So Obama Is Walking Down the Street When Suddenly…
While
walking down Pennsylvania Avenue one fine afternoon on his way back to
the White House to sign executive orders banning certain types of
ammunition and edible school lunches, President
Barack Obama is tragically hit by a Prius and dies.
His soul arrives in heaven and he’s met by St. Peter at the
Pearly Gates.
“Welcome to Heaven, Mr.
Obama,” St. Peter says. “Before you settle in, it
seems there’s a problem. We seldom see an American head of state
around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with
you.”
“No problem, just let me in,” Obama tells St. Peter.
“If only it were that easy, Mr. Obama,” St. Peter
clucks. “I’d like to, I really would — but I
have orders from higher-ups. What we’re going to do is spend
one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you can choose where you
spend your eternity.”
“Excuse me, St. Peter,” Obama
says. “I’m pretty sure I would prefer Heaven, and
I’m pretty sure I deserve Heaven.
I was the first African-American president, and I saved America through
hope, change, transparency … ”
“Look, we all make mistak–”
“Or how about Jonathan
Gruber?”
“WE
ALL MAKE MISTAKES, OKAY?!”
St. Peter sighed. “Well, regardless. I’m sorry, Mr. Obama,
but rules are rules.” With that, he escorts Obama to the elevator
to go down in to the depths of Avernus.
The doors open and Obama finds himself in the middle of his favorite
golf course. In the distance is a club and in front of it are Frank
Marshall Davis, Lyndon Baines Johnson and many of his Chicago
compatriots who had passed on.
Furthermore, on the lawn chairs outside of the club, there were signs
hung on the back that said the seats were reserved for several of his
closest friends and allies, including Susan Rice, Bill Ayers and Rahm
Emmanuel.
Everyone greets the deceased president and tells him what a wonderful
job he did. Then, all of the Democrats begin talking about the great
times they had getting rich off of those who voted for them.
The Devil comes by to meet Obama and orders lobster and caviar for
everyone. They have a great time telling jokes and whiling away the
hours drinking champagne. Finally, it’s time to go back up to
Heaven.
St. Peter dropped Obama off in paradise, where he spends a good, if
uneventful 24 hours strumming harps and spinning tales with Ronald
Reagan and Abraham Lincoln on clouds. It’s fun, but not
nearly as much his time in Hell.
When St. Peter comes back, he tells the president, “Well, there
you have it. 24 hours in Hell, and 24 hours in Heaven. What’ll it
be?”
“I know this sounds crazy,” Obama tells St. Peter.
“However, it seems like Hell is better. I think I’ll go
there.”
“As you wish,” St. Peter says. He sends him down on the
elevator, and suddenly, he finds himself in the middle of a barren,
scorched desert, covered in detritus and human waste. He sees everyone
he was laughing with yesterday, dressed in rags and picking up trash in
vain.
The Devil comes over to Obama and hands him a bag. “Get working,
ye fool!” Satan says.
“I … I don’t get it,” Obama stammers.
“Yesterday we
were golfing and having a great time. What happened?”
The Devil lowers his head and clucks. “Silly Obama. You of all
people should understand. Yesterday we were campaigning. Today, you
voted for us!” (H/T The Federalist Papers Project)
Originally posted on 
Originally posted on 
