I don’t know if there is an afterlife, but I’ll pass on some versions — including being fanned by 72 virgins or jogging on golden streets.
The former might give me pneumonia, the latter shin splints.
With a few changes, I’d settle for an afterlife here.
For starters, I’d abolish windy days and dust storms.
Everyone could choose their age and environment. My present age would be fine, as long as my front yard faced a warm ocean and my back a snowy mountain.
We’d have the ability to tweak our physical appearance, talents and wake-up times.
Passion for work and hobbies would be our passion play. Instead of earning paychecks working for the man, we’d barter what our passions produced for that of others.
Borders would blur into equally desirable countries. Power-grabbers appealing to clan mentality would gain more appealing mentalities.
The grimace-causing “How’s that hopey-changey thang workin’ out for ya’?” would be exchanged for the more fair and balanced “I hope that we can all work for change together.”
Shades of gray would be the new year-round fashion statement.
My afterlife might even transcend fantasy if politicians everywhere begin ending speeches with the heavenly “God bless Earth.”
Anyone still preferring heaven would be required to raise a little hell — especially toward dogmatists without portfolios.