Profiteers Be Damned: A Visit to the 5th Circle of Hell Where All Students Who Sell Their Grad Tickets for $50 Eventually Reside
Various writings on the nature of hell have described the world of the damned as being well over 1000 degrees Fahrenheit, surrounded by a wall of flames on all sides, and torturing its hordes of sinners every second of every day for all of eternity. Most depictions of hell, however, are based on medieval accounts that were written well before the invention of central cooling and the establishment of the United Nations Convention Against Torture. Beelzy (short for Beelzebub, Satan’s permanent unpaid intern) chuckled (or, more accurately, cackled) at my surprise at finding Hell’s outer circle to be a surprisingly comfortable 72 degrees and devoid of the piercing cries of the eternally damned.
“Yeah, you’re not gonna find any of the eternally damned on the outer circle anymore,” said Beelzy, “We moved them to the innermost circles centuries ago. The inner circles are all rent-controlled anyway, so we figured we’d maximize profits by putting our long-term tenants in circles 1 through 4.” The demon, whose curved horns, bat-like wings, and bright red eyes give him the distinct appearance of a thermodynamics professor, pointed out the various road signs leading to the inner layers of the underworld. He continued, “As for torturing our sinners, we actually created a system that only tortures the worst guys. We didn’t really see the point in torturing literally everyone at the same level for every type of sin. I mean, Dick Cheney hasn’t gotten here yet, right?” In any other circumstance there’s no way I would have laughed at a joke that stupid, but I didn’t particularly want to leave the prince of the damned hanging so I gave a dry chuckle that seemed to satisfy him for the moment.
“So where do I find the douche-canoes that sell the graduation tickets that they got for free for $50 instead of just giving them away to students who just want their families to be there?” I asked, getting straight to the point of my visit. “Let me just find my map,” said Beelzy in response. He held up a single claw to indicate that he needed a moment and began searching his cargo shorts. After several minutes, he pulled out an old piece of parchment and held it up triumphantly. “Here it is,” he crooned before unfolding it to discover it was actually just the Gay Agenda. “Damn,” he cursed, “Rush Limbaugh wasn’t kidding, this damn thing pops up everywhere.” He spent another few minutes rummaging through his pockets before he finally found the map and located our party of interest.
We hopped on a surprisingly modern subway car (apparently the Trump administration’s budget cuts have been used to fund other things) and took off into the belly of the netherworld, Beelzy pointing out some highlights as we zipped through the various circles of Hell. “That’s where the fuckers who ride their bikes on the sidewalk instead of the super obvious bike lanes get poked with thumb tacks for all of eternity,” said my guide as we zipped through the first circle. “Over there,” hissed Satan’s executive assistant as he pointed out a building in the second circle that looked suspiciously like the Instructional Center, “There is where we keep the professors that assign their own $300 books for class even when a cheaper first edition that wasn't written by them will do. We make them upload fifty readings to T-Square every hour of every day.”
Deeper and deeper we plunged into the underworld and the list of sins became more dastardly as we explored the inner circles. “Anyone who is physically able to take the stairs but takes the elevator a single floor gets to spend their afterlife on an eternal StairMaster,” said Beelzy as he pointed out a group of the damned with particularly well-formed calves and truly fantastic butts. As we left the third circle and entered the fourth, my demonic guide pointed an enormous mansion and explained, “That’s the house we’re preparing for Bill O’Reilly’s eventual arrival. He sent down a list of demands ahead of time and, let me tell you, that man is a diva. What he doesn’t know is that he’ll be sharing the place with Bill Maher. Can. Not. Wait. For. That.”
Finally, after what felt like years, we arrived at the fifth circle. In order to reach the group that I was interested in speaking to, however, we had to hop on the green route bus (yes, it goes through Hell’s fifth circle) and ride it 666 times before we arrived at the aptly named Tower of Major Assholes.
At this point, Beelzy, whose facial expression usually gives him the appearance of someone who just stepped in shit or accidentally picked up a copy of the Technique, looked even more disgusted than usual. “This,” he screeched while pointing a gnarled finger in the direction of the tower, “is where we keep the assholes who choose to sell the graduation tickets that they get for free for ridiculous prices to poor desperate bastards who just want their entire families to be there to see them graduate.” Beelzebub spat on the ground at the foot of the tower, his spittle burning a hole into the pavement.
“This tower,” continued Beelzy, “is where we keep the douchebags who sell the tickets that they got FOR FREE, and weren't even planning on using, for $80 to people like Fernando, who just wanted his grandmother to see him become the first college graduate in his family. Seriously, these guys are major fuckers.” From within the tower, I could hear the cries of hundreds of doomed ass-hats who chose to take advantage of requests for tickets on the GT Thrift page in the worst possible way. I considered walking into the building itself but the smell of rotten souls who thought that their walks to the football stadium to collect their tickets were worth $50 per ticket was overpowering and I couldn’t force myself to enter. I had to satisfy myself with listening to them moan in agony as hundreds of FASET leaders forced them to play icebreakers until the end of time. Thousands of voices within in the building murmured, "Now tell us your name, major, and a fun fact about yourself!" I shuddered.
I turned from the tower, comforted by the knowledge that the scum of the Earth were safely locked away for all of eternity. As I returned to the subway car that had brought me here, I heard could still hear raspy voices asking me if I needed “tix for only $250 a pop.” I treated them like a liberal arts student at the career fair and walked away, their cries falling on deaf ears.
Disclaimer: The above is a work of satire though technically we can't be sure if the awful human beings that choose to sell their graduation tickets for exorbitant prices actually go to hell or not. The above views do not reflect those of Georgia Tech.
