Here's a story: I woke up at what I thought was Social Services. White halls with the smell of antiseptics long rows of hard plastic seats, and them flat screens with Fox News on them.

I was the only one there. It pays to go early. Still wait I did. 40 minutes into some Fox guy proving the moon is made of baked ham. I see my code blink on the board. This is when I realized I didn't know why I was there. No cards or ID. For that you gets sent to another hall to wait some more.

However instead of being drop kicked by security. There was loud music. Sort of like "Tubular Bells" from the 70's. Santa the Tooth Fairy my Guardian Angel...the worthless jerk, and my Grandma shoves me into a sedan chair. I'm processioned to the elevator

like the Tardis it was much bigger on the inside. ...a local.

Penny lane was playing in the background. Folks in costumes from different centuries was coming on, and off. They talked shop with my pallbearers or had faces buried in their devices.

Me I was just along for the ride.

We got off on 685th floor. I was dumped sideways into an office...smaller on the inside. Gawd or one of them was sitting at Her desk piled high with parchments audio cassettes floppy disks, and Edison Cylinders. She looked like my Aunt Dot and was smoking a pipe. Puffed away on 'Holiday' tobacco...like my dad. She nodded to an old folding chair, and I sat. Fox was yacking away on the wall screen.

This time some neo-Nazi in a bowtie was saying how they want to exterminate the world...but in a nice way. Lately these guys are trying to appear reasonable. Anyway, he was going on about how everybody could be killed cheaper and faster with Neutron Bombs.

Gawd turned off the screen. Sort of like that scene in "1984". Where that Inner Party enforcer had the juice to turn off the tele-viewer...much to Winston Smith's amazement. Sez Gawd who now looks like Nat King Cole: "First off ya dead pal. Dead as a bag of rusty hammers in Hiroshima.

No, I dunno how. Those details get lost up here, but ya a goner."

Gawd who is now Eleanor Roosevelt smoking a joint sez to me: "No there's no Heaven or Hell...eh ya not going to cry or some shit? Religion makes people do that. No? ...good. Well, there's an orientation to bring you up to speed. Eternity dark matter the non-temporal realms all that crap. Ya gots a lot of unlearning to do. Religion, and science has fucked you guys up bad."

She went on as Emily Dickinson: "However, that old time Abolitionist Beatnik Hippie stuff was close to the mark. Your file sez you was into some of that. Let's see...you was on da radio talking peace, and stuff. Ya printed little broadsides about it too. Not too bad. You're full of shit about everything else though."

"I'm sending you up for remedial ironic humor, and maybe reprograming about the properties of the Multiverse. You guys got that one wrong big time! Galileo took it well. Niels Bohr, and his crowd of smarty pants was really pissed though. ...fuck'em."

There was a gong like at the fights. Me, and the folding chair dropped through a trap door, and I was in Heaven. Well not that, but the name will do. A vacant lot in Cincinnati 1946.

Like the stories say they start you out with stuff you're used to. So for me working class Negro mayhem. Segregation evil cops, and keys to a tenement apartment. The upside...there being no hell the digs was real cute. Like from the neat stuff in Architectual Digest.

There was some sort of 3-D Google, and all the greasy food I ever wanted. Being dead there's no craping or farting. You can eat like the frigging Sun King and keep ya girlish figure. I needed wheels so I used the complimentary iPhone to order a 1932 fusion powered handmade sky-blue Bugatti. It appeared in my living room. I called back and told them to quit fucking around. I heard a room full of kids laffing. They sent it down to the street.

I decided to start a journal blog thing...Chapter One.

"I'm fucking dead, but the food's great."

To be continued.