In Heaven On A Visa
The afterlife is definitely not what I expected it to be, far fewer angels, far more Arabs. I suppose that’s because the afterlife is exactly what the jihadist that killed me thought it would be, or at least a very close approximation of what he expected. As it turns out, the Muslims hit the nail on the head. Actually, to be more precise, the Sunni Muslims hit the nail on the head.
I’ll admit I was a little bit surprised. I mean I always knew that only one religion would be correct and that the majority of the world that didn’t believe in that religion would be totally screwed, it’s just I always thought that I would be on the winning side. Perhaps on my most skeptical days, I considered the outside possibility that it would be the Mormons, but I never thought that it would be the Muslims. Total curveball. Oh well, live and learn. Or rather, die and learn.
Honestly, the afterlife hasn’t been that bad, especially when I consider the fact that I got the whole religion thing completely wrong. Christ, I never even read the Quran, or wore a hijab, or any of that stuff. By all accounts, I should be down below, getting burned by flames and stung by scorpions, but I’m not. Instead, I’m in heaven… I think they call it Jannah… I can’t be sure… I’m still getting used to all this Islam business.
Of course I’m only in heaven on a work visa, and, as such, do not have access to all of the amenities. Nevertheless, it’s a hell of a lot better than hell (Jahannum?). My virginity is what got me here. Thank Allah I died when I did. A couple more weeks and I definitely would have slept with that lacrosse player, and then I would have been totally effed. Had I done the deed before I died there is no way I would have gotten the visa. Copulation equals disqualification. Only the chaste have a chance, and even then there is no guarantee. If you’re an uggo, for instance, you can be as pure as the driven snow and still not get in — virgin or not, if you’re homely you’re headed south. It makes sense I suppose. Those jihadist guys blew themselves up for a harem of hotties not a harem of hideousness.
Fortunately, I am pretty hot. Not Beyonce hot, nor Mila Kunis hot, but hot enough to make the cut. They can’t be too choosey, they need seventy-two of us for every one dead jihadist and, to be quite frank, there just aren’t that many sexy, dead, Muslim virgins. That’s why they have to fill out the rosters with infidels like me. These guys blew themselves to bits for the cause, so you bet your ass the powers that be are going to do everything they can to come through on the promises they made. And for the most part they do. My guy certainly seems happy with the set up. He only speaks Farsi so I can’t say for sure, but I can tell you that he’s always smiling. And why not? He guessed right. He won an eternity in paradise. He gets to chill with his hot harem while all the people that placed the wrong bet burn. All the Christians, and Buddhists, and Jews, and Confucians, and Hindus, and Sikhs, and Taoists, and Jainists, and Shintoists and Zoroastrians, and Atheists and Agnostics. Plus all those Shia Muslims and Sufi Muslims and Ibati Muslims and Ahmadi Muslims and Quranists Muslims and Mahdavi Muslims that chose the right religion but the wrong sect. Not to mention all the Sunni Muslims that guessed everything right but just weren’t good enough at being Sunni Muslims. All of them have an eternity of torment coming their way, but not my guy. My guy has an eternity with his seventy-two ladies.
Still, I have to think that it will get old after a while. Seventy-two ladies is a lot of ladies, but an eternity is a lot, a lot of time. At some point he’s bound to grow tired of us. I know that we’ll grow tired of him, not to mention each other, and then what? Boredom? I mean it’s pretty sparse up here. Not a lot of people to meet. Most of them are down below, paying the price for their inaccurate guesses. Come to think of it, I suspect if you took out the infidels here on a work visa, this place would feel pretty empty. Abandoned even. Like an extravagant vacation destination that priced itself out of the market, elaborately built for a heyday that will never come; or an elite private club that drove itself into disrepair, its stringent and implausible requirements winnowing away all potential members. Heaven: A victim of its own selectivity.
You know, maybe nobody guessed right.