Monday, March 20, 2006


My dearest readers, I must again apologise for my tardiness and slack attitude towards updating, but I must reassure you that I had a good reason for this. I was dead once more.

Something intriguing happened on this occasion - I believe I ascended to heaven. On Thursday I propelled myself down the stairs at great velocity and snapped some part of my neck, which resulted in an instant but average death. All in all, I would give it 6 out of 10 and recommend it to other men of my age with similar interests.

Upon dying, I witnessed a transcendent biege light and floated upwards. For two days I ascended, my hair becoming ever curlier as heavenwards I soared. My gut plumpened, my skin adopted the hue of a brown fruit, and a majestic beard flowed from my newly-jowly chin. At the same instance, a toga replaced my cardigan and cords. I believe I took on the outward appearance of an ancient Greek philosopher.

When I arrived at my mysterious destination, I was greeted by a parakeet. He introduced himself as St. Peter, and quickly explained that in heaven, people take on the appearance of whatever image best symbolises the state of their soul (thus Elvis and Lassie, who were the first good souls I met, appeared to me as a monkey wrench and an anthropomorphic plum duff).

St. Peter gave me a halo and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil to polish it, and ushered me through the gates. My meagre human vocabulary fails utterly to describe what I there beheld. Observe: "Flagurt meen sappletap, galifrey toopeck flink" - see? Gibberish!

I met many people: Elvis, Lassie, James Stewart, Beatrix Potter, the man who played the Artful Dodger and whose tongue fell off, Luther Vandross, Dame Thora Hird, John Merrick ("the Elephant Guy"), Frederick Nietzsche, Jesus H. Christ, Walt Disney, and the original Paul McCartney. They all seemed agreeable.

I spent a few days drifting serenely between dead relatives having picnics, and famous celebrities, before I met God. He was played by Brian Blessed. He was sitting at a desk in the middle of a forest, eating a tray of scones. He offered me one, which I gratefully took. It was a little dry.

"Well Horton," boomed God, "It isn't your time to join us. You must return to your life in the outskirts of Dundee."

And with that I awoke at home in bed, feeling cheerful and gay. I must try this again tomorrow.

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