Hell Week

There's a reason that over the decades/centuries, the final week of the college semester has come to be called Hell Week. It's like that scene at the beginning of The Mummy, the one where they're all being mummified alive.

Or maybe it's more like having bamboo splinters shoved up your fingernails and being given an egg drop soup high colonic, as Colonel Potter said so eloquently on M*A*S*H...

Or like walking up to a poof of a dog that's sitting demurely on the sidewalk, only to look down to see that the name on the collar of said fluffball is "Killa" and that it's grinning madly in your direction with glistening, saber-esque excuses for teeth...

Or! Perhaps Hell Week is like having to be shut up in a room with really awful rap music playing constantly and you can't escape and you get a monstrous headache and your left eye starts twitching IN TIME with the music...

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that Hell Week is like going out on a boat with your family one summer day and thinking it's going to be an amazing time of fun in the sun only to realize that you've forgotten sunscreen and you slowly burn all day and then the fun time finishes with a fish scaring the daylights out of you and you fall unintentionally into the water and have to sit in a car all the way home in the squashy shorts that you had on at the time and they chafe and that's not cool... (That was quite possibly the longest run on sentence to grace the literary world since the Gettesburg Address. I feel kind of proud.)

Or may it's just hell, however hellish it might be.

You get the idea.