And, as it turns out, hell is a sports bar located in Small Town, Colorado.
My version of hell looks like that anyway.
I don't like sports. I don't like watching sports or talking about sports or yelling at the TV when a sport is being broadcast. I also don't like finding myself surrounded by gobs of people watching sports - especially when it is all kinds of sports on a number of TV screens - and hearing them yell...for no reason.
It sets my nerves a jangling.
Additionally, I don't appreciate the seating in sports bars which typically comes in two types...
1) High bar stools which leave my short legs a dangling or
2) Booths in which my quadruple D breasts have nowhere to hide and are forced to rest on the table itself.
This song should play in no bar - sports or otherwise - pretty much ever.
(Oh hai, Spux. Apparently this video would demonstrate how one ought to dance to this song. You're doing it wrong.)
Throw in throngs of drunken people who've clearly been there for hours, the inability to take the edge off with a cocktail myself due to the fact that I've got to drive myself several miles home on the freeway (something I don't do well under ideal conditions...you know, like in daylight completely sober) while recovering from a persistent migraine, and witnessing one particularly dick move by someone who wasn't invited, shouldn't have been there, who is lucky I didn't stand up and punch him full on in the face, and all of a sudden you've got...
H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. Hell.
Other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?