Fucking madhouse
Wazzup my niggaz?
What, you do not like my racist language? Well, then fuck you. Guess what? We all get brown skin when we come to Heaven. Keeps us from shining through the dark clouds. So, yeah, we're all niggaz up here. Why do you think they call it "Soul Music" anyway?
It has been nuts here the past few weeks. I'll do my best to make sense of it.
Besides the usual riff-raff arriving on Heaven Buses (what do you expect, a magic carpet ride for every dead redneck or broke peon?) we've had a few spectacular additions recently.
A few weeks ago I was playing croquet with Princess Diana, Richard Nixon, and some guy from France who died in World War 1 (everyone gets laid after croquet... I was hoping to bang the cute soldier boy and his sexy accent while Diana had to deal with Nixon sweating and farting and jowling all over her).
Suddenly, something started descending out of the sky (yes, we have sky here, too.). At first, all we could see was a purple ellipse... then as it got closer we saw a second connected purple ellipse... it appeared that the first ellipse was being grasped by a hand, and that the second ellipse was going to explode at any moment.
We heard sirens and a Haz-Mat crew rolled up. They told us to head for cover. I did not recognize the first ellipse, but the second... I'd seen it before... there was a face there.... oh, I know! Kung Fu!
So, yeah, it was David Carradine, descending from a rope in the sky with his bloated purple dick in his hand. I was freaked out, but Nixon and Diana talked me down; Nixon had a few close calls of his own back in the day, and Diana said that she'd seen the exact same entrance from Michael Hutchence not long after her arrival in Heaven.
Anyway, it's gone crazy this week. I'm so lucky that the politics in my last days played out such that I became someone special instead of just some ordinary death like the thousands that happen every day. Hell, at least I died in a bed, and not smushed against the front of a truck or in a pile of dirt in a third-world country. You people have no idea what's coming for the "white" world: I can tell you that by the numbers of brown people entering Heaven that they WAAAYYYYY outnumber the white folks, and it's going to get ugly. But, I digress.
As I was saying, I'm lucky to be behind the velvet ropes, as it were. Rather than be swamped by the masses, I get to witness the spectacle of the Big-Time arrivals.
I do not think there was a dry eye to be found when Johnny Carson escorted Ed McMahon into Heaven. It was a gorgeous moment of appreciation and respect and payback. It was great to see them together again. They immediately convened on an old Tonight Show set, and sought George Carlin, Charo, and Elton John as their guests. Except, Charo and Elton are not dead yet. So, they goofed around and left the show in Carlin's hands. He killed. Well, as much as you can kill in Heaven.
But, wow, what a Thursday.
We'd heard for a while that Farrah was coming soon, and we all had our posters ready for autographs. I think every person, male or female, who came to sexual awareness in the 70s, had diddled to that poster of her in the red swimsuit. And guess how she showed up? Yep, strutting in that red swimsuit and her feathered hair, all nipped out though it was quite a warm day. It was spectacular, and as she worked the crowd, she paused with me for a moment to say that she felt sorry for how it went for me. What a classy and hot woman.
Just a few minutes later, the alarms sounded that there was another Big Time Arrival on the way.
We all made our guesses: Elizabeth Taylor? Stephen Hawking? Joe Namath? Walter Cronkite? Maya Angelou? Boy George? Osama bin Laden? Sandra Day O'Connor?
We were all shocked when a portal opened and Michael Jackson (the smokin' 1983 version) did a forward moonwalk into Heaven to the smoothest and funkiest music that anyone had ever heard. Whoa. Everyone was breaking moves all over.
He collapsed to the ground in a daze. Marvin Gaye and James Brown helped him up while Elvis looked on, ready to assist his former son-in-law however he could. If anyone knew what Michael had been through in his earthly life, Elvis did.
Michael gathered his wits, looked around, and asked for directions to the nearest daycare. He said he needed to lay down and rest, and wanted to share his love with an unfortunate child. Or children. Hopefully with some Jesus Juice and narcotics.
Jesus furrowed His brow.
Thankfully, Peter Jennings was there, and was thinking on his feet. He sent Michael off with a little Brazilian kid who'd recently died on a flight to France. There was no hope of preventing the buggering from happening, but at least it is limited to one child for now. I think this is going to be an ongoing situation, though.
