What do Hell’s bells sound like? The shrieks of children.

I have grim news, my friends. It turns out that Hell is located in Austin, Texas, where it goes by the riotously ironic misnomer of The Oasis. Imagine Disney World, Fisherman’s Wharf, Santana Row, the most shudder-inducing mental image you can possibly conjure of a tourist trap (with corresponding mobs of tourists), and every Linda Blair impersonator I’ve ever lived next door to, and you have but a dim notion of the true horror of this place, which must be experienced in person to get the full effect.

Hell, incidentally, is outfitted with its own ice skating rink, which serves as conclusive evidence that at least a parcel of Hell is frozen over. Hell also comes with its own map of Texas, clearly created by a soul so withered, jaundiced, and corroded, it very well might rival my own. This thing all but literally drips with contempt for the slack-jawed, uncomprehending, and witless yokels it conceives of as its target audience. It sports references to “San Antone,” “Damn Yankees,” and, in a woefully ineffectual attempt to throw the beholder off the scent, “Heaven”.

GAH.

On the bright side, I did make a considerable dent in my New Year’s shopping (New Year's being the holiday I’ve opted to celebrate with the strategic doling out of the odd gift or two, although I’m not clear on when I’ll actually make it to the post office) at this place, although, even within its confines, the shrieks and thumps of children (and parents!) in dire need of a visit from this guy could not be escaped.

Fortunately for the sake of its tender sensibilities and lamentably for photo-documentation purposes, I forgot dear old Shutter Island at home, so you’ll have to trust me when I tell you that the views while driving on Comanche Trail and from Hell itself are stunning: sparkling blue water, evergreens, and the kind of sky that’s just showing off. It’s a great place to survey Austin from afar and serves as perfect testimony to what a great planet this would be sans the unsightly blemish of its human inhabitants.

On that note, happy almost Day of Baseless Mass Hysteria (aka New Year)!

Which isn’t to say it’s without its charms, or that I won’t be making resolutions aplenty…Like, um, being a tad less misanthropic perhaps. But wait. I like that about myself. Ah well, back to the drawing board…