One standard metric hell per dive. That is, if a hell diver could dive in hell.

Somehow if I show them my voter ID, they just let me help choose the next president. It’s weird.

Lightsaber. It’s an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.

How do we Diversify Hell?

I thought the whole point of this cartoon was that hell has a gay spider in it???

Titles are supposed to tell you who owns something, not ask.

And about the diversity of hell, it’s a real problem. Nothing but lawyers there. Maybe a tax credit for anyone willing to relocate there.

Get compromat on three people and blackmail them into hanging out with you.

Out-of-touch military leaders. Dumbass desk jockies want the enemy killed so bad, they can come point the gun at 'em themselves.

Arsenal? More like arsen-hole, amirite?

If you’re looking for a nice eclectic diner where they’ll let you sing karaoke, you should probably look in the third circle.

Meat-lovers with extra cheese and red pepper flakes is S-tier.

En Passant.

Why not both?

Depends on the bug. Spiders, centipedes, mosquitos, and ticks, hell yes. Fireflies, honey bees, and ladybugs are our friends.

Nuthin’ much. Sup wit’chu?

Once upon a time General Brasch decided he wanted a pet. He went to the pet store and told the owner that he wanted something low-maintenance. The pet store owner told him he had just the thing. He brought him a little furry creature (about the size of a hamster) called a “rarie”. Very low maintenance. Just needed fed once a day and his cage cleaned. The only warning the store owner gave was that it was imperative that General Brasch not overfeed it.

Happily, the General made his purchase and took the creature home. When the next day rolled around and the time to feed it came, General Brasch sprinked the food in the rarie’s cage. The rarie gobbled it down ravenously and looked up at General Brasch pleadingly.

Brasch remembered the store owner’s warning, but this rarie was clearly still hungry. Surely it couldn’t hurt to feed him just a little more, could it?

So he fed the creature more. And then a little more. And still more. Before he realized it, the creature had eaten the whole container; a quantity that was supposed to have lasted a whole month. All in one sitting.

That’s when it started. Right in front of General Brasch, the creature began growing at a perceptable rate. Soon it was the size of a guinuea pig. And then a small dog. Soon its sides pressed against the sides of the glass house he’d bought for it.

He quickly scooped the 40-lb rarie out of the cage. Realizing he’d soon have trouble getting it out the front door, he rushed outside with it. Now, too heavy for him to lift, and not knowing what to do with it, he called 911.

The dispatcher, though skeptical, dispatched police and firefighters while the rarie continued growing. The emergency workers sent for an 18-wheel flatbed truck with which to transport the now small-house-sized creature. They loaded the rarie on the truck bed with a crane and strapped it in (loosely to account for its continuing growth.)

They rushed to get the truck with the large creature onto the highway to take it somewhere with more room. But soon the rarie’s girth spilled off the sides of the truck until the truck couldn’t proceed.

Now stopped on the side of a high freeway bridge, the truck driver, the firefighters, the police, and General Brasch all discussed what to do with General’s rapidly-growing problem. It was the fire chief who finally made the grim suggestion: perhaps it was time they nipped the problem in the bud before it got to the point that there was nothing they could do about it. Perhaps they should unstrap the rarie and tip the truck bed over to allow the rarie to fall from the high bridge. This would kill the rarie, but perhaps it was the best of their bad options.

Just then, they heard a voice. “Um… excuse me.” General Brasch was shocked to find the voice was that of the rarie itself! “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” Taken aback, the General stammered. “Um… I… well…”

The rarie leaned over the edge for a better look. “How far do you suppose that drop is?”

“Oh, uh, the drop from the edge of the bridge? Perhaps… 50 feet or so?” The General’s demeanor was sheepish.

The rarie responded. “Well, don’t you think that… well isn’t that… an awfully long way to tip a rarie?”

Just a 2 week lifeguard training program, surprisingly. But you get a nifty red plastic whistle with your certificate of completion.