A politician dies
So a politician dies and ends up standing in front of the pearly gates. Saint Peter looks
at him for a second, flicks through his book, and finds his name.
“So, you’re a politician…” “Well, yes, is that a problem?” “Oh no, no problem. But we’ve
recently adopted a new system for people in your line of work, and unfortunately you
have to spend a day in Hell. After that however, you’re free to choose where you want to spend eternity!”
“Wait, I have to spend a day in Hell??” says the politician. “Them’s the rules” Says St Peter, clicks his fingers, and WOOMPH, the guy dissapears…
And awakes, curled up with his hands over his eyes, knowing he’s in Hell. Cautiously,
he listens for the screams, sniffs the air for brimstone, and finds… Nothing. Just the
smell of, is that fabric softener? And cut grass, this can’t be right?
“Open your eyes!” says a voice. “C’mon, wakey wakey, we’ve only got 24 hours!”.
Nervously, he uncovers his eyes, looks around, and sees he’s in a hotel room. A nice
one too. Wait, this is a penthouse suite… And there’s a smiling man in a suit, holding a
martini. “Who are you??” The politician asks. “Well, I’m Satan!” says the man, handing
him the drink and helping him to his feet. “Welcome to Hell!” “Wait, this is Hell? But…
Where’s all the pain and suffering?” he asks. Satan throws him a wink. “Oh, we’ve been
a bit mis-represented over the years, it’s a long story. Anyway, this is your room! The
is of course free, as is the room service, there’s extra towels next to the hot-tub, and if
you need anything, just call reception. But enough of this! It’s a beautiful day, and if
you’d care to look outside…” Slightly stunned by the opulent surroundings, the man
over to the floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun is glowing, looks far down,
and sees a group of people cheering and waving at him from a golf course. “It’s one
of 5 pro-level courses on site, and there’s another 6 just a few minutes drive out past
the beach and harbour!” says Satan, answering his unasked question. So they head
down in the lift, walk out through the glittering lobby where everyone waves and
welcomes the man, as Satan signs autographs and cherrily talks shop with the
laughing staff. And as he walks out, he sees the group on the golf course are made up
of every one of his old friends, people he’s admired for years but never met or
worked with, and people whose work he’s admired but died long before his career
started. And out of the middle of this group walks his wife, with a massive smile and
the body she had when she was 20, who throws her arms around him and plants a
delicate kiss on his cheek. Everyone cheers and applauds, and as they slap him on the
back and trade jokes, his worst enemy arrives, as a 2 foot tall goblin-esque caddy. He
spends the day in the bright sunshine on the course, having the time of his life
laughing at jokes and carrying important discussions, putting the world to rights with
his friends while holding his delighted wife next to him as she gazes lovingly at him.
Later, they return to the hotel for dinner and have an enormous meal, perfectly
cooked, which descends into a food-fight when someone accidentally throws a bread
roll at the next table (where Ghandi is having a game of truth-or-dare with Marylin
Monroe). As everyone is falling about laughing and flinging breadsticks at each other,
his wife whispers in his ear… And they return to their penthouse suite, and spend the
rest of the night making love like they did on their honeymoon. After 6 hours of
intense passion, the man falls deep into the 100% Egyptian cotton pillows, and falls into a deep and happy sleep…
And is woken up by St Peter. “So, that was Hell. Wasn’t what you were expecting, I
bet?” “No sir!” says the man. “So then” says St Peter “you can make your choice. It’s
Hell, which you saw, or Heaven, which has choral singing, talking to God, white robes,
and so on”. “Well… I know this sounds strange, but on balance, I think I’d prefer Hell”
says the politician. “Not a problem, we totally understand! Enjoy!” Says St Peter, and clicks his fingers again.
The man wakes up in total darkness, the stench of ammonia filling the air and distant
screams the only noise. As he adjusts, he can see the only light is from belches of
flame far away, illuminating the ragged remains of people being tortured or burning in
a sulphurous ocean. A sudden bolt of lightning reveals Satan next to him, wearing the
same suit as before and grinning, holding a soldering iron in one hand and a coil of
-wire in the other. “What’s this??” He cries. “Where’s the hotel?? Where’s my wife???
Where’s the minibar, the golf-courses, the pool, the restaurant, the free drinks and the sunshine???”
“Ah”, says Satan. “You see, yesterday, we were campaigning. But today, you voted…”