BRITISH MAN VISITS HEAVEN (…AND MAKES A VERY BAD DECISION)
A British man dies and finds himself on the Pearly Gates.
St. Peter checks a clipboard, nods slowly.
“Effectively… not excellent. However first rate. Paid your taxes, helped others, didn’t microwave fish at work. Minor sins.”
The person exhales.
“One month in Purgatory,” St. Peter says, “then Heaven.”
The person hesitates.
“Earlier than I determine… might I have a look first?”
St. Peter shrugs and opens the gate.
Heaven is… excellent.
White sand seashores. Crystal-clear water. Limitless sunshine that’s heat however by no means too scorching.
Chilly beer. No queues. No hangovers.
Individuals relaxed, smiling. Peaceable.
“Pretty,” the person says.
“…however can I see H*ll too?”
St. Peter pauses… then opens one other door.
The person steps in—and fr**zes.
H*ll is similar.
Identical seashore. Identical drinks. Identical climate.
However louder. Wilder.
Music blasting. BBQ scorching. Individuals partying more durable.
And above all of it, an enormous signal:
WELCOME TO H*LL — NO PURGATORY REQUIRED
The person grins.
“Effectively… that settles it.”
Subsequent day, he chooses H*ll.
The gates slam shut behind him.
Immediately—all the pieces adjustments.
The seashore is gone.
The warmth is insufferable.
Individuals are scr**ming. Chains rattle. F*re in all places.
The person panics.
“Wait! Yesterday this was a paradise! What occurred?!”
The D*vil walks over, calm, amused.
“Yesterday,” he says,
“we had been recruiting.”
