Senator Goes to Heaven

LC NY Bureau Chief Doug sent me this joke which is a must-read for election season.

An elderly Southern senator was relaxing in his vast mansion, fondly remembering the year 2010 when the Tea Party elevated his profile to kingmaker, when his heart stopped and he died peacefully.  He was 110 and had outlived all of his contemporaries.  He went to heaven where St. Peter was a bit startled to see him.  He wasn't on that day's in-processing list, but Peter was a pro and quickly recovered.

"Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter.  "We don't get prominent men like yourself very often, so we'd like to offer you a choice.  You get to vote on where you'd like to spend eternity, Heaven or Hell.

"But I already know," said the Senator.  "I was a man of God.  I want to stay in Heaven."

"Don't be so hasty," said Peter.  "The Big Guy would like you to spend 24 hours in Hell followed by 24 hours in Heaven.  That way you can make an informed vote.  This is His way of honoring you, after all you were a United States Senator and the first Emperor of the Holy Empire of Carolina and Georgia.  He's really quite insistent."

"Well, I guess he knows better.  All right, send me to Hell," said the Senator.

With that, Peter ushered him to the elevator where the Senator went down, down, down, down...down some more until he reached Hell.  The elevator doors opened and there before him was an astoundingly beautiful green golf course.  It was beyond imagination.  There were vast banks of blooming azaleas and dogwood.  The fairways were like silk and the greens like glass.  It put the Augusta National, where the Senator played often, to shame.  Then, the Senator noticed all his old friends who had helped him gain power.  There was Glen Beck and Pat Robertson.  There was Sarah Palin in a cute little golf skirt.  There was Tony Perkins of the Family Research Council in a cute little golf skirt.  Christine O'Donnell appeared with a tray of mint juleps in silver cups.  The Senator never touched demon whiskey, of course, but what the hell, he took one and it was delicious.  Then, Satan drove up in a golden golf cart with a set of vintage Ping Zings in the back.  Satan looked sort of like Chase Crawford, only more handsome.  The Senator couldn't help noticing how the ribbed sleeves of his polo shirt hugged his biceps.  He tried to look away from temptation, but Satan put his arm around his shoulders and said "let's play a round, shall we?"

It was the most amazing round of the Senator's life.  His drives were powerful, he sank every putt.  When it was over, everyone retired to the club house, which looked for all the world like 12 Oaks before the Yankees ruined everything.  They dined on champagne, lobster, decadant chocolate and the best Cuban cigars. 

Before he knew it, the Senator's 24 hours were up and he had to ride the elevator back to heaven.  His day in heaven was spent floating on clouds with blandly pretty people playing harps all day.  What a bore.  After a few hours, he was Jonseing for one of Christine O'Donnell's mint juleps.

At the end of his day in Heaven, St. Peter approached the Senator and asked how he would like to vote.

"Well, St. Peter," said the Senator.  "I never thought I'd say this, but I really believe I belong in Hell.  I mean, Heaven is nice and all and I mean no offense, but I want to go to Hell."

"Never let it be said that your vote doesn't count," said St. Peter.  "Off you go."

The Senator got back on the elevator to Hell.  This time, the door opened onto a ruined landscape.  It was barren and bleak and baking hot.  All of his friends were trudging along, dragging trash bags and picking up garbage that was eternally falling from the grey sky.  Satan approached.  This time, he looked more Broderick Crawford than Chase Crawford.

"What happened?" said the Senator.  "Where is the golf course and the clubhouse?  What happened to your biceps?"

Satan smiled, revealing jagged, black teeth.

"Yesterday we were campaigning. Today, you voted.." 

Everybody vote next week!