“Order, order in Heaven,” God demanded. The angels quietened (lowering their eyes to look at their dresses). They had been arguing over who would have the last piece of bubbleyum that had been given to them by Archangel Michael. They quickly solved the dilemma by deciding to share the gum; three chews each.
Satisfied, God continued. “It is Judgement Day No. 6, Revelation Case 500 000 000 762 345 666. Will Bum please take the stand.”
“That’s Bumwheel,” protested the spirit in question.
Georgie was in a foul mood. For the past 63 years he had been on dish washing duty. To his dismay he had discovered that even spirit dishes possessed the habit of breaking. For each one he broke he was banned a day from the Heavenly Angel’s bar. That left him high and dry for the following 102 years or so. It goes without saying that that is one helluva long time for any alcoholic, let alone Georgie.
“Bum,” God carried on, “we’re-“
“BUMWHEEL!” Georgie shouted.
“Oh, all right then,” God gave in. “We’re here to decide whether or not you are worthy of staying on here in Heaven.” Then with the gravest voice that he could muster, God asked, “How do you plead?”
“Well, that depends, God.”
“Depends on what, Bum,” God queried with annoyance.
“Is there a bar in Hell?”
For a brief moment God’s face was the perfect picture of puzzlement, something which hadn’t happened since the Russians ran out of vodka in 1945. His mouth even opened to question Georgie why but instead gaped like a blowfish, several seconds passing before different words found their way into his mouth for the sake of convenience’. “Sure there is.”
“Then I plead guilty, guilty, GUILTY!” Georgie yelled.
By law, God’s next step was to question Georgie’s plea but he was bored and looking forward to the seventh day. “Okay,” God agreed. “I find you guilty. It’s off to Hell with you.” He banged his mallet on the throne. God justified his action by telling himself that laws are made to be broken by those that make them. “Court is closed.”
His last words were drowned out by Georgie’s jubilant cries. As he was lead away, the angels could hear him singing:
“It’s off to hell I go, it’s off to Hell I go, hey didlee, didlee, didlee, it’s off to Hell I go…”
Hell was not all it was made out to be. For starters, the Blasphemous Bar was only open on the Sabbath…
To be continued…