An Elvis Inferno Journey

[valis2]

A Keepsake of the King of Rock 'n' Roll to Treasure

When Elvis hit the stage, there was nothing quite like it. His voice would mesmerize. His good looks would melt hearts. His performances would stop the show! Now, there's a stunning way to celebrate the King of Rock 'n' Roll and express your undying devotion, with the Elvis Showstopper Charm Bracelet."

Exclusive Design ... Stunning Craftsmanship

In a design exclusive, 7 detailed sculpted charms capture the Elvis Presley that we remember. Each hand-crafted charm is richly plated in 24k gold and sparkles with genuine Swarovski crystals. There's everything from his Graceland home to a handsome portrait on fine porcelain by Nate Giorgio. In between the charms, 7 more Swarovski crystal briolettes add to the dazzling effect. The bracelet plated in 24k gold adjusts from 7-8" and finished with a locking clasp.

For Yourself or As a Gift

Complete with Certificate of Authenticity and custom gift box, it's an exceptional value at just $129, payable in 4 easy monthly installments of $32.25. To reserve yours, backed by our 120-day guarantee, send no money now...

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As I stare at its magnificent gold-plated horror, I swear I can smell brimstone. I hear the screams of the damned. I feel the flames licking my feet.

This bracelet has opened a doorway into Hell itself.

Are you as intrigued as I am? Then let's wander, step by step, through this bleak Elvis inferno.

We need a guide...one who can successfully walk through the flames of Presley unscorched. I invoke Songs from a Room, the brilliant flash of the CD winking like an eye, and in the space between, Leonard Cohen materializes.

A whirlwind, a harsh hurricane of noise and fear, and we are dropped, breathless, into Hell itself. The shrieking! The bitter taste of sulfur! A winding path takes us to the gate, the guitar, the signal that we are entering our flickering doom. From its maw flows the ever-muddy Styx, and its strings wail the song of the damned. The sparkling that you see is the tears of those who must tread this path.

Leonard lends us his handkerchief. Dry your eyes, we're ready to descend deeper. He nods once, dreamlike, and a bridge made of gold records snaps into existence. We cross into Presley and leave the wailing behind.

"Are you prepared? Are you truly prepared for the horrors that will be presented to your eyes?"

We are guided to the First Circle of Presley, where those who rejected Elvis wander grassy fields. There is no sky, only endless looping Elvis signatures, multiplying into infinity. The grass constantly whispers the name of all of his greatest hits, a susurrant sonic background that will grind down even the staunchest of hearts. Huge fluffy clouds continually display all thirty-three Elvis movies. Leonard lights a cigarette.

We descend further into the Second Circle, where those who lusted after Elvis are forced to wear glittering blue suede shoes, enchanted to dance forevermore to "Hound Dog." There is no rest for their poor, tired feet; endless winds buffet them, spinning them about, sending sequins flying. We barely duck in time.

Now we arrive at the Third Circle. Mired in the mud are the gluttonous, unable to rise. Spinning just out of reach are hundreds of heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, wrapped in pretty golden paper bearing Presley endearments. "Those who could not keep their bodies pure," says Leonard, extinguishing his cigarette in the thick gloop. As we tread further down into the bowels of hell, a woman cries out faintly, "I ♥ Elvis."

"The Fourth Circle," says Leonard, gesturing. Before us, a wide plain shimmers under a hellish sky. As we draw closer the scene becomes clearer; there are people everywhere, pushing giant round portraits of Elvis. "Don't look at the paintings," says Leonard. "You'll only get dizzy." Men and women labor in the thick air, weeping as they roll their burdens. This is the ultimate punishment for those who hoarded their Elvis snowglobes; they will push forever, their hands shredded by the sharp edges of genuine Swarovski crystal embedded in the edges, unable to even peek at the portraits they are rolling.

"I cannot take you further." Leonard lights another cigarette and cocks his head knowingly. "Everybody knows you've got to do the rest of this on your own." The smoke flickers, and he's gone, leaving us at the Seventh Circle.

Take a deep breath. Stay with me.

The scent, it is impossible to describe. The heat in the air singes our skin. It hurts to draw breath.

The river of boiling blood awaits us. Men and women are submerged in the scalding red liquid. "What was your sin?" I ask the closest, a wailing woman immersed up to her neck.

"Graceland," she cries. "I broke off an armrest in the Jungle Room...oh, Elvis save me..."

In the center, the Ninth Circle awaits. Sleet drenches us. Teeth chatter. The darkness and the sound wash over us, striking our skin, numbing our hearts, until we stagger onto the ice, where Colonel Tom sits, half-frozen, a lightning bolt striking him again and again from the heavens. With each shock, the faintest glow of letters can be seen in the air. "T...C...B," we read aloud.

In a flash, we are flying, floating up over Presley, seeing it in all of its malevolent glory. The circles spread out below us, forming a giant, black vinyl record as we fly further and further up, until with a rush, we're back at our desks, staring at a gold-plated charm bracelet.

Comments

[valis2.livejournal.com]

hahaha!! High praise indeed--but I couldn't help it, really. I was inspired. It is, after all, a Showstopper.