A Word To The Wise

A WORD TO THE WISE
(a cautionary tale for voters in November 2010)

I’m borrowing from a delightful piece by Pep Red Vasquez’s – Pep Talk- column in a recent issue of the Philippines Today newspaper, and adapting it as our version for our own political circus here. So, with apologies to Mr. Vasquez, here goes:

A member of our growing class of elite career politicians is hit and killed by a bus, while crossing the street to go to his plush offices on Capitol Hill. When he arrives at the check-in counter by the Pearly Gates, St. Peter greets him, saying: “Welcome! My-oh-my, we seldom get such high officials like you here! Just a moment while I check the latest regulations about what to do with such as you.”

Miffed by that, the politician replies: “You obviously are not aware of my VIP status, sir, so, kindly open up these Pearly Gates and let me pass without further delay.” Still smiling, St. Peter says: “Sorry about that, buster, but, up here, your VIP status means squat, and I have my orders about how to process people like you…so listen up!”

“What do you mean?” says the politician, becoming even more irritated and upset both by his tone and this delay.

“Well,” says St. Peter, “here’s the deal. People like you are given special handling. That is, you must first spend one day in Hell, then one day in Heaven, after that, we let you choose which one you prefer for eternity.” And without further ado, he hustles the politician to a special private elevator, sending him down to Hell.

When the doors open, the politician steps out, and finds himself in the middle of a beautifully green golf course, with a fine looking club house and fancy terrace nearby, where a large crowd of his old lobbyist cronies and fellow politicians are waving at him to join them. They’re all smiles, happy to see him, shaking his hand, patting him on the back, handing him fine Cuban cigars, and otherwise making him feel right at home, just like in the good old days inside the Beltway in DC.

A bit confused by this version of Hell, but quite happy to be in such a familiar environment, he goes with the flow, feasting with his buddies on lobster, and caviar, drinking champagne, and very glad to be living fat and not on lean cuisine. All of this in keeping with his exaggerated sense of status, self-importance, and worth.

As the day progresses things get even livelier. Besides more fine food and drinks, a bevy of gorgeous bikini-babes, along with a small band, join the party, and soon everyone is dancing and cavorting with these and having a grand old time. Although way in the back of his mind he can’t help but wonder about it all, his ethical standards being what they are, he shrugs it off and continues to party away. Why question a good thing when you have it?

At some point the Devil shows up. A dapper and nice looking fellow, he greets his new guest with friendly gusto, saying: “I’m so glad you’re here. As you can see, all those nasty things they say about me and this place are simply not true. So, I hope, after you’ve been Upstairs, you’ll make us your choice, instead.” Grinning widely as he cuddles with a giggling bikini-babe, the politician replies: “My friend, if this is the way it is, here…I’m in!”

Smiling in appreciation, the Devil pats him fondly on the shoulder, and escorts him back to the elevator, saying: “Hurry back. We’ll by waiting for you!”

When the doors open up at Heaven, our politician steps out again, to find himself floating on a soft, white, fluffy cloud, surrounded by flocks of other clouds, all covered with folks in long white robes, either plucking on small harps, or just staring dully at nothing in particular like zonked-out junkies. A few smile at him, but he hardly recognizes anyone he knows. The near-silent serenity of the place bores him to tears. It’s strictly dullsville, and he can’t wait to get back on that elevator.

Finally, when his day in Heaven is over, he races to the elevator, which whisks him back to the check-in counter, where St. Peter is waiting for him, saying: “So, now that you’ve had your mandatory visits to our Upstairs-Downstairs establishments, what’s your choice for eternity?”

“That’s a no-brainer, sir, I’m voting for Hell!’ says the politician. St. Peter, smiles, and replies: “Hmmm….thought you might, but, are you absolutely certain about that choice? It’s your last chance, and that will decide where you’ll be for eternity.”

“Quit stalling, and just send me down there….like now!” yells our politician. With a shrug, St. Peter waves him away to the elevator, and down he goes.

But this time, when the doors open again, instead of that beautiful golf course, the fine club house, all his pals, the cigars, the fine food and drink, the bikini-babes, the fun and games, he stares in shock, because now, he’s standing in the middle of a grim, foul-smelling, smoking landfill facility, where people in rags are wandering about, spiking trash into plastic bags they’re dragging along, under a never ending rain fall of newly arriving garbage. It’s a truly hellish scene.

When the Devil approaches him, saying : “Welcome back!” the politician just moans and cries out: “What’s happened? Why has everything turned for the worse?” Putting a comforting arm around his shoulders, the Devil laughs and says: “Son, when you were here the other day, we were just campaigning. Today….you voted! Congratulations, you’re now deserving everything you won’t ever get. Enjoy!”

CENTURION