CHAPTER 3

GLUTTONY

As Zim approached the next circle, Doyle held his hands up. "Before we continue, Oi wanted to warn yeh about something."

Zim glanced behind him to make sure that JFK wasn't following them. "Uh, okay. What's up?"

"The next circle is Gluttony. Yer gonna see a lot of food and drink in here, and yeh must not consume anything. Understood?"

"Why would I eat anything in Hell?" Zim asked. "It's Hell. It's kind of like eating food off the floor of a dump truck."

"Just remember t'at, mate. Let's go."

They took two steps forward when Doyle stopped them again. "One more t'ing. Traditionally speakin' this circle is guarded by Cerberus. Heard o' the fella?"

"Uh . . . no. I didn't really excel in school."

"Well, he's a dog, and he's a t'ree-headed fella. Just t'ought yeh should know."

"Thanks for the warning." As soon as Doyle turned his back, Zim rolled his eyes. How much more of this shit must he put up with? Why couldn't Brandon or Fitz or Future Booze Jesus be doing this instead? He just wanted to grab a pizza, a can of Monster and play some Final Fantasy.

They approached the portal into the next circle, and both saw the dog sitting in front of the gate. Zim expected it to jump up and start barking like a beast, but it only glanced up at them. It seemed to take some interest in them, but not enough to leap into action.

"Cerberus," Doyle said.

"Doyle," one of the heads said. "Long time."

"Not t'at long. How're t'ings?"

"Boring."

"Nice doggy," Zim said. He offered to pet the talking head.

Cerberus narrowed his eyes. "Fuck off, chum."

Zim retreated slightly. "Sorry."

Doyle grinned. "In the ol' days, Cerberus would've taken yer bloody hand off. The only way to get past him was to fill his mouths with mud so he couldn't bite yeh."

"I got sick of that after the first century," Cerberus said. "Besides, this is a shit detail. Fuck the boss man. This job's not worth eating mud. I let anyone pass me by, so long as they're polite and say hi."

"That's good. For us, I guess," Zim said.

"Come on, mate. Catch yeh later, Cerberus."

"Right on," the dog said.

Zim and Doyle passed through the gate, and as soon as Zim looked around, his eyes lit up. "Holy shit! This is awesome!"

There were thousands of tables overstuffed with food and drink, and best of all, it was the kind of thing Zim ate all the time. Stacks and stacks of cheese sticks and garlic butter sauce. Rotisserie chicken from 7-Eleven. Burritos done up like Tapateos makes them. McDonald's double cheeseburgers. Pizza everywhere. And to wash it all down was a bunch of Monster.

"Remember—" Doyle started.

Zim bolted forward, digging his fingers into the cheese sticks and pizza, eager to finally eat something. He wasn't really hungry, but after going through Purgatory and a few circles of Hell, he thought he deserved something.

Doyle slapped the food out of his hand. "You bloody idjit! Remember what Oi fuckin' told yeh?"

Zim looked at the table again. Saliva squirted into his mouth, and he moved to grab more.

Doyle pulled him back. "Don't fuckin' eat anything here! It's all slush! You just think it looks like food!"

Zim blinked, and the food transformed into a dirty slush pile, like the dingy snow in a convenience store parking lot. "What the fuck?"

"This is another place t'at didn't work out so well fer the boss man," Doyle said. "Originally, people who wound up here would be pelted with this freezin' snow, but they started eating it instead of being tortured boiy it."

"They eat that stuff?" Zim almost gagged.

"Aye, they do. The boss man changed things, so the slush looked loike food. These sinners can't get enough of the stuff. Check it out." Doyle pointed.

Zim saw a crowd of the fattest people he'd ever seen. They were so large they couldn't even fit into clothes. Folds of sweaty fat hung down like melting cheese on the edge of a burger, and these people shoveled handfuls of slush into their mouths, never ceasing.

"Holy shit, is that Marlon Brando?"

Doyle nodded. "There's a man who could've used a stomach stapling."

"Especially now. What does he weigh? Six hundred?"

"Most of these fellas weigh a ton. Literally."

"Jesus."

"And if yeh start eatin' t'at slush, yeh'll get that way, too. It turns yeh into an addict. So . . . yer welcome."

Zim didn't want to dignify Doyle in any way, but he still felt grateful for not becoming one of those heifers.

"Don't stare," Doyle said. "It's not polite."

"I just thought I saw the guy from SE7EN," Zim said.

"T'at's enough. I can't stand this place. Let's go."

Zim tore his eyes away from the horrible sight of Brando's pulsing goiter, and they headed for the portal to the next circle.