing stuff like this, I mean I know that you have an intense gaze and stuff, you know things like these tend to put my already worked up hyperactivity into overdrive unless I am in the right frame of mind, and stop smirking while you look upon those specks of ash you made that motherfucker into, give me a fuckin’ light. Funk brushed aside his unruly mop while he cleaned the ash from the lenses of his transparent shades, something which not just helped him see better as most people usually thought, they helped him look at things better. Time for some nicotine ingestion to sooth my nerves, as he flipped his metal case and took out one for himself while offering another one to Punk, who immediately took to it as it went up in smoke aided by the flickering Zippo embossed with the ‘Big Daddy’s Sissies’ logo, something which Funk didn’t fancy all that much, will get another one soon enough hopefully, minus all this logo hogwash, but you know it Punk, I can’t stand it when folks bend over backwards to take it in their asses and all the way right out of their mouths and guide it to their mama’s cunts, I mean what’s it with the suit that was getting him in, after all didn’t you notice that he was dripping with the green slime from the waste that grows on his planet, and have you fuckin’ forgotten the treatment we got from them when we tried working with their neighbours, yeah, yeah, the ones whose women bleed blue, when we tried to reason with them and it felt like we were hitting our heads against the supersonic barrier, some species just deserve to be kapooshed, specially if they are ones who think they have all right to act like St. Peter at the Gates of Hades’ Den. Suddenly the airwaves around them tuned in to the broadcast from the Socialite Chai Party, some Peace crap it said, and deservedly drowned itself into oblivion as the frequency of the Alt Rock station interfered and overpowered the SCP’s airwaves at a n absolutely cutting moment in time. After all, it’s Music which rules people, not paeans of World Peace sung in front of Live TV at a hosting of the Mad Hatter’s party.
**
The Socialite Chai Party it seems had been abuzz for quite some time and there was a certain amount of ennui that had set in despite the regular martini-mojito gulping sessions. I still say that they haven’t been getting off as much as they should be, maybe they could do with some help, yeah, at times you do make sense Punk, and stop fuckin’ fantasizing yet, I can see that twinkle in your eyes which would probably put all the light contained within this galaxy to shame if it had an inkling of the workings of your inner mind right now, Fuck you Funk, you are the one who needs to get that pint sized one out of your head first, she never was there Punk and you know where she was, I am telling you, all this World Peace is just hogwash, that’s just a way for them to achieve their much needed monster sized orgasms, its Music which plays all the Inner Keys of Life, we need to kidnap all the airwaves and play our Music, that’s the only way, yeah Punk, didn’t some asshole say something like if wishes were horses or something, lets get back to just confining ourselves to our station, no interference from any other frequencies, come on, its that jaded feeling coming over you once again, better yet, lets Kill ‘em All, after all, isn’t there a dictionary entry like vigilante.
**
Back at Hades’ it seems that their airwaves had been hijacked back again, just that the booties weren’t as obscenely voluptuous this time. Maybe a counter-hijack measure needs to be put in place.
Judgment Night OST - Various 
The Ecstatic - Mos Def
We Are Here - Apparatjik
