Sheryl Sandberg guided me over the hill
Where, in the valley below,
Shone a brilliant golden light

Across the expanse of land.
“But Sheryl, what level is this?”
From atop this hill, I see

More visions of Paradiso than Hell.
Before my guide could reply,
We heard sighs, grunts, and growls rise up

“I like so totally cannot believe this. I think I broke another nail.”
“I am seriously over this whole Hell thing. How long
is eternity again?”

Sheryl began to speak over them,
But I stopped her.
Unfortunately, I knew where I was—

The Degree of Dumb Blondes,
Encapsulated in its entirety
By this Hidden Valley

No, that was not a coincidence.
Hidden Valley actually owns part of this level.
Fattening ranch dressing is the only condiment

To be had here,
To punish those who cared more for their
Fad diets than other human beings.

Also, Lucifer lost his grocery allowance
In his yearly Texas Hold’em game with
Ulysses. What a trickster that Ulysses is.

But back to the blondes−
This degree is where those people of
A fairer hair color



Who were consumed by superficiality
In their lives on Earth
Are doomed to spend Eternity.

Although, as previously mentioned,
Not all who suffer here
Completely understand the concept of Eternity.

Bikini models and body-builders
With IQs far lower
than their record number of calories burned per workout

are forced to spend Eternity
in Advanced Algebra class.
Lucifer tried to be kind here, as he gave them an out…

If anyone passed the final exam,
They could be relocated to Limbo.
Surprisingly, no one ever did.

Those who spent their time counting calories
Instead of community service hours
Are destined to spend their time collecting garbage

That reappears as soon as they dispose of it.
I’m not sure if they understand this,
Or think the trash is living and can reproduce.

I mentioned this thought aloud,
And Sheryl encouraged me to converse with the damned,
As this was the only way I could learn from them

And save myself from their same fate.
I still am not sure if this was for satiric purposes.
It is sometimes very difficult to pick up on Sheryl’s sarcasm.

“Hey, blondie!” I shouted to a girl examining herself in a shattered mirror
She found while doing trash duty.
Seventy-two people turned around…





I should have known.
“If you’re driving to a picnic and have sandwiches and water in the trunk,
But your car breaks down so you have to walk ten miles to the nearest town,

What would you bring with you on the trip?”
Several “blondies” proceeded to answer at the same time
And confused each other so much they gave up after 10 painful seconds.

But one was sure she knew how to respond.
“Well obviously I would bring the car door so I could roll down the window if
it got hot. Like, duh.”

Like, duh indeed, Blondie 11. Or should I say Einstein?
“Wow, I thought there were really only
Two plausible answers to that…

But you got me there. What did a smart
Girl like yourself do to end up down
Here?”

“It’s like so udderly lame.”
“Do you mean utterly? Or
Are we referring to cows?”

“Wait, what?”
“Never mind, continue on with your tail. Ha. Ha.”
“What?” This went on for several minutes before I convinced her to stop saying ‘what’

And tell her story.
I can’t help myself when it comes to puns.
Sorry.

Blondie 11 (Einstein) began:
“I mean like I was just your average girl.
I went shopping every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
So I mean like way less than all of my friends.
My friend, Jennifer, seriously went every single day of the week.

Like can you say shopaholic?”
“Shopaholic.”
“Wait, what?”

Sheryl rolled her eyes and mouthed at me to stop.
I shrugged and told Blondie Einstein to carry on.
I then explained what “carry on” meant and she proceeded.

“I don’t even really get why I’m here.
Like I always gave back to my community.
I would tell women when their outfits were ugly

FOR FREE.
Like obviously God doesn’t get charity.
But whatever.

I so totally even followed the whole
“my body is a temple” thing and created
The most beautiful temple ever.

And also definitely the skinniest.
Morgan thought her temple was skinnier
But it so totally wasn’t.”

