I’m usually not a fan of old jokes that have been re-written with a new cast. It’s fairly common, especially in the political realm, where the same jokes are repeated decade after decade with changes in the names to reflect the political leaning of the teller. I recently received an example of this, passed along by local activist Don Pratt. I’d seen the basic joke many times before, frequently starring a software mogul from Redmond. But whoever was responsible for the reincarnation of this one changed more than just a name. The whole story was changed to match the new character, in such a creative manner that I think it’s worth posting here.
While walking down the street one day, George “Dubya” Bush is shot
by a disgruntled NRA member. His soul arrives in heaven and he is met
by St.Peter at the Pearly Gates.
“Welcome to Heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems
there is a problem: We seldom see a Republican around these parts,
so we’re not sure what to do with you.”
“No problem, just let me in; I’m a believer.” says Dubya.
“I’d like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself: He
says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must
choose where you’ll live for eternity.”
“But, I’ve already made up my mind; I want to be in Heaven.”
“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.” And with that, St. Peter escorts
him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course; the
sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 72 degrees. In
the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it is his
dad…and thousands of other Republicans who had helped him out over the
years: Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Jerry Falwell…. The whole of the “Right”
was there…everyone laughing…happy…. casually but expensively dressed.
They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had
getting rich at expense of the “suckers and peasants”. They play a friendly
game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Bush with a frosty drink, “Have a
Margarita and relax, Dubya!”. “Uh, I can’t drink no more, I took a
pledge,” says Junior, dejectedly.
“This is Hell, son: you can drink and eat all you want and not worry,
and it just gets better from there!”
Dubya takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a
really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes and pulls hilarious nasty
pranks, kind of like a Yale Skull and Bones brother with real horns.
They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it’s time to
go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Bush steps on the elevator and
heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter
is waiting for him. “Now it’s time to visit Heaven,” the old man says,
opening the gate.
So for 24 hours Bush is made to hang out with a bunch of honest,
good-natured people who enjoy each other’s company, talk about things other
than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy
joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great,
it’s not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn’t see
anybody he knows, and he isn’t even treated like someone special! Worst of
all, to Dubya, Jesus turns out to be some kind of Jewish hippie with his
endless ‘peace’ and ‘do unto others’ jive.
“Whoa,” he says uncomfortably to himself, “Pat Robertson never
prepared me for this!”
The day done, St. Peter returns and says, “Well, then, you’ve spent
a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live
for eternity.”
With the ‘Jeopardy’ theme playing softly in the background, Dubya
reflects for a minute, then answers: “Well, I would never have thought
I’d say this-I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all-but I really think I
belong in Hell with my friends.”
So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down,
down, all the way to Hell.
The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched
earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste.. kind of like
Houston. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and
chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They
are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime. The
Devil comes over to Dubya and puts an arm around his shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” stammers a shocked Dubya, “Yesterday I was
here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and we ate lobster
and caviar… drank booze. We screwed around and had a great time.
Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks
miserable!”
The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, “Yesterday we were
campaigning; today you voted for us.