I Haven’t Experienced Weather Like This Since I Rented a Room in Satan’s Asshole

Let’s step inside for a closer look:

SATAN’S ASSHOLE, ME — Record high temperatures are becoming almost passe as climate change drives disruption to our planet’s weather patterns, and Satan’s Asshole is no exception.  Satan’s Asshole is an unincorporated gore just outside of Augusta that Dale Brown and his sister Gail call home, where they rent a room at the Polyp Inn, a small hotel famously owned by Donald Trump in the 1990s. Dale was drenched in sweat.

“Geez Chrise, is it HUT out.  I’ve lived in this paht of thuh state for thuurty yee-iz, and I have… nevah, evah experienced weathah this facked up.”

Not since he rented out a room in the Lord of Darkness’ darkest place, in the infamous Polyp Inn.

“Come to think of et,” Dale continued, “There wahs othah similarities too, between bein’ in this Big Butt and this fucking country at the moment. Trump was mayor of the Butt at the time… every few days random people would mow down innocent people in public places with fackin machine guns, thinkin’ theyah huntahs… now I’d nevah been to Hell evah, but a buddy of mine from wuurk recommended it.  Even talked me into rentin’ a hotel in the gargantuan maw of Satan’s colon. Didn’t even know he had one, a hotel in theyah. So I said, ‘Ooohaaw! I guttah see that!’”

Dale takes me on a tour of his home.  The groaning, half digested souls of Nazis are trapped in the walls, and look hatefully on as we walk down the plus red carpet of his hallway.

“Bettah watch out fuh those guys.  They’ll try tuh shiv ya,” Dale offers helpfully.

We try to stay away from the walls as we make our way to the gym/pool area.  Thick plumes of yellow sulfurous gas rise from the pool and hot tub, which are both filled with a greenish yellow fluid, emitting large sticky bubbles from time to time, which pop, releasing yellow gas.  The room smells of rotten eggs and heavily used hockey equipment. I think I see Ronald Reagan lounging at the pools edge, but the yellow haze makes it difficult to tell. I don’t ask.

Dale locks eyes with me to indicate the earnestness of his curiosity, and I can’t help but ask him the question on all our minds… “Did you enjoy your stay at the hotel?” I offer.  Dale pauses in thought before a quick shrug. “Pool was a bit wahm.”

“In Satan’s anus?” I ask, clairfying.

“Yut!”  Dale locks eyes with me one last time, and now I believe him.

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