When Harold arrived in Hell, he expected fire, brimstone, and maybe a pitchfork or two. What he didn’t expect was a velvet rope, disco lights, and the unmistakable scent of bacon-wrapped donuts.
“Welcome to Sector 7,” said a demon in a Hawaiian shirt. “You’ll be spending the next 80 years with your guilty pleasures.”
Harold blinked. “Wait… you mean I get to eat donuts and binge reality TV?”
“Exactly,” the demon grinned. “Forever. With no breaks. Ever.”
Turns out Hell isn’t just punishment — it’s ironic punishment. Carol, who loved gossiping, was stuck in a room where everyone gossiped about her. Dave, addicted to online shopping, had to endlessly browse but never check out. And poor Linda, who adored karaoke, was trapped in a loop of off-key renditions of “Bohemian Rhapsody” — sung by herself.
One guy, Ted, who loved sleeping in, was sentenced to an eternally comfy bed… with a fire alarm that went off every 3 minutes.
The demons called it “The Guilty Pleasure Rehabilitation Initiative.” The goal? Make indulgence so unbearable that even the most stubborn soul begs for repentance — or at least a salad.
Harold lasted 12 years before he started screaming at the donuts. “I just want a carrot!”
Moral of the story? Be careful what you love too much. Hell’s got a twisted sense of humor — and infinite reruns of The Bachelor.
