Welcome to Heaven2. Or, What Do We Do Now That the Hereafter is All Full Up?
“Sorry. Have you tried Limbo?”
What the – pardon the expression – hell? You humans have been dying on us for years. Like, literally dying. Passing away. For millions of years. Billions of you. And you’re still doing it. Every Day. Every second. Mothers and fathers and grandfathers and second cousins and hot dog vendors and movie stars and their pets and other assorted sentient beings like that rabbit you ran over without even a second thought because you absolutely had to get down to the Stop ‘n’ Go for a 6.5oz. SunnyD and some smokes. (His name was Terrence, by the way. He had a family.)
Anyway, that’s a lot of death. And, you know, it was inevitable that one day there just wouldn’t be any more, you know, space. You know, in Heaven. It doesn’t exactly go on forever up here in The Hereafter. There are limits, borders, Maximum Occupancies determined by the Fire Marshal using the general rule of thumb of multiplying width-in-feet by length-in-feet, then dividing the answer by thirty-six to arrive at a basic occupancy figure. In this case, a gajillion.
We’ve known about this for some time, actually. Since the late 1840s or so. But back in the days when you guys thought the stars were just little holes in the sky that offered you a glimpse of God (and a subtle reminder to not throw that rock at the other pre-Neanderthal), this place was all cumulonimbus as far as they eye could see. You could really spread out, you know?
And then you just. kept. dying. You’d fall in a hole or slip and bang your head on the bathroom sink and hey, that lion looks friendly enough and gee, I wonder what these really bright red berries taste like. (Maybe if you were a little smarter we could’ve gotten a few more centuries out of this place.)
So we started upping your life expectancy down there and coming up antibiotics and heart medicines and Lactaid, and for awhile, things were looking up. But then the unanticipated retirement of St. Peter in ’67 sealed the deal. (The guy at least had some standards. Ever since Kevin took over everybody gets in. Even Mormons.)
Something had to be done. So a committee was formed (of course), its members tasked with figuring out what that something might be. I was put in charge.
Day one, Kevin suggested we annex some farmland in Iowa. Been there, saw the movie, Kevin.
L. Ron Hubbard had an idea that had something to do with earning points or medals and something about a volcano, but it was just too weird and the rest of us were all, “Dude.”
I thought having Stephen Hawking’s soul on the Committee was a big idea, but the guy never showed up for the meetings. Still, you should see him run. It’s beautiful. He never shuts up, though. Jesus. (That’s okay, by the way. These days, the Lord needs as much pub as he can get, in-vain or otherwise.)
Then a couple of weeks ago, somebody – I think it was God’s youngest (long story), Julian – came up with the idea of just killing people off up here, too. You know, like, just shooting them. You die, you go to heaven, you’re having a blast running around with Lincoln and Evel Knievel and sitting on clouds just talking and laughing with your second grade teacher Miss Encarnacio. Then one day, somebody comes up to you, says it’s your time – again – and pow, you’re dead. Again. (Personally, it’s a bit too M. Night Shyamalan for me, but for now, it’s all we got.)
So any day now, people are going to start dying up here. We’ll begin with those who kicked their initial bucket before the fall of Mesopotamia (by last name, A-through-F.)
After your second – relatively painless – death, your soul will rise once more. This time, however, you’ll be off on an all-expenses-paid trip to a Microsoft® “cloud-based” virtual after-afterlife called Heaven2. It’s a working title. Your suggestions are welcome. (Kevin suggested Jeepers or, wait for it… Sincinnati. 🙄 )
And while budget cuts did not allow for “pearly” gates, the teak-with-mahogany-inlays is a lovely touch from Jesus’s brother-in-law (long story) who took over the family business.
We look forward to welcoming you to The Deuce, with opening day tentatively scheduled for July 1, 2020.
In the meantime, we’re sending everybody to Myrtle Beach.
Sincerely,
–The Management
P.S., It looks like you’ll probably have to give up on that dream of becoming an angel. The Council stopped accepting applications in ’55, and though nine open slots remain, one is reserved for Buck Henry for putting up with Warren Beatty’s shit, and the other eight will be going to those girls from Victoria’s Secret.
Mike is happy. 
