"Cities burnt to the ground, families torn apart. Countless battles, with victory for none. The end of the world. Standing from the top of the highest tower in the burning city, he saw it all. It was but a dream, but one that had been haunting him every night.
A voice startled him, saying "A tragedy, is it not?" The shining figure now standing in front of him had appeared out of nowhere. She was a beautiful winged figure, with a garland of roses was delicately placed on her silky blond hair. She was barefoot and wearing a simple, flowing tunic. "Who are you?" "I am here to warn you about a horrific future that only you can prevent, John Doe." "Well, er.. I'm Luciano Carrotti, not John Doe..." There was an uncomfortable silence. The angel looked at the red-head expectantly. Quickly, Carrot fumbled in his pockets, and finally produced his Intelligence ID (..because we all keep our ID in our pyjama pockets). She took the card and looked at it, finally saying... "FUCK! ..right then, never mind. Sorry about the whole recurring dream thing."
TOURIST logs a complaint to St Peter.
He is given a choice of where to spend his afterlife, by an over-enthusiastic TOUR GUIDE.
TOUR GUIDE, in an infomercial voice: SO! You're dead, eh? How can I help you today?
Tourist: Well, I want an eternal resting place for my soul.
:TG whips out a clipboard, and quickly reads through it.
TG: Well, heaven's pretty popular, I suppose.
T: What's there?
TG: God.
T: And
TG: It's OK, really.
T: OK. Eternal salvation is just "OK"!?
TG: It's not much different from where you go if you've sinned against a relative, ruler, guest, or benefactor
T: The ninth level of Hell?
TG: Quebec.
T: ...Quebec.
TG: Yes.
T: I thought the bible said "hell".
TG: That's a typo.
T: So what are my options?
TG: Did you die gloriously in battle?
T: I was killed because I...er...fell out of a tree while watching a *cough*--- [ girl strip ]
TG makes an unmistakable X on the clipboard: That takes care of that one.
T: Next?
TG: Reincarnation!
T: Well, that doesn't sound bad. As what?
TG checks the clipboard : Chronic Candidiasis
T: Come again?
TG: Yeast infection.
T: I'll pass, thank you.
TG makes another X
TG: What ARE your opinions on hell?
T: Eternal torment...well, I don't know, not really my bag, y'know?
TG: Oh, but I'm sure we can find a circle in hell that's PERFECT for you! Limbo, for example!!
T: What's THAT like?
TG: It's a big peaceful field, perfect for the angsty teen in your family! It's a bit sad and depressing, but you'll meet many famous faces, such as Caesar, Homer, and Aristotle!
T: ..Next.
TG: Do you like sailing?
T: I dont MIND it, really...I lived lived in Nova Scotia for a few years..
TG: Blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of your unquenchable desire?
T: Unquenchable DESIRE?! I'm not some kind of player...what sin gets you there?
TG, looking at Carrot/whoever: Lust. Er...perhaps not for you. Are you a dog person?
T: Because what, is level 3 of hell dedicated to being torn apart by puppies?
TG: Just one, actually. Cerberus. Perhaps not that, either. Do you enjoy repetitive tasks?
T: Anythings better than the puppies.
TG: Pushing giant boulders along with the greedy and squanderers?
T: I retract that previous statement.
TG: Well, the fifth circle is a lovely waterfront property right in the river Styx, for those committing random acts of violence! Or if fighting is not for you, you can lie beneath the surface of the water, and drown for all of eternity!
T blinks. polite voice, notably irritated: Eh, maybe not.
TG, slightly faster: So...if h2os not your thing, perhaps what you need is to be in THE CITY itself! That's right, I'm talking about Dis!
T, sarcastically: Golly, go on!
TG: You'll get your VERY OWN burning tomb-
T: PASS.
TG: Burning blood, rains of fire?
T: Pyrophobia. No can do. And I get squeamish at the sight of blood.
TG: Well, there's the Malebolge....
T giggles: Malebolge? Sounds like a throat disease...is it for the fiendishly fiendish?
TG: In a way; the Malebolge has ten LOVELY ditches with a different surprise waiting inside each! Flames...snakes...human excrement?
T: The last level?
TG: Quebec is for traitors. Satan's pad is there. Generally unpleasant chap.
Basically, you'll spend all of eternity frozen in ice, while Satan flaps up a chilly breeze.
T: My GOD, it really IS QUEBEC!
: monty python-style, the hand of god comes down from the clouds and zaps a spot exactly where the tour guide was a split second earlier :
TG, looking ready to faint: Perhaps not the BEST choice of words.. You're not interested in eternal purgatory...
T: Not in the least.
TG: As I said, heaven's pretty popular...
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Diphthong. "And WHAT are you doing in that outfit?"
"I'm Carlos Sanches. And as for the outfit," he wiggled his eyebrows, "I'm currently wearing it. I should think that was obvious..."
"Right..." Diphthong suddenly felt faint. Something funny was going on. Something strangely wrong...tainted, somehow...
"Unless of course you'd prefer I took it off," offered Carlos, mostly just to fill the silence. That and he was an exhibitionist at heart.
