Satan’s Hellish Volleyball Tournament
The net was woven from the sinews of existential dread, and the severed heads? They weren’t your ordinary, silent kind. Oh no, these heads sassed back.
Satan: (standing at the net, holding a particularly chatty head) “Alright, listen up! The rules are simple: no biting the ball, no setting it on fire unless it’s hilarious, and no complaints about your eternal damnation. Frank, that means you.”
Frank: (grumbling, already sweating in his Hawaiian shirt) “I didn’t even sign up for this. Estelle, why did we come back to this place?”
Estelle: (tying her visor tighter) “Because I needed to remind you what hell really feels like! Now get on the court!”
The Teams
TEAM HEADLESS HORSEMEN: The Giggling Maidens (still high on dodgeball victory fumes) and Elon the Muskrat, who had attached springs to his shoes for "extra bounce."
TEAM COSTANZA AND COHORTS: Frank, Estelle, Frigidor Dalek (still seething about the dodgeball loss), and Donald the Orangutan, who had somehow acquired a referee whistle and was blowing it non-stop.
Donald the Orangutan: (pointing to Elon) “Illegal footwear! I’m blowing the whistle! The integrity of the game is at stake!”
Satan: (snatching the whistle away) “Donald, for the last time, you’re not the ref! But you are the ball boy. Go fetch!”
Round One: The Bounce Heard 'Round Hell
The game began with Zoot serving the first head—a grumpy philosopher who’d been bemoaning life’s futility for centuries.
Philosopher Head: (as it soared through the air) “To exist is to suffer—OH NOOOO!”
Estelle leapt up and spiked the philosopher with surprising force, sending it smashing into the opposing court.
Estelle: (dusting off her hands) “There’s your existential dread, pal!”
The Giggling Maidens giggled louder, scrambling to return the head. Elon, with his spring-loaded shoes, launched himself ten feet into the air but forgot to come back down.
Elon the Muskrat: (dangling from the hellish ceiling) “I need a better algorithm for this!”
Satan: (shaking his head) “I knew I should’ve picked the weasel.”
Round Two: Frank’s Fiasco
Frank, determined to prove himself after his dodgeball performance, attempted to set the head of a long-forgotten poet for Estelle.
Poet Head: (complaining mid-air) “Oh, I could write an ode to my suffering—AAAARGH!”
Frank stumbled, dropping the head, which bounced into Frigidor Dalek’s plunger arm.
Frigidor Dalek: (screaming) “MISUSE OF GAME EQUIPMENT! I WILL REPORT THIS TO THE REFEREE!”
Frank: “We don’t have a referee, you tin can!”
Donald, ever the opportunist, grabbed the head and hurled it over the net.
Donald the Orangutan: (striking a victorious pose) “Best player in the game! Nobody plays better than me!”
Estelle: (yelling) “Donald, that’s not even legal! You’re on our team!”
Donald the Orangutan: (blowing his stolen whistle) “Fake news!”
Round Three: Satan’s Power Move
Tired of the mediocrity, Satan strutted onto the court with a glowing head in hand.
Satan: (grinning devilishly) “This one’s special. A Karensphere. It complains mid-game!”
He spiked the Karensphere with supernatural force, sending it flying straight at Frank.
Karensphere: (mid-air screeching) “I demand to speak to the manager of this game!”
Frank ducked, and the head smashed into the sidelines, knocking over the Giggling Maidens.
Zoot: (lying on the ground, dazed but still laughing) “Oh, Satan, you naughty beast!”
The Climactic Rally
In the final moments, the score was tied, and tension was thicker than the sulphuric haze. Estelle had the last serve. She picked up a particularly snooty severed head.
Snooty Head: (sniffing) “I’d prefer not to participate. This is beneath me.”
Estelle: (grinning maliciously) “Oh, I’ll show you ‘beneath’.”
She served the head with such ferocity it rocketed over the net, ricocheted off Elon’s spring shoes, and smashed into Donald’s whistle, creating a sonic boom that ended the match.
Satan: (holding up his hands) “Match over! Victory goes to me, as always!”
Frank: (throwing down his sweat-soaked headband) “This place is nuts. Estelle, we’re leaving!”
Estelle: (grinning at Frank) “Not until you get your serve right, Frank!”
Donald the Orangutan: (somehow on a podium, holding a fake trophy) “Another victory for the greatest of all time—me!”
And thus, the Hellish Volleyball Tournament ended in a fiery fiasco, leaving everyone scorched, humiliated, and eagerly awaiting next week’s Tug of War with Cerberus.
