Tag Archives: hell

1961. An exclusive club

Although it might appear as rather arbitrary, and in fact it was, Heaven was divided into multitudinous groups of people. The membership of each group was determined by the last words they uttered on Earth. For example, the members of the “I-Love-You-Darling Group” had experienced a fairly run-of-the-mill death in which they were able to utter a reasonably civil statement as they passed on. The “Goodbye Group” and the “I’m-Going Group” were other examples. The “Au Revoir Group” was made up mainly of foreigners but the occasional person who spoke proper English made it into their ranks.

Most groups had many, many members, and for a millennium or so St. Peter at the Pearly Gates had wondered whether or not other criteria might better suffice.

There was one group that was the envy of all. It was known rather jovially as the F Club. Very few belonged to it. The members were the victims of some sudden accident when their plane dropped out of the sky or they saw a huge articulated truck plunging headlong into their vehicle. Their last word was an exclamation of surprise, as you might imagine. So sought after was the desire for membership to this group that St. Peter had to slightly stretch the rules. He had to allow for different parts of speech that used the word. For example, some people may have turned the word into a verb and not finished the sentence before expiring. However, a line was drawn if the F word was followed by “heck”. It reeked a little of Hecate and was considered vaguely inappropriate.

No one was surprised at the small affiliation in the F Club. Most in the circumstance of final accident had exclaimed a naughty word. They had, naturally, been cast into Hell. But those more lily-tongued had screamed at the point of accident not an unacceptable curse, but simply “Flip”. As stated, those whose final “Flip” was forever wrecked by a verb plus Hecate – “Flippin’ Heck” – were cast aside. As was “Freakin’ Hell”.

So here’s to the three members of the F Club. May they forever rejoice.

1764. Giggling Gerties

The concept of spending a considerable amount of time with these people was driving Barney batty. They were a giggling bunch of pre-adolescent zombies. Giggle giggle giggle. Barney half thought he had wasted his life; he should’ve become a comedian instead of a chartered accountant.

Giggle giggle giggle. Would they never stop? In the end, they were taken away by an “Assistant” to somewhere else; one could hardly say they went away on their own accord.

But what’s this? Another gaggle of Giggling Gerties escorted into the waiting room. Giggle giggle giggle. Barney wanted to scream. Off they go now, to wherever! Giggle giggle giggle.

It took a while for Barney to realize where he was; he had died and was in the waiting room before entering an eternal dimension. The Giggling Gerties were being taken off to Heaven. As the assistant who seemed to be overseeing the whole affair said to Barney: “Things are a bit overcrowded at present, so we’re keeping you here in the waiting room until we manage to finish expanding the boundaries of Hell.”

1712. High standards

(Someone asked me, why don’t you write something depressing? I think they were being sarcastic. Anyway, here it is.)

Lachlan had lived an average sort of life. He’d told the odd fib, but it didn’t amount to much. He’d given the occasional dollar to the Salvation Army during their Annual Appeal. He’d paid his taxes. He never once got a ticket for speeding. He’d been worn to a frazzle rearing his kids and driving van-loads of exuberant youths to this game and that, and so on. It was an average sort of life.

Eventually he died. He joined the line at the Pearly Gates.

Saint Peter said, “You lived an average sort of life. The standard here is very high. I’m sorry but you’ve missed out.”

“Oh, dear!” said Lachlan. “So I’m going to Hell?”

“No,” said Saint Peter, “as a consolation prize we’re sending you into oblivion.”

1452. Truly blessed

Alana was a fabulous concert pianist. She gave concerts all over the world. Critics raved. Audiences swooned.

“God has truly blessed you,” said Bethany.

“God has blessed me, my foot!” said Alana. “My talent is the result of hard work. I practised for hours as a kid. My ability has nothing to do with the fiction you call God. It has everything to do with me and me and me. Grow up.”

You wouldn’t believe it, but Alana died. “I had no idea that heaven was real,” said Alana arriving at the pearly gates. “I thought all this heaven stuff was a load of hogwash.”

“What would you like to do?” asked God (in a booming voice). “Who would you like to be?”

“I want to be the greatest pianist that ever existed,” said Alana.

WOOSH! Her request was answered immediately. There she was on a distant planet somewhere in the constellation of Piscis Austrinus. There sat the perfect grand piano. Alana began to play.

“I am truly blessed,” thought Alana.

Eventually it dawned on her. She was the only one on the planet.

