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Friday night, 10pm and I'm stuck in this god forsaken apartment with nothing but a tin of dried tobacco and a few renegade rizlas for company. Outside, in the murderous streets of Manchester, I can hear the jubilant screams of revelers descending on the city centre bars, clubs and restaurants. Due to unforeseen financial circumstances (no job and debts that would scare Bono and Bob Geldof) I'm stranded in my flat, reminiscing about times of affluence when there was whiskey in my jar and pot in my pipe.
So here I am, having just discovered the Ciao Cafe and with little else to do but tread water in a sea of self-pity, I'm going to tackle the cheery question of: 'Is there life after death?'
In 1997, a million or so sobbing cretins thought there was no life after Princess Diana but here we are, eight years later. Predictions forcasting the end of the world are multitudinous in human history yet the dates of the forseen armageddon have passed and mankind still wreaks havoc on mother earth. For us several billion that inhabit the planet, it appears that the only way to educate oneself about the afterlife is to actually die and find out. But that is no solution. Life is precious and even when I'm sitting here depressing about my poor state of affairs, death is my only true fear. But still we want to know.
The bible tells us that we'll rise as the children of god in the kingdom of heaven but what fun is that going to be? No drugs, no strip joints, no casinos, probably no night clubs and no booze (except, of course, wine but only in moderation and only red). I'll happily piss on the pearly gates if I know that it's a surefire passport to hell. I mean, who would you rather party with? I think god is probably like Rolph Harris, a nice bloke but not someone you want to take to a beach rave then perhaps an orgy or two afterwards. Down below, The Devil's got all the action. Deceased playboy bunnies dancing around fiery poles, Pablo Escobar racking up lines of coke and Hunter S. Thompson staggering around handing out bottles of Chivas Regal whiskey with Lee Marvin as assistant. I know where I'd rather be.
The Buddhists preach of reincarnation but I think I'd rather go to heaven and sing Kum Ba Yah with Mary Whitehouse on the Tambourine and Mother Teresa on paino. I'd be the first person to actually die in the afterlife (from boredom) but it fucking beats coming back as a slug or a cockroach, just like our Buddhist buddies. Can you comprehend that? You spend your whole life as a monk on top of a deserted hill in Tibet with only a camel for company, then you die and find yourself divinely transformed into a dung beetle, back on the same damn hill in the Tibetian wilderness. Everlasting torture.
Finally, there is the possibility that you could pass away yet fail in the earth to heaven transition, just like Patrick Swazye, Nicole Kidman and Bill Crosby. Now this is an afterlife variation that has potential. As a fully qualified ghost, the world is your oyster, especially if you're one of those high-tech phantoms that nobody can see. If you're just a floating white duvet cover then there is still plenty of merriment to be had in spooking people but you're gonna get busted if glide into the ladies locker room for a peek.
So do I believe in life after death? Yes, no, who cares? I'm certainly interested in knowing what comes next but I'd rather live a great life now and find out what's next when my time comes. The existence of aliens is a far more interesting concept in my curiosity department. Are they out there? Yes and they just set up camp in George Bush's brain. The end of the world is nigh.....
An enjoyable read and have to agree with your views there (sounds like a lot more fun ! ) having evil fun for the rest of eternity sounds like a better alternative than coming back as a super holy bug ! ... Terry.
donnabroom 01.01.2006 19:06
Great review. Really funny.
Anneli86 18.10.2005 19:10
Another highly entertaining review. Refreshing approach to the subject. Great review.