A Tall Tale Joke

Death Of A Politician

Redux by Stephen Abell

As the general elections were fast approaching, each party had dispatched their Ministers of Parliment out into the streets to rally voters by making promises and kissing babies.

On this particular day in one particular district, the MP for one of the opposing parties had just finished his filibustering and had kissed their last caterwauling babe in arms for the day.  As he turned to walk away from the crowd he failed to use the green cross code and was promptly hit by a car.

When he opened his eyes, everything was white.  Amazingly he was on his feet and as his eyes adjusted to the surrounding vista he saw lots of people of different denominations strolling past him on their way to a pair of large golden gates.  He was having a bad day.

As he closed in on the gates a man walked towards him and offered his hand in a gesture of welcome.   As they shook, he realised this man was Saint Peter.

"There has to be a problem," he queried Saint Peter, "surely it's not my time.  The election is coming!"

"Yes, it is," Saint Peter agreed, "although we up here don't put much behind those petty occurrences."

"Petty?  It's the chance for our party to run the country."

"Well, isn't that nice for them(?)  But up here we don't believe in politics and to be honest we haven't seen a politician for quite some time."  At that moment a cherub on gossamer wings flew to them and hovered as he conveyed some news to Saint Peter.

He was amazed at how the wings seemed to be playing ethereal soft and sweet music as the cherub concluded his whispering and flew back through the gates.

"It seems we have a new rule concerning people of dubious power, such as yourself.  You now have the choice of Heaven and Hell.  You will be allowed to take one day in Heaven and then one day in Hell, after which you will have the right to choose which you prefer."

"Well, okay, if that's the way it is?  I've heard what Hell is meant to be like, fire and brimstone, so I don't know why I wouldn't choose Heaven."

"Well, you know rumours.  Listen it's only a day.  But if you don't like Hell then just use the staircase and come on up.  You really don't have to stay all day."

"That seems fair."

With that, Saint Peter took the politician to the staircase and wished him well as he waved him goodbye.

At the bottom of the staircase awaited a door with a "Welcome To Hell" plate screwed to the wood.  Before he could grab the door handle the door flew open to reveal a beautifully dressed man in a black Armani suit, a big smile on his face.

"Welcome," the big man boomed joyfully as he energetically grabbed his hand and shook it in a strong grip.  "So I hope you're ready to have a great day here in the luxurious lands of Hell."

"Yep," he stammered as he stepped out of the door onto the greenest fairway he had ever seen.  In front of him were three of his best business friends.  After the hugs and salutations were over they had a glorious eighteen holes on the best-kept golf course he had ever had the privilege of playing on.  He never sliced, hooked, or diveted.  Every shot was on par or better.  He had never played this way.  His friends were funny and the jokes they told were racist, sexist, and homophobic, he laughed until he cried.  It was a great round.

At the nineteenth, they drank the finest whisky and ate the most succulent sirloin steaks his taste buds had ever sensed.  From there the pack went on the prowl to a nightclub where the booze flowed and the women danced naked in the cages and on the tables.

Before he knew it his day was over and the man in the black Armani took him back to the staircase and patted him on his shoulder confidently.  "Hope you enjoy your day in Heaven," he called as he covered his mouth in a pretend yawn.

Saint Peter was there to greet him as he rose through the clouds.  "I thought we were going to see you back before now; so how was your day in Hell?"

"Oh, you were right, you really shouldn't trust rumours."

Saint Peter walked with him through the gates, "So here you are, enjoy your day."

He was a little taken aback to see that only a few of his Aunts and Uncles, along with a couple of his Grandparents were waiting for him.  As the day progressed he had his cheek tweaked by a couple of Aunts, he relived his death, had to suffer the jokes about his profession.  After a few hours he snuck off and as he strolled around he heard bands playing soft and beautiful classical music, and groups of people talking philosophically over all manner of subjects.  Lovers walked hand in hand.  Comedians told the cleanest jokes he had ever heard.  Feeling as though the day should be rolling into night, he looked at his watch.  Only a couple of hours had passed and he was beginning to feel alone and lonely in Heaven.  Time ticked away slowly, but as the night rolled in he held his breath as fireworks lit up the sky and the stars twinkled in the midnight darkness.  He found the nightclubs were just as rowdy as Hell's but the women were dressed and danced with their partners or their friends.  He ended up at the bar drinking the night away.

As the moon set and the sun awoke the day, Saint Peter walked into the bar and asked him the question, "So you've had a day here and a day there, now it's up to you to choose?"

"Well I don't want to upset you, Heaven is heavenly, but it's just not my speed.  I think I'll take my afterlife in hell."

"Are you sure?  You really want to spend your afterlife in Hell?"

"Yeah, it really wasn't what I was expecting, but it's more my pace; livelier.  My friends are already down there."

"Okay then, back to the staircase."

Saint Peter walked with him through the gates and to the staircase wishing him well and, "God be with you," as he passed through the clouds.

At the bottom of the stairs the door remained closed until he grabbed the handle and turned it.  As he walked through a nasty smell assailed his nostrils.  It took a few seconds for his eyes to behold the scene before him and a few more for his addled brain to catch up.  Before him, all was aflame and a myriad of deplorable spectacles of depravity was everywhere, in which his friends were the stars.

A maniacal laugh made him jump around.  There stood the tall man now sans Armani.  He was naked, blood red skin, cloven hoofs, horned head, and bewinged.

"What, happened to this place?"  He stammered scaredly.  "The golf club, the nightclubs, the women?"

"Well you see, two days ago we were campaigning.  Today you voted."