I clicked the button and boom – a javascript bug and a 500 from broken db connection. But no matter, I had it – an appointment literally in HELL.

But Hunter I hear you say – my religion says you can only be cast down into the fiery pits of hell after death. You can debate me all you want but I haven’t always lived the pure life – I know hell when I see it. Sure, the locals can call it the Maryland DMV office of licensing if they want – hell is hell.

I gathered my essential supplies – I had a parchment of life birth, a scroll of billing from the local power guild, a deal with a different devil (a lease) and the mark of the beast – a number, sealed upon the realms finest cheapest paper – proof positive I was a citizen or knew someone who could forge a random 9 digit number.

I drove my trusty steed to the portal of wailing and pointless arguing and proceeded to the 9th circle itself – outside state licenses. I confronted the boss of bosses – the eldritch king “L5” himself. We did battle over minor pleasantries and then he began perusing my essentials. Failing to find fault with any, he then carefully scanned them into the database of Wanton Thievery (MD apparently enjoys doing battle and maintains a juicy target of opportunity for identity thieves – just to keep practice up).

But no matter – I was victorious! He got the next number of the beast (I shall need more skin for all these official tattoos!) and affixed it to a temporary parchment of driving! I win!

He then cackled manically and said “you are blind in your left eye – we need an opthamologist to certify that you can still see”. “But, oh eldritch one of all that is slow and evil, your own test plainly shows my other eye to be sufficient to the task!” “Nevertheless! I cast you out – you have but 4 vital documents and I pronounce you must acquire a 5th!” He then pulled a lever and dumped me and my chattels into a dungeon below the floor.

Damnit! That was the 9th circle of the hell! It’s not supposed to go any lower. I should have known – DMV hell has a sub-basement.

Gathering my things I consulted my orb of locating. Google maps said the nearest opthamologist was but 5 minutes away. Apple maps said salami for lunch was England. I journeyed forth and proceeded to battle my way past the mini-boss of appointments and faced a full on level 8 pain witch. She jabbed entire microscopes in my eyes, dripped poison most foul on my face “Hold still I have to get these drops in!” and flashed the very light of the daystar itself directly into my now roasted retinas. “This ones blurry – lets try again.”

But I was determined. Having been ravaged I would not back down. “You ride a motorcycle – thats insane. Lady, if I couldn’t do it I’d have died a long time ago.” Finally I had it – a scroll of certified vision sufficient for driving. Blind from the trauma of getting it, I got back in my car and 2 fender benders, 3 violations of way and a brief but exciting contact with a bus full of outraged nuns later I returned to the portal of wailing and journeyed back to the 9th circle.

Admitting defeat the big boss cast me to one of his many minions to prepare a … letter of intent to mail. You’re kidding me- I don’t get a license today? Nope. We print them on the finest parchments cheapest plastic with artistic calligraphy to prevent duplication (yeah right). It will be mailed to you in about a week.

And that my friends is how I spent 5 hours battling MD’s finest. Now could someone give me a ride home? I can’t see a damn thing after proving I could see well enough to drive.