Heaven and Hell
While walking down the street one day a corrupt Senator is tragically hit by a car and killed. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
“Welcome to heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.”
“No problem, just let me in,” says the Senator.
“Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.”
“Really?, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,” says the Senator.
“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.
They are all having such a good time that, before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven, where St. Peter is waiting for him. “Now it’s time to visit heaven for a day.”
So, the Senator joins a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns
“Well then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity.”
The Senator reflects for a minute, then he answers: “Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell.”
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” stammers the Senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?”
The devil smiles at him and says,
“Yesterday we were campaigning to get your vote…Today, you voted.”
Vote wisely in November.
Bronze Sculpture of a Rat
A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop somewhere in Washington DC. Picking through the objects on display he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he picks it up and asks the shop owner what it costs. “Twelve dollars for the rat, sir,” says the shop owner, “and a thousand dollars more for the story behind it.” “You can keep the story, old man,” he replies, “but I’ll take the rat.”
The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store,two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him. By the time he’s walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars.
Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he sees the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously, now not just thousands but millions, so that by the time he comes rushing up to the water’s edge a trail of rats twelve city blocks long is behind him.
Making a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a light post, grasping it with one arm while he hurls the bronze rat into the Potomac Tidal Basin with the other, as far as he can heave it. Pulling his legs up and clinging to the light post, he watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater into the Basin, where they drown.
Shaken and mumbling, he makes his way back to the antique shop. “So, you’ve come back for the rest of the story,” says the owner. “No,” says the tourist, “I was wondering if you have a bronze congressman. “
Almost 150 years ago, President Lincoln found it necessary to hire a private investigator – Alan Pinkerton – for protection. And that was the beginning of the Secret Service. Since that time, federal police authority has grown in depth, scope, and to a large number of multi-letter agencies – CID, OSI, NIS, FBI, CIA, INS, IRS, DEA, BATF, etc. Now we have the “Federal Air Transportation Airport Security Service.”
Can’t you see them now, these highly trained men and women in their black outfits with their initials in large white letters across their backs:
“FATASS” – I feel safer already, don’t you?