Heaven

 For the sake of discussion, let’s say there really is a heaven. You know, the conventionally imagined kind with pearly gates and an angel receptionist in a spotless white cotton tunic checking folks in (or directing them to the other, hell-bound, line. Some folks, like Kenneth Copeland, Franklin Graham and Joel Osteen, will be in for a big fucking surprise.)
There will inevitably be a line of confused people wondering ‘where the fuck am I?’

I gotta ask, is it really heaven if I’ve got to wait in line?

The queue, however, is significantly shorter than you’ll ever see at Disney’s Jungle Cruise, LAX or JFK, at polling places on voting day in nonwhite Georgia or the grocery store on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Why? Easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for Richie Rich to get past Paradise’s bouncers…and shit. Elon MusKKK won’t make the cut but Warren Buffet will.

That’s good. Also not getting past the velvet ropes? Republicans (goes without saying, doesn’t it), narcissists, pedos, on-the-take and purposely cruel motherfuckers, the NRA, etc. I’m just describing Republicans here, I guess.

What’s it looks like once I get through the door? Well, first there’s orientation where Archangel Sandalphon (who took over the position from the Morningstar when he moved south) assigns me my musical instrument—simply everyone plays in the orchestra or sings in the choir. I want to play trumpet, not flute, this time around—like Bix Beiderbecke or Miles. Angel Zophiel hands out the art supplies.

Someone’s in charge of wardrobe. Contrary to popular belief, in heaven you get to wear whatever you’re most comfortable in. I’ll take yoga pants and baggy t-shirts, thanks. Also, NO bras. In the inferno, on the other hand (tit?), everyone's got to wear an underwire push up bra at all times. Men too.

There’s a menu review. What sort of food can I expect? Well, it’s fucking Heaven isn’t it? I can get anything I want and, best of all, there’ll be NO weight gain. That means I can have ALL the saag paneer, veggie tempura, quiche, veggie burritos, goat cheese, hummus, lasagna, CAKE and pecan pie that I can stuff down my gob. What? That’s the sin of gluttony and a big no-no in heaven? Fuck.

I’ll have hearing in heaven. First things I’m gonna listen to?

• Fanfare for the Common Man
• The 1812 Overture
• Handel's Messiah
• Franz Liszt’s Totentanz (as transcribed for piano)
• Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints
• Led Zeppelin IV
• NIN’s The Downward Spiral
• Talking Head’s Stop Making Sense

This list is, pretty much, endless but you knew that.

There will be books in heaven. With all the time I’ll have, maybe I’ll finally get through Pynchon’s V, Finnegans Wake and Infinite Jest? Hey, it’s heaven—it could happen! Right?

Also cats. It wouldn’t be a proper celestial paradise without our feline benefactors but you knew that already.