The resurrection of the man known only as Doctor Douche has allowed me to penetrate the celestial sphere and return to the realm of mortals. In life, I engaged in some truly wicked acts, generally involving underage boys, and must pay for these in death by constantly protecting the sanctity of the realm of death. Everyone who was good in life gets lots of cake and gets to listen to an all-star band that includes Eric Carr, Freddie Mercury, Jimi Hendrix, Cliff Burton, and Miles Davis. I have to work at the door. And I have to wear boxer shorts that are three sizes too small, and my scrotum is eternally smashed against my inner right thigh by these poorly-sized undergarments. I can never adjust, because Marilyn Monroe is always watching me, and I don't want her to think I'm playing with myself. Such is the price one pays for the evil they commit in life.
But to dwell on the past is immaterial. I have chosen to keep my former username. Now that I am a bloated corpse, I look quite a bit like Marlon Brando, and, as such, have filed for membership in the other NAMBLA: The National Association of Marlon Brando Lookalikes. My previous posts shall stand as a warning to those who might follow in my steps in life, so that they know what awaits them in death.
I have returned for one purpose: The man known as Doctor Douche must be returned to the realm of death. For he is the only man in the afterlife who knows the secret of the douche, and, since the people who were good in life have nearly nonstop sex, the women are really starting to feel, you know, not so fresh. We need Doctor Douche back. He is the only one who can make Heaven not smell so fishy.
I have returned from the realm of the dead
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