Welcome to my hell...and not the good one where I’m in charge.
Word on the street is that my brother’s son was potty trained at eight months old. Unacceptable. I shall not be bested by God. I have pilfered plastic potties, Cheerios, and bagels. I am prepared to teach my boy to put the pee in the hole. All I need now is a potty song.
Or so I thought.
Apparently, sending Lizard to clog all the commodes in Heaven has put me in hot water with Mother Nature. The certifiable woman has threatened a pole-dancing punishment if I don’t play nice with my brother. So I shall do what any sane leader of Hell would do - die my hair, shave my eyebrows, and go into hiding for a century.
Desperate Devils do stupid things. But no one hides from Mother Nature for long, not even God and the Devil. Now we’re in a cornfield in Nowhere, Indiana. No magic. No cell phones. No IDs and three days to make nice and figure out how in the hell to get to Kentucky.
Good luck to us....
Sometimes you need a little heaven to raise a lot of hell.