i hope they serve beer in hell

what shall it profit a man to live the regular life and lose his quest for curiosity and some cold beer?

sometimes, I get just close enough to a book to extract the inspiration I need to write about its title—without actually reading the whole thing. My process often involves picking up or buying a book, reading the first few pages, and never finishing it. The idea is to write from a different perspective, drawing from a unique well of inspiration sparked by the title. Once I’ve gathered the ‘juice’ I need, I move on—whether that means returning the book or requesting a refund.

this essay’s title was one of those moments: I ordered the audiobook “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” from Amazon, listened to a few pages, and once I had what I needed, I returned it and dove into writing.

enjoy! 👨🏽‍🍳

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i don't drink.

it's one of those things I tried so hard at long enough till I failed woefully at it. Then I realized it's just not for me.

it's like how I tried so hard to save money and realized it's not for me. Beer isn't for me. Writing about it, however—that’s for me.

the title of this essay was inspired by this memoir:

Photo by Amazon

i've barely gone past a chapter of the book, but here's my naive take on it.

“I hope they serve beer in hell” signifies someone who has given up on himself and his heavenly race. You might ask:

“Why would anyone do that?”

well, this person probably died at 25, but just coasting through life, waiting to be buried at 75. He thinks he's hell-bound because someone who hates life, tears people down, and on top of his many atrocities—a drunk, can’t make it up there.

he's sad about life but excited about his afterlife in hell. Why?

because he's buzzing to hear the stories of fellow culprits/cellmates in hell about how they got there. As that will make him feel less like a sinner. Misery loves company, remember?

however, he's also counting on the man in charge over there to have his staff serve beers, which’ll help cellmates loosen up.

did the thought of living the rest of his afterlife somewhere in the skies ever cross his mind? Of course, but where is the fun?

because what shall it profit a man to live an Every-one-type-of-life and lose his quest for curiosity and some beer?

It's already going to be at melting point, they might as well use some cold beer. (Photo by Maurício Mascaro)

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here’s another essay where i got close enough to a song to write about it through my perspective;

there's orange juice in the kitchen👨🏽‍🍳