“And you’re super modest, too.”
“Oh my God, like right? Maybe God was just like
Super jealous of how great and skinny and pretty my temple was.

People were seriously always jealous of me.
I mean I just can’t help it that I had the willpower to only
Eat three carrot sticks a day

When Alexis had to eat five
And Karen couldn’t go without four and a tablespoon of peanut butter. She really struggled.
Like that’s so totally not my fault, right?”

“Sure, we can’t all pick our body’s minimum carrot capacity.”
“Carrot what?”
“Capacity.”

“For a brunette, you sure are dumb.
I was talking about fruits not cities. Laugh out loud at you.”
I began to laugh, because I couldn’t stand the ridiculousness.

“OMG, like you aren’t supposed to laugh when I say ‘Laugh out loud at you’
I’m supposed to laugh. God, you are so not smart.”
“I’m sorry; I must have missed that memo.

So carrots are fruits? I could have sworn they were vegetables.”
“Laugh out loud at you again. Everyone knows that vegetables can’t be orange.”
“You are certainly wise beyond your years, Blondie.”

The same seventy-two people turned to look at me in confusion,
But it was my favorite Blondie 11 that shrieked in horror,
“ARE YOU SAYING I LOOK OLD?! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!

DOES ANYONE KNOW IF BETTY FOUND OUT IF RANCH DRESSING
CAUSES BREAK-OUTS?”
For the first time, I found myself a bit confused.

“Um, excuse me. Why would you need to know that?”
“OBVIOUSLY SO I KNOW IF I CAN USE IT AS AN ANTI-AGING CREAM
YOU DUMB BRUNETTE.”

I was beginning to feel targeted.
And also a little impressed that I had pegged
Blondie 11 as the next Einstein

Because she had clearly been doing
extensive scientific research
On the cosmetic principles of Hidden Valley.

Suddenly all seventy-two of the blondes that apparently go by “Blondie”
Turned to face me
But not with looks of confusion

But looks of anger.
Okay, maybe a little bit of confusion.
But mostly anger.

“Yeah, why is that ugly brunette here anyway?”
“Her outfit is hideous. Who let her in?”
It seems that the blondes were disillusioned that

They were in some kind of VIP area
Of Hell where they got to choose who
Was allowed in.

They came running at me as fast as they could
Or as fast as they could
Without ruining their hair.

I was incredibly frightened. I didn’t know what was about to happen.
I could quote you lines of Tennyson,
But ask me to predict what action an angry mob of less-than-intelligent blondes

Could do, and I would have no answer.
Okay, I could probably guess
But I’m trying my best to stay humble here.

Amidst my panic, I turned to look at my guide,
Sheryl, who, if I’m not mistaken,
Was laughing.

How dare my guide laugh at me
In what could potentially
Be my final hour?

Before I could demand an explanation
In a humble manner of course,
The mob reached me.

And then bounced away from me.
Now it was my turn,
“Wait, what?”

I saw a thin, pink (like obviously) bubble stretch out in front of me
Across the entire valley.
Sheryl turned to me:

This is the Keeper of the Dumb Blondes.
Even Lucifer wouldn’t be so cruel as to subject living beings
To guard these dim-bulbs.

So anytime one hatches a brilliant plan to escape
Or one goes crazy from a lack of shoes and tries to run away,
This protective bubble appears to keep them at bay.

“Genius. Are you sure Blondie Einstein didn’t invent this?”
Sheryl rolled her eyes. “Let’s get moving, we have several more levels to get through
and you’ve learned your lesson here.”

Yes, yes, I had.
Ranch dressing can be used as an anti-aging cream.
Unless Betty says it causes, like, major break-outs.

09/09/2013

Author's Note: The Degree of Dumb Blondes is the level of Hell Dante forgot in his Inferno. The style of this poem is aimed to imitate and innovate on Dante's style found in his work.

Posted on 09/15/2013
Copyright © 2025 Caitlin Schwartz