[Uncle Smoov]

I don't really feel fancy posting such personal stuff here, but I really need some guidance on this issue. I hope you guys can understand.

Chapter One: In which a certain mother steps onto a certain birthday cake

Today was my birthday, and my mother's a bitch. My sisters are orphans and have to work at a razorblade factory for two shiny nickels a day. They saved up all quarter to get me a birthday cake that said "Happy Birthday Brother Smoov." It said "Up Yours" instead. My sisters never went to school so they can't spell.
When the cake got to my house, my mom thought that it was for her and got pissed off. She stomped on it really hard, and the whole thing flew everywhere there was in the kitchen. The worst part, though, is that when she crushed the stripper inside to death, she blamed it on me and I spent the night in prison. There I met a pickpocket nicknamed Fingers and a heretic named Toes.

Chapter Two: In which Smoov's cellmates tunnel out

Fingers was an ugly thing. He had a stupid toothless grin and something on his forehead that looked kind of like a horn. He left a mute wife and an infant son so that he could pursue imprisonment. He never wrote back when he got letters. When he picked peoples pockets, he’d cut them on their other side to distract them. His real name was Renatus, and I wondered if anyone sucked more than he did. But that was before I met Toes.
Toes was blind and kept his eyes uncovered. He said his real name was Nevan, and he wouldn’t shut up. He got his name because he drove toe trucks full of dangerous freight for a living. They were hard to drive for most people because they had nails for windshields. Toes had sent a minister over a pew and onto his head to read to the astounded parishioners from a book in Braille he’d written on the subject of worship.
Fingers and Toes tunneled out of the cell with their strongest set of extremities, but before they could finish, their time had been prepared. They were dragged, clawing for their lives, by the guards out of the narrow tunnels to be made into haze. They were burned at the stake, and the guards threw me into the flames too, because some cretin left the refrigerator open overnight and spoiled the hamburger meat. All the screaming the three of us did I think damaged my ears more than the flames eating them.

Chapter Three: In which Smoov finds himself in the Pit

I figured this time I would give Hell a whirl. I pulled myself out of some deep mud. I walked around and heard a squeal of agony under my crampon-laced feet. I hopped backwards and saw the muddiest, most humbled D.nox imaginable, previously invisible under the mud.
“Hey, loser,” I cracked wittily.
“You nicknamed me the Hog. Gluttony was my offense, and for it I lie here like a log.” D.Nox’s wobbling body spewed back face-first into the mud. I rolled my eyes and put a toothpick in my mouth. I didn’t want to get my hands muddy so I kept walking. I surfed down to the center of Hell on some damned soul’s back. I saw Satan chilling out.
“Hey, man,” I said coolly.
Satan spit thedoll, who soared into a giant spitoon and made a loud low ring upon impact, out of one his mouths. “Smoov? What’s up, bro? I wasn’t expecting you to come down here. What happened to your idea of conquering Heaven by powning the Lord?”
“That was boring,” I yawned. “I’m back into craps now.” I flicked a pair of dice in the air and caught them both with two fingers. Then I put on my gambling sunglasses.
“I’m a little short on cash,” Satan avoided eye contact with me.
“Forget cash, douche bag,” I put him in his place. “Let’s make this really interesting. If you win, you can chew me for eternity, no questions asked.”
“That sounds good, Smoov,” quavered Satan.
“What did you just call me?”
“Smoov?”
I grabbed Satan’s horn and twisted it in my wicked harsh fist. “You’ll address me by my full name. Say uncle. Say it,” I suggested, as Satan ineffectually tried to scrape off his horn.
“I’m sorry, uncle! Uncle Smoov, uncle!” he cried.
“Don’t interrupt me again,” I said awesomely. “When I win, you have to give me Hell, put on a humiliating devil costume and greet the damned as they enter by saying, ‘Through me you pass into the City of Hoes.’ You’ll also be wearing a sign on your pendulous gonads under which all of the angry new tenants will walk. The sign will say ‘Bruise these and I’ll pass out from eternal pain.’”
No sooner had we shaken on it than I threw the craps into the air and caught them in my teeth. Snake eyes. The Dev pushed me into his empty mouth. As I type I’m being Lucifer licked with Satan slaver as fiery fangs hell hack me. I’m really depressed.
The moral of this whine is that Satan rules in Hell and at craps, and also that I cut myself so I can tell people about it later.