Theos-Talk Archives (February 1997 Message tl00271)

Oh Thoa,

You shouldn't have started those Bill Gates jokes ...

Bill Gates died in a car accident.  He immediately found himself in
purgatory, being sized up by St. Peter.

"Well, Bill, I'm really confused on this call; I'm not sure whether to send
you to Heaven or Hell. After all, you enormously helped society by putting a
computer in almost every home in America, yet you also created that ghastly
Windows '95. I'm going to do something I've never done before. In your case,
I'm going to let you decide where you want to go."

Bill replied, "Well, what's the difference between the two?"

St. Peter said, "I'm willing to let you visit both places briefly, if it will
help your decision."

"Fine, but where should I go first?"

"I'll leave that up to you."

"Okay then," said Bill.  "Let's try Hell first."

So Bill went to Hell.  It was a beautiful, clean, sandy beach with clear
waters and lots of bikini-clad women running around, playing in the water,
laughing and frolicking about. The sun was shining; the temperature perfect.
He was very pleased.

"This is great!" he told St. Peter. "If this is hell, I REALLY want to see
heaven!"

"Fine," said St. Peter, and off they went.

Heaven was a place high in the clouds, with angels drifting about, playing
harps and singing. It was nice, but not as enticing as Hell.

Bill thought for a quick minute, and rendered his decision.

"Hmmm. I think I'd prefer Hell," he told St. Peter.

"Fine," retorted St. Peter, "as you desire."

So Bill Gates went to Hell.

Two weeks later, St. Peter decided to check on the late billionaire to see
how he was doing in Hell.  When he got there, he found Bill, shackled  to a
wall screaming amongst hot flames in dark caves, being burned and tortured
by demons.

"How's everything going?" he asked Bill.

Bill responded, with his voice filled with anguish and disappointment,
"This is awful! This is nothing like the Hell I visited two weeks ago!  I
can't believe this is happening!  What happened to that other place, with
the beautiful beaches, the scantily-clad women playing in the water?!???"

"That was a demo," replied St. Peter.

==========

And while we're at it, you shouldn't have started the lawyer jokes either ...

A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop in San Francisco's
Chinatown. Picking through the objects on display he discovers a detailed,
life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and
unique that he picks it up and asks the shop owner what it costs.

"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand
dollars more for the story behind it."

"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, "but I'll take the rat."

The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat
under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats
emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him.

Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every
time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him.

By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels,
and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, soon breaking into
a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and
abandoned cars.  Rats by the thousands nip at his heels, as he begins to run
faster and faster.  Suddenly, just in front of him he sees the waterfront at
the bottom of the hill, panicking, he starts to run full tilt. No matter how
fast he runs, the rats are at his heels, squealing hideously, now not just
thousands but tens of thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands, so that
by the time he comes rushing up to the water's edge a trail of rats twelve
city blocks long is trailing him.

Taking a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a light post, grasping it with one arm
as he hurls the bronze rat statue into San Francisco Bay with the other,
tumbling off into the water as far as he can heave it.

Pulling his legs up and clinging to the light post, he watches in
amazement as the seething tide of squealing rats surges over the
breakwater and into the sea, drowning in a whirlpool of infestation.
Shaken and mumbling in bewilderment, he makes his way back to the
antique shop.

"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.

"No," says the tourist, "I was wondering if you have a bronze lawyer."

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