"Wha--NO!" He paled. "You're a--a--a--"
"A queer?" supplied Elph, bored. "A poof? A ponce? A pansy?" She wondered how the homophobic Diphthong would react to this startling revelation.
Diphthong just stuttered.
Elph rolled her eyes at his stupidity, but continued, enjoying his incapacity for coherant thought. "A dyke? A jessie? A woofter? A cupcake? A twinkie? A wonk? A--"
"You--you--you're a homosexual!" exclaimed Diphthong, finally able to speak.
Elph glowered. "Well, yes, there IS that." She snorted derisively. "You are SO unoriginal."
Diphthong continued, no longer at a loss for words. "And this," he said, spotting Paolo urgently trying to blend in behind a large potted plant, "THIS is your...Mexican lover-boy?!"
"You got his title EXACTLY," said Carlos, delighted. "You don't know how many times--"
"You depraved, sadistic...psychopath!"
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," interrupted Elph, an increadulous look on her face, "you're calling HIM depraved and sadistic?"
"Yes!"
"Hm. Imagine that. Coming from the guy who murders wives for shits and giggles. Go figure. Right then, continue."
And another thing--" hollered Diphthong.
Suddenly, a strange beeping noise was heard coming from a small briefcase resting unobtrusively against a pole a few metres away.
"Wha--what's that?" asked Dipthong, stopping mid-rant.
"Sounds like a bomb," said Elph, inspecting her finger nails nonchalantly.
"Well shit," said Carlos cheerfully. "I guess we're dead."
Carrot--
I haven't talked to you for a while. Nor have I seen you--I haven't even received a recent e-mail on The Beast (Stupid machine). This leads me to the conclusion that you are either ignoring me, have been kidnapped by genetically engineered and fantastically intelligent chickens or are, in fact, dead.
If any of these is the case, then I'd have to say I'm offended. You could have at least given me some notice.
The chickens would have been a damn good story, I guess. Although I've heard that they are extraordinarily stupid creatures. So I guess that idea's out. I haven't done anything bad (lately), so I'm pretty sure I'm not being ignored. Like anyone could actually ignore me. Right. That leaves death.
Normally I'm not so quick to assume that "radio silence" if, you will, could be interpreted as "eternal silence" but then again, we always knew I was a bit off. Paolo concurrs. With both my nuttiness and my realization that you are dead. So that begs the question: Who gets to do the eulogy?
I personally think I'd do a good job--nicely fluffy and light, with a sufficient amount of outright lying to make you look good and a few stories that will ensure my place in hell. I always was one for randomness. Paolo would be altogether too serious. Plus, I'm pretty sure he hates public speaking. That makes me a shoo-in, right?
Anyway, sorry to bother you in your eternal resting place, but I figure that you must be pretty damn bored strumming that harp all day. Unless you've been a really naughty boy and are cooling your heals, so to speak, with corrupt accountants and investment bankers. (In that case, wrong address.) A few words from us insignificant mortals could be good for you, in any event. Build angelic character and what not. If you'd like to get back to me on the eulogy thing, send your message to the nearest psychic, gypsy, medium or ouija board. If I don't hear from you I'll assume that you agree I'm the best candidate and that angels are snotty beasts with horrible phone service.
I'm making funeral arrangements as we speak. I hope cremation's okay with you. We're having a bonfire out back this week and we'd thought it would save time...
See you in the afterlife. Maybe.
--Elph
Carrot: Hey doc I uh, have a bit of a problem. A rather large problem actually, you see...I uhm...
Doctor: Well, spit it out, boy. I'm a doctor. I have seen every ailment, disgusting disease and embarassing illness and disfiguring injury known to man. I can help you. Now, what seems to be the problem?
Carrot: Well, I was trying to keep an eye on a asset, you know but I...uh. God, this is embarassing.
Doctor: Go on.
Carrot: She was, uhm...getting changed and...
Doctor: Ah. I see. Well, let's have a look.
[pulls down pants]
Doctor: Jesus Fucking Christ. What did you DO?!
Carrot: I take it that this is a bad thing.
[doctor takes deep breath.]
Doctor: It could be nothing. Then again, it could be something.
Carrot: "Nice, ambiguous yet still enough to scare the shit out of me. Thanks doc. What's the matter, did you miss 'how to inform patients that they're going to be permanently crippled' day in med school?
Doctor: Calm down, young man, I'm sure that this is only temporary.
Carrot: Temporary?! Doc, since I saw...what I saw, I have fallen out of a tree, died, taken a tour of hell and been sent back to Quebec all with a very embarassing, very uncomfortable eternal woody declaring my affliction to the world. You still think this is temporary?
Doctor: Well, there is a chance of more...permanent damage, but you're young and you'll probably bounce back in no time.
Carrot: And in the mean time I have to walk around like THIS?!
Doctor: It's nothing to be ashamed of, but I can see how that might pose a problem. Professional dignity and all that. Here.
[doctor passes carrot a book entitled "How to Live with an STD"]
Doctor: Hold that in front. Hides the problem and provides you with some light reading.
Carrot: I can't go walking around with THIS. People are going to get ideas...
Doctor: Take it or leave it. At least it covers your pants.