Charlie Kirk opens his eyes in the afterlife, and finds himself staring at an eleven-foot tall, horned being with a flaming pitchfork. The imp looks at him passively.
IMP: Charlie, your first impaling will begin shortly. I’m on the phone. (Chuckles at screen) Lot of great memes about you today.
CHARLIE KIRK: Oh, no you don’t. There’s been some kind of mistake. I belong in Heaven. I’ve always been a great Christian. Although I was a great warrior, too, so I’ll settle for Valhalla. But I don’t belong in Hell. I demand to talk to St. Peter.
IMP: I’ll do you one better. (Opens interdimensional portal, reveals JESUS sitting on his throne)
JESUS: (Grouchily) Me Christ, couldn’t you have just Facetimed Me? Oh, Charlie Kirk. Good to see you in Hell. You getting shot wasn’t very convenient for Me. Do you see these thoughts and prayers piling up in front of My throne? They’re all about you. My eternal Roomba is having trouble sucking all of them up and disposing of them. It’s making some Me-awful noises.
CHARLIE KIRK: Couldn’t You just answer them, oh Lord, and let me into Heaven? (eyes pitchfork apprehensively)
JESUS: You talked about Me a lot, Charlie. I’ll give you credit for that. But we’re talking eternal politics here, and letting you into Heaven would complicate them a bit. You see, I’m white, and My Dad is white, but My Mother is from the Middle East, and while her skin is divinely beautiful, you and your buds wouldn’t call it white. So, when you made that crack about being nervous flying around in a plane piloted by a black woman, She got a little upset. ‘I’ll fly a jet straight up his ass first chance I get!’ That was an exact quote. Also, all the dead schoolkids from those mass shootings you said were necessary to protect your Second Amendment rights annoy her. I keep telling her, “Mom, they’re just kids,” when they run screeching and tumbling down the Streets of Gold, messing up chariot traffic, but when the only Kid you’ve ever had is Perfect, you tend to be intolerant of other people’s children.
CHARLIE KIRK: But what about all the people I’ve inspired? All the stadiums that held a moment of silence for me? What about my posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom?
IMP: Oh, we have plans for that. We’re going to weld it to your chest with Satan’s Soldering Iron, which uses a uniquely hellish solder that never cools off, just like we did Rush Limbaugh’s. He never quits moaning about how sorry he is he ever got one.
CHARLIE KIRK: Rush? Rush is here? He was my hero. He inspired my career.
IMP: Sure, he did. You can thank him for that, once Satan lets him play through on the Fairway of Perpetual Hooks, Slices and Demon Caddies Who Stab You When You’re Lining Up A Putt. Whudya think? Rallying an army of dim-witted slobs into an angry mob is what Jesus wanted?
JESUS: Hint—NO. And neither is convincing a bunch of socially inept college boys that the reason they can’t get laid is because of socialism.
CHARLIE KIRK: So that’s it? I’m condemned to eternal torture?
IMP: Not just that. We do take requests from the Other Side occasionally. (Speaks into phone) Is that jet cleared for takeoff? Good. Charlie, I want you to grab your ankles for me.
IMP: Charlie, your first impaling will begin shortly. I’m on the phone. (Chuckles at screen) Lot of great memes about you today.
CHARLIE KIRK: Oh, no you don’t. There’s been some kind of mistake. I belong in Heaven. I’ve always been a great Christian. Although I was a great warrior, too, so I’ll settle for Valhalla. But I don’t belong in Hell. I demand to talk to St. Peter.
IMP: I’ll do you one better. (Opens interdimensional portal, reveals JESUS sitting on his throne)
JESUS: (Grouchily) Me Christ, couldn’t you have just Facetimed Me? Oh, Charlie Kirk. Good to see you in Hell. You getting shot wasn’t very convenient for Me. Do you see these thoughts and prayers piling up in front of My throne? They’re all about you. My eternal Roomba is having trouble sucking all of them up and disposing of them. It’s making some Me-awful noises.
CHARLIE KIRK: Couldn’t You just answer them, oh Lord, and let me into Heaven? (eyes pitchfork apprehensively)
JESUS: You talked about Me a lot, Charlie. I’ll give you credit for that. But we’re talking eternal politics here, and letting you into Heaven would complicate them a bit. You see, I’m white, and My Dad is white, but My Mother is from the Middle East, and while her skin is divinely beautiful, you and your buds wouldn’t call it white. So, when you made that crack about being nervous flying around in a plane piloted by a black woman, She got a little upset. ‘I’ll fly a jet straight up his ass first chance I get!’ That was an exact quote. Also, all the dead schoolkids from those mass shootings you said were necessary to protect your Second Amendment rights annoy her. I keep telling her, “Mom, they’re just kids,” when they run screeching and tumbling down the Streets of Gold, messing up chariot traffic, but when the only Kid you’ve ever had is Perfect, you tend to be intolerant of other people’s children.
CHARLIE KIRK: But what about all the people I’ve inspired? All the stadiums that held a moment of silence for me? What about my posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom?
IMP: Oh, we have plans for that. We’re going to weld it to your chest with Satan’s Soldering Iron, which uses a uniquely hellish solder that never cools off, just like we did Rush Limbaugh’s. He never quits moaning about how sorry he is he ever got one.
CHARLIE KIRK: Rush? Rush is here? He was my hero. He inspired my career.
IMP: Sure, he did. You can thank him for that, once Satan lets him play through on the Fairway of Perpetual Hooks, Slices and Demon Caddies Who Stab You When You’re Lining Up A Putt. Whudya think? Rallying an army of dim-witted slobs into an angry mob is what Jesus wanted?
JESUS: Hint—NO. And neither is convincing a bunch of socially inept college boys that the reason they can’t get laid is because of socialism.
CHARLIE KIRK: So that’s it? I’m condemned to eternal torture?
IMP: Not just that. We do take requests from the Other Side occasionally. (Speaks into phone) Is that jet cleared for takeoff? Good. Charlie, I want you to grab your ankles for me.
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