Pithead Ballot

Good ol’ Normo Tebbs. Bless him. Such an innocent lamb. Heard him last night on the radio reacting to the visit of the now-released Brighton bomber to the Houses of Parliament. Cracking stuff. All about how he hopes there is a Hell so that the bombers can suffer the worst punishments in the lowest pits of all. Classic! I love the way he thinks his Earthly snobbery is going to be continued into the afterlife. Those dirty working-class terrorists are going to be at the bottom of the nastiest, grungiest dungeon, whereas my mate, the Devil, is going to have a Lake-of-Fire-side penthouse apartment ready for me on the upper levels, where I can look down on you in your pain and grin. Really, Normo? Is that what you think? That’s what it’s going to be, then? Listen, sweetheart, Lord Satan is going to sort out your ironically-appropriate torment soon enough, straight after you check in. Quite frankly, at your age, I wouldn’t go putting any ideas into his head. If the Dark Prince knows you don’t want to be near any Irish terror-merchants, where’s the first place he’ll put you? You’re not so naive as to imagine he’s going to reward you for being such a good servant of his up here, do you? Sorry, Norm, but it just doesn’t work that way. Read the instruction manual again. They’ve got their own class system down there. See, unless you’re one of the original angels who fought with him against God, then... Sorry? What’s that, Norm? You’re not going to Hell? You’re going to be up in Heaven, with the Baby Jesus? No, it’s okay. I am still listening. It’s just that you’ll have to excuse me because I think I’ve just given myself a hernia laughing...