As we settled down and I got my bearings, I immediately noticed that the swampy shit that we had been flying over smelled distinctly worse in this region. That was because it was boiling here and sure enough inside the pool of shit below us were hundreds of squirming souls. Most of them tried to stay underneath the surface, but every now and then one of them would burst up and scream something. "VOTE NADER," one said. He was immediately hit in the head with a giant spear, so that he sunk back into the pool screaming. The person who threw the spear was a centaur, a man with a horses body, and there were several of them walking around the perimeter of the pool armed with all sorts of weapons. "Now this one is really awesome," Faulkner said. "This is the pool where people who obsessively talk about one thing constantly go. Whether it's a political junkie, somebody who loves basketball, or just some video game nerd, this is where they end up. They have to sit under the surface of this pool of boiling shit and whenever they come up to breathe they can't help but talk about their favorite topic. As soon as one of them starts speaking, BAM, they get hit by one of the centaurs." We both sat and watched for quite some time. Each person was punished for their excessive interest in one topic and their desire to inflict it on everyone, even the beastly men who punished them for all eternity. People who talk about doing drugs all day instead of a real conversation or artists who only know how to talk about art. I was saddened to see a man crawl out of the pool and scream "WEEN RULES!", only to be tagged with a barbed arrow from one of the centaurs. "Hey, Ween really is the best band ever. Why did he get hit for that?" I asked. Faulkner gave me a stern look and I nodded. Perhaps, maybe, I don't know just possibly, there could even be such a thing as too much of my own favorite band. We headed down the hill and continued on.
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