If people mean hell, they should say hell.
People who call hell H-E-double hockey sticks are too precious, don't you think? Do they really believe ice could survive the extremely high temperatures that have made hell justifiably famous, or that anybody would be allowed a few hours break from eternal damnation to actually play some shinny? Do they perhaps believe that anybody who ever touched a hockey stick, like anybody who has ever touched a drop of alcohol for non-medicinal purposes, is doomed? Maybe they just don't like Canada.
People who tell you that you know where you can go often presume more intelligence than they are likely to find. I, for instance, never know where to go. Should I go to Montana? Should I go to a library? Should I go an anti-nuclear protest rally? And, what should I do when I get there? The point is, if I'm being told to go to hell, I want to know, if only to enable me to formulate an appropriate response.
The Place That's Not Heaven is another good one, right up there with you know where you can go. Where is the place that's not heaven? Montana? My brother Ralph's apartment? The corner behind the sink where nobody has been able to clean for over 20 years? I'd put my money on this last possibility, but I'm not sure anybody would understand what I was trying to say if I told them to go to the corner behind the sink where nobody has been able to reach to clean for over 20 years, even if I was angrily shouting it at the top of my lungs.
Referring to hell as The Underworld is also not without its problems. Most people, if they think of The Underworld at all, conjure up visions of cheap hoods with big guns murdering each other over some territorial squabble involving ill-gotten gains and family honour. Kind of reminds you of politics, doesn't it? That people who frequently engage in this sort of behaviour will likely end up in hell is not the point; The Underworld just doesn't cut it as a useful, easily communicated and understood expletive.
The Devil's Playground, Satan's Domain and That Evil Guy's Place don't do anything for me, either, I'm afraid. When I hear a person use a euphemism like that, my first thought is, "Can I look that address up in the phone book?" When was the last time you heard anybody shout, "What the Devil's Playground is going on here?" Honestly, you'd feel pretty silly saying that, wouldn't you? Yet, fully grown adults still use ridiculous phrases like that instead of the word they really mean: hell.
Often, people will say go to the Devil instead of go to hell. This has always struck me as a far more frightening thing to wish upon a person. If you have to spend eternity writhing in agony because of some unique torture you've created for yourself, I always figured it would be best not to call attention to yourself by walking up to the Devil and saying, "Hi, Beelzebub. Mind if I call you Beelze? How's it going?" and asking for really serious trouble.
And, now that I think of it, why are there so many names for the Devil. Satan's okay, I guess. Most of us know who he is. But, Beelzebub, well, that's a bit more obscure, a little unclear. The Horned Demon isn't very good at all; after all, there may be millions of them, and how are we supposed to know exactly which horned demon a person means? Ruler of hell leads to a strange paradox: we could end up with phrases like Ruler of the Ruler's Playground. Hunh? If I had my choice, I'd just call the Devil Jack, but that would probably just confuse anybody who is still clear on the subject.
All this confusion about names may stem from the fact that we all have different ideas of just what hell is. To a trucker, hell might be a load of high explosives on an unpaved road. To a musician or a movie star, hell might be walking into a crowded arena and not having anybody ask for an autograph. In my house, hell is usually having to try and reach the corner behind the sink where nobody has been able to reach to clean for over 20 years.
The point is, with so many different ideas of what hell is, it's understandable why there are so many terms for it. To the trucker, hell might be the Devil's Playground; to the rock star, it might be The Underworld. In my house, it's usually you know where you can go, because we don't like to encourage swearing. As for the people who think that hell consists of reading my lengthy, dull, folksy, obvious columns that often reach no conclusion, I can only think of one thing to say.
You know where you can go.
