By STEPHEN LEWIS - April 6, 2008

I saw a great message on the marquee of a church the other day. It said, “The weather in Hell never changes.” That sounds right. I suppose it is pretty hot in Hell. But I hear it’s a dry heat so at least you wouldn’t have all the humidity we have in Tennessee. Plus, there’s probably not a lot of plant life there so people who suffer from allergies might not mind it too bad. Not a lot of pollen floating around.

I’m thinking you would see a lot of retirees there. Kind of like you do in Arizona. Before my wife and I went on a trip to Las Vegas, everyone told us it was a dry heat so it wasn’t as bad. Let me tell you, when it is 121 degrees you feel like you’re inside an oven turned to broil. Dry heat my foot.

But the sign got me to thinking. About every third column I write, my wife usually says, “oh yeah, you’re going to Hell.” So I began to wonder if Hell is just a pit of fire or is it something God makes more personal for each of us. In other words, do you think my Hell might be different from your Hell or from my wife’s Hell? I’ve always said God is a mad scientist, so doesn’t it make sense that he would prescribe an individual hell for each of us. After all, those high temperatures we associate with Hell may not be all that great of a deterrent for someone from say, Alaska or Siberia.

So as I pondered the future my wife has predicted for me, all the different forms of my personal Hell ran through my brain. I’m definitely a glutton, one of my mortal sins, so would God use that in his prescription for my personal Hell. I’m picturing a never-ending procession of Girl Scouts selling me cookies. As I slip in and out of a diabetic coma from Samoas and Tagalongs, I find out the only cookies left for eternity are Thin Mints and those crappy shortbread, biscuit-like discs. I hate those! Too devilish to even think about. Not even God would do that to somebody.

Next, I picture myself in a room full of normal looking people. Everyone is talking but when I speak to them they just shake their heads or ignore me and keep going. As I investigate I notice none of the people are talking to each other but rather to themselves. Then I finally realize that everyone in Hell has on one of those stupid earpiece phones. Just my luck, I can’t get decent reception two miles out of town and these morons are getting reception in Hell. Thanks, God. Good one.

My next vision of Hell is me driving endlessly through a town packed with traffic. All of the redlights are timed so that I have to wait through a minimum of three light changes. As I drive I pass a never ending slew of strip malls, cash advance outlets, banks, liquor stores, convenience markets, electronic billboards and other unsightly developments. Add to it the car I’m in doesn’t have working air conditioning or a radio and it all adds up to ... wait a minute. I got confused. That’s what everyday is like.

Another version of Hell has me waking up at 5 a.m. every morning and turning on the TV for the Snowbird Report. The counties begin to show up on the screen in alphabetical order. Bedford, Cannon, Cheatam, Clay, Coffee, Cumberland, Davidson, Dekalb, Fentress, Overton, Pickett, Putnam, Robertson, Smith, Sumner...Nooooooooooo! Curse you Ron Howes! A pox on you Lisa Patton! If you’re an educator you understand this version of Hell better than the non-educator does. If you don’t get it just look for which county is missing and you’ll figure it out.

My final personal Hell is a perfect replica of the waiting area at Demos’ restaurant. I haven’t eaten in hours and the hostess keeps calling everyone’s name but mine. For eternity. I sit and wait; occasionally going up to the hostess to ask where I’m at on the list. She always says I’m next but she never calls my name. In the meantime the smell of chicken rice soup and oven baked chicken has me turning into a creature similar to a werewolf. Every so often I jump on someone leaving and try to grab their carry out order but I’m taken down by a man who looks like Mr. Demos except with horns and a pitchfork.

After the thought of what might be in the afterlife, I think it would be best if I got my act together and found some religion. No more smoking, or drinking, or chasing women. Actually I never smoked, can’t stomach very much alcohol, and haven’t chased women since I fell down and bruised myself from head to toe while chasing my wife years ago. I’m going to church every week and I’ll even pretend to like all those casseroles them Methodists force-feed you. I’ll be the straightest, most upright man in Murfreesboro. Of course I’ll probably carry some sunblock and sunglasses with me at all times. I hate to be unprepared and you never know, my wife might just be right.