http://www.politicalgateway.com/main/columns/read.html?col=318The scene: Heaven. An elevator opens and deposits a restored Terri Schiavo -- looking as she did before her heart stopped at the age of 25 -- at the entrance to a smoky, wood-paneled bar. A band is playing on a dimly lit stage in the back. She can make out Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Ray Charles, Freddy Mercury, Janis Joplin, Marvin Gaye, John Lennon, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Elvis and many others; Karen Carpenter is leading them through a rocking rendition of "Yesterday Once More."
The place is packed but not uncomfortable as gorgeous men and women in tight shorts and t-shirts serve endless pitchers of beer, shots of tequila and Jack Daniels, cocktails, wings, cheeseburgers and fresh-shucked oysters. The crowd enjoys the music, some dancing, others singing along. No one hoots "Whoo!"
From a small table near the entrance a man rises and heads toward where Terri stands, unsure of where to go. He's dressed in Levi's, loafers, a white dress shirt and a tan sport coat. His beard and long, flowing hair are shiny silver.
"Hi, Terri," he says, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. "I'm God. Welcome to heaven."
Terri is instantly at ease as God takes her hand and leads her past the booths that line the back of the bar. She notices Jesus, Buddha, Vishnu, Mohammed and Moses absorbed in a game of Trivial Pursuit.
God ushers her into an office and shuts the door. "Please, Terri, sit. You'll be nothing but comfortable from now on."
Terri sits on a leather sofa. God goes to a small bar in the corner and returns with a white wine spritzer. Terri is pleasantly surprised. "How did you ... Oh. Right." She takes a sip. It's crisp, cold and bubbly.
God sits in a plush leather club chair. He holds a glass of honey-brown Scotch; the ice cubes melt and resettle in his hands.
"Terri, I want you to know how happy we are to have you here. We know you've been waiting a long time."
Terri nods and takes another sip of her spritzer. She notices pictures on the wall behind a desk: God with Babe Ruth, God with JFK, a recent one with Frank Sinatra ...
Terri pauses at the door. "I'm just wondering, God -- Tom DeLay, and the Bushes, and Randall Terry, and the people on Fox News, and the people with the signs ... what happens to everyone who tried to exploit my situation for their own benefit?"
"Oh, there's a special level of hell reserved just for them," God says, smiling.
"So there is a hell!" Terri exclaims. "With Satan and everything?"
"Worse. At their level, it's Ann Coulter."
Terri looks at God blankly.
"Trust me. They'll suffer."
They step out of God's office and into the bar. Jimi and Stevie Ray are midway through a scorching version of "Sympathy for the Devil."
Terri smiles, wishing she'd arrived sooner.
Steve Horowitz is a freelance advertising and political writer in Hollywood, Fla. His website is
http://loveamericahatebush.com
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