I try to get 10-12 hours of good solid sleep a night, plus one or two naps during the day, it is what keeps me so fresh and happy. As you can imagine, if you were in the midst of a deep sleep and your phone rang, with the ring tone from Purgatory, and the screen image being an old black and white picture of my mother, in a one piece bathing suit from the 40’s, looking like a completely different woman that the one I knew, but this one, black and white, stunning in that classic ‘40’s sort of pose, you answer the call.
I pressed the power button and said hello.
“Matthew?”
She has been dead for over 6 years now, and before that, my mother for at least two decades, possibly longer if you have access to my birth certificate, and yet, always with the formal first name. I, of course, have also been trained, Pavlovian style, with just as many years of constant nagging, mixed with belittling and some well placed neurotic jujitsu that only a Jewish mother seems to know how to apply.
“Yes mother. How is Purgatory?”
“I’m actually not sure I’m still in Purgatory, I think I may have progressed right to hell.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Hell is a lot like a summer in Pittsburgh, without the losing baseball team.”
“Oh, you so funny.”
“Was that a bad Asian accent?”
“I’m working on a number of accents.”
“Good for you. I worry that you are just loafing around and wasting your life.”
“I suppose you called to give me stock tips?”
“Did you buy Apple like I told you to?”
“You said Steve Jobs would died years ago, he died last year. Great call.”
“He was on the list. You have Steve Jobs money, you get to buy extra time on the outside.”
“Is that how it works?”
“How do you think Warren Buffett remains up there?”
“So, hell, how is it?”
“Saddam says hello.”
“Seriously? Saddam Hussein is there?”
“No, I was kidding. He’s in Mormon hell.”
“Only recently did I find out that there was an actual Mormon Hell. A candidate running for president up here in Normal Land used some curse.”
“Ishkabibble?”
“Oh, you know about the Mormon Ishkabibble chant that sends people to Mormon Hell?”
“Saddam told me about it. Well, Saddam heard about it Osama.”
“Wait, Osama Bin Laden went to Mormon hell?”
“Makes sense right? I mean, if you want 73 wives, you just have to have Mormons involved.”
“Ouch.”
“Anyway, I guess one of the Seal Team 6 members was a Mormon, so he kept doing that cute little chant and Bam, Osama is down there with Saddam.”
“How about Hitler?”
“No, he’s over at the Jewish Center right now.”
“No shit.”
“Everyone gets their own little hell.”
“So, Mitt Romney Ishkabibbled me a bunch of times, am I going to Mormon Hell?”
“Maybe, depends on when you die. Maybe though. Certainly you are going to hell. I asked around.”
“Who did you ask? You can’t have a lot of friends in hell.”
“No, but I was in the slop line, waiting for my bloody finger soup, which was cold and over spiced, as usual, and I turned to Mother Teresa and I said, is my son Matthew going to end up here too? She just smiled, you know how she is, but I figured, if anyone knows, she would know.”
“Good enough for me. So, how’s dad?”
“He’s not here, imagine that, you father leaving me, again.”
“He’s in heaven?”
“I guess. They don’t talk about heaven here. There is Mormon hell, there’s regular hell, there is non-believer hell and then there is that Special Hell for televangalists, pedophiles, TV morning show hosts and someone named Beth Libitard.”
“Did you say Beth Libitard?”
“You know her?”
“Yeah, she’s my lesbian attorney.”
“Well, that’s strange. You hardly ever see a lesbian in hell. They most certainly never go to Mormon Hell and there is not a single lesbian in Special Hell. Wait, did you say she was an attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, then all bets are off.”
“So, you called to discuss the benefits of hell?”
“No, I’m calling about the presidential election.”
“Which is our countries version of hell.”
“Oh, look how funny you are all of a sudden.”
“Yes, it’s a Jewish thing.”
“Oh, so now you’re a proud Jew? Too late.”
“Election, get on track. You called?”
“Yes, do everything you can to make sure Mitch Romney gets elected.”
“Mitch?”
“Mitch?”
“His name is Mitt mom, not Mitch.”
“I’m in hell, I could care less. Don’t make me Ishkabibble your ass son.”
“Whatever.”
“Ishkabibble. Anyway, I worry about the United States and Newt Romney is a dangerous whack job.”
“Newt Gingrich, Mom, Mitt Romney is one candidate, Newt Gingrich is another.”
“Which one is the pudgy, multi-married, disgraced former speaker, who seems to have a thing for threesomes?”
“That would be Gingrich.”
“Yes, I like him.”
“OK, so the Hell vote is pushing Gingrich?”
“I don’t speak for everyone in hell smart ass. No, the latest polling in hell has Romney in the lead.”
“Wait, they have polling in hell?”
“Sure, the entire Gallup Organization is located here.”
“Not surprising really.”
“Nielsen Families are all here too. Plus, Focus on the Family has their corporate offices right off the Hell business park.”
“Not surprised at all.”
“Wal-Mart Corporate offices just started construction on a new art museum.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, and Mitt Romney has been sheltering well over 17 million dollars in an account here in Hell, plus rumor has it he has another 17 million in Mormon Hell.”
“Mom, have you been drinking?”
“They don’t allow drinking in hell honey.”
“That was neither a yes or no answer.”
“Well, Mother Teresa and I do have a thing for wine.”
The line began to buzz, as do phone connections from hell do from time to time and then it went dead, which is not a word people in hell mind hearing at all.
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