What, you do not like my racist language? Well, then fuck you. Guess what? We all get brown skin when we come to Heaven. Keeps us from shining through the dark clouds. So, yeah, we're all niggaz up here. Why do you think they call it "Soul Music" anyway?
It has been nuts here the past few weeks. I'll do my best to make sense of it.
Besides the usual riff-raff arriving on Heaven Buses (what do you expect, a magic carpet ride for every dead redneck or broke peon?) we've had a few spectacular additions recently.
A few weeks ago I was playing croquet with Princess Diana, Richard Nixon, and some guy from France who died in World War 1 (everyone gets laid after croquet... I was hoping to bang the cute soldier boy and his sexy accent while Diana had to deal with Nixon sweating and farting and jowling all over her).
Suddenly, something started descending out of the sky (yes, we have sky here, too.). At first, all we could see was a purple ellipse... then as it got closer we saw a second connected purple ellipse... it appeared that the first ellipse was being grasped by a hand, and that the second ellipse was going to explode at any moment.
We heard sirens and a Haz-Mat crew rolled up. They told us to head for cover. I did not recognize the first ellipse, but the second... I'd seen it before... there was a face there.... oh, I know! Kung Fu!
So, yeah, it was David Carradine, descending from a rope in the sky with his bloated purple dick in his hand. I was freaked out, but Nixon and Diana talked me down; Nixon had a few close calls of his own back in the day, and Diana said that she'd seen the exact same entrance from Michael Hutchence not long after her arrival in Heaven.
Anyway, it's gone crazy this week. I'm so lucky that the politics in my last days played out such that I became someone special instead of just some ordinary death like the thousands that happen every day. Hell, at least I died in a bed, and not smushed against the front of a truck or in a pile of dirt in a third-world country. You people have no idea what's coming for the "white" world: I can tell you that by the numbers of brown people entering Heaven that they WAAAYYYYY outnumber the white folks, and it's going to get ugly. But, I digress.
As I was saying, I'm lucky to be behind the velvet ropes, as it were. Rather than be swamped by the masses, I get to witness the spectacle of the Big-Time arrivals.
I do not think there was a dry eye to be found when Johnny Carson escorted Ed McMahon into Heaven. It was a gorgeous moment of appreciation and respect and payback. It was great to see them together again. They immediately convened on an old Tonight Show set, and sought George Carlin, Charo, and Elton John as their guests. Except, Charo and Elton are not dead yet. So, they goofed around and left the show in Carlin's hands. He killed. Well, as much as you can kill in Heaven.
But, wow, what a Thursday.
We'd heard for a while that Farrah was coming soon, and we all had our posters ready for autographs. I think every person, male or female, who came to sexual awareness in the 70s, had diddled to that poster of her in the red swimsuit. And guess how she showed up? Yep, strutting in that red swimsuit and her feathered hair, all nipped out though it was quite a warm day. It was spectacular, and as she worked the crowd, she paused with me for a moment to say that she felt sorry for how it went for me. What a classy and hot woman.
Just a few minutes later, the alarms sounded that there was another Big Time Arrival on the way.
We all made our guesses: Elizabeth Taylor? Stephen Hawking? Joe Namath? Walter Cronkite? Maya Angelou? Boy George? Osama bin Laden? Sandra Day O'Connor?
We were all shocked when a portal opened and Michael Jackson (the smokin' 1983 version) did a forward moonwalk into Heaven to the smoothest and funkiest music that anyone had ever heard. Whoa. Everyone was breaking moves all over.
He collapsed to the ground in a daze. Marvin Gaye and James Brown helped him up while Elvis looked on, ready to assist his former son-in-law however he could. If anyone knew what Michael had been through in his earthly life, Elvis did.
Michael gathered his wits, looked around, and asked for directions to the nearest daycare. He said he needed to lay down and rest, and wanted to share his love with an unfortunate child. Or children. Hopefully with some Jesus Juice and narcotics.
Jesus furrowed His brow.
Thankfully, Peter Jennings was there, and was thinking on his feet. He sent Michael off with a little Brazilian kid who'd recently died on a flight to France. There was no hope of preventing the buggering from happening, but at least it is limited to one child for now. I think this is going to be an ongoing situation, though.