1441. He’s still there

Norbert hadn’t realized he’d died. He got up in the morning totally oblivious to the fact that he had died in his sleep. He made breakfast. He made plans for the day. He even made his bed! In fact he hadn’t made his bed he just thought that he’d made his bed.

It wasn’t until several days went by that he realized no one had any perception of his presence. Everything in Norbert’s existence was simply his imagination. For example, he saw them sell his car, but he still drove it to town. It seemed like he was travelling in his car, but he wasn’t.

The only difference at first was that life would have no end. Fear of death had gone. Immortality reigned. Life had the same pains and joys, the same ups and downs. And then he began to have nightmares. He began to wonder if he was in hell. He began to believe he was in hell. The plummet into hell was a slow and deceitful process. It got worse as the years went by. It became horrific. He began to scream “Let me out! Let me out!” There was no escape.

He’s still there.

1357. Ironing a few things out

An Angel: Welcome to the afterlife!

The late Mrs Melba Cunningham: Wow! It’s true after all! And I made it!

An Angel: You can’t enter with those creased clothes though, sweetheart. Here’s an iron and an ironing board.

The late Mrs Melba Cunningham: Iron my clothes? I’d rather go to Hell.

An Angel: Where do you think you are?

1323. Emmeline’s lazy morning

It was Sunday morning. Emmeline’s alarm went off. The clock was telling her to get out of bed and go to church. Instead Emmeline turned over and snuggled sleepily into her warm bed.

Later she thought she would get up and make a lovely Sunday brunch. When she got out of bed she hit her head on the bedpost and died. Emmeline went straight to hell, where she will roast in a burning fire for eternity.

So much for snuggling up in a warm bed.

938. Cat heaven

938cats

There had been so many complaints; centuries of complaints, going all the way back to the Ancient Egyptians. Person after person, coming through the Pearly Gates into Heaven had complained. Why can’t I bring in my pet cat?

Pharaoh Tutankhamun led the charge. He had a couple of mummified sacred cats he’d brought along with him. He’d moaned nearly every day since around 1327ish BC. He was only 17 years old, so he didn’t know any better, silly man.

Saint Peter was sick of it. He relented. Henceforth, cats and only cats (no dogs yet you understand?) would be allowed in. Nigel brought in 23 cats almost immediately; Nora 27; Davinia 85; Indira just the 1; Andrew 8; Beveridge 11; Debbie…

The place was overrun with cats.

Freddie wasn’t alone in hating the whole jolly cat thing. He was all for upping and leaving until someone pointed out that Hell allowed its residents to bring in their pet rats.

751. Bit by bit

751lily

(A story for Halloween)

Warren lay in the hospital bed. He couldn’t move but he could hear.

“We’re sorry, but he’s clinically dead. When you’ve said your goodbyes, the machine will be turned off.”

Don’t pull the plug! Don’t pull the plug! screamed Warren inside. I’m still alive!

“Thank you, doctor. We would like to switch the machine off ourselves. Goodbye, Warren.”

Warren heard the switch click. He knew they were wheeling him to the morgue. He heard the mortician complain about the amount of fluid in his system.

“It must’ve been one hell of a gigantic cyst. Look at all that stuff draining off.”

He heard them injecting him with embalming fluid. He felt it. It was excruciating. He heard his funeral; every word. He heard them lowering the coffin into the grave.

I’m not dead! I’m not dead!

He heard the clunk of the dirt falling.

He heard his body rot; bit by bit; piece by piece. Decaying bones take centuries.

He was dead, but this was Hell.

729. The best of friends

729friends

Tom and Seamus had been best friends for many, many years. Their families always took their vacation together at the lake. They were forever taking the mickey out of each other; pulling each other’s leg; having each other on…

Then one day, quite separately one from another, Tom and Seamus dropped dead.

The first thing they said upon arriving in the nether world was, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I suppose we’d better find the pearly gates and see what the story is,” said Tom.

And there they were: the gates! Saint Peter was sitting at his desk looking rather bored.

“So,” said Saint Peter to Seamus, “I haven’t had time to check. What’s Tom been like? Has he been good?”

“He’s been the paradigm of goodness,” said Seamus. “Always kind. Integrity is what he has. If he says it, then it’s true.”

“And you,” said Saint Peter to Tom, “What’s Seamus been like?”

“The biggest bastard on God’s earth,” joked Tom. “I’d chuck him into hell if I was you.”

Unfortunately, Peter believed both.