Eternal Bureaucracy
“Name.”
“Huh?”
“What are you, deaf? Give me your name.”
“I..uh..why don’t I remember?”
“Because you’re stupid, mostly. But also because you’re dead. Think harder.”
“I’m dead? Oh god, oh Jesus, oh shit, oh god…”
“None of those are going to help you now. Let me get you started. Your name is Krisstupher, spelled the most pretentious way you could imagine. Now listen. I’m here to process you.”
“P…process me?”
“Big word, I know. Yes, process. There’s only one thing that’s certain in life and death — bureaucracy.”
“But…how did I die?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you? You were coming back to work from a mid-day drink, as usual. You slapped the nearest woman’s ass and kept walking. When she yelled, you turned around and walked backwards, winking at her like a hotshot, and strolled right into the street, smack between a parked bus and a dump truck going about 20 over the limit. You really should’ve seen it, Kriss. It was like watching Picasso paint. Or Leonardo. Or whatever Ninja Turtle paints, I don’t know. Your body erupted into a puff of fine, red mist. A spatula peeled away the only identifiable remains off the truck’s bumper. The forensics officer projectile vomited in her mask. They had to fight off the rats with shovels, Kriss. A cacophony of fluids and shards. It was beautiful.”
“What the FUCK!?”
“Setting it up wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. You were a giant asshole to everyone and nearly ruined your family’s company and livelihood. I’m usually neutral, but this was well-deserved. I’m just about done with the paperwork, please bear with me.”
“Paperwork? What the hell is this, some kind of prank? Am I being Punk’d?”
“Do I look like Ashton Kutcher? Thank you, but no, Kriss, you’re not being Punk’d, you early 2000s asshole. Someone paid dearly for your fate, and SkulkAfterlife takes its business very seriously. Some might even say we’re DEAD serious, haha.”
“Listen, if someone paid for this, I’ll pay double. No, triple. No, QUADRUPLE. NO, FIVETUPLE. WHATEVER IT TAKES, MAN, JUST LET ME GO!”
“We don’t transact in money, Kriss. We go deeper than that. Bitcoin, at least.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“…fine, no humour I guess. And since you’re too stupid to get the hint, someone gave their eternal existence, their forever fate, their beyond-earth body…their soul, Kriss. Someone sold their soul to have you killed and processed in our Platinum Package.”
“Platinum…what??”
“You get the VIP treatment, Kriss. You have a customized death, and dedicated spot, visible for all to see, where you will face unspeakable pain for the rest of eternity at the hands of the person who paid for it.”
“WHO?! WHO WAS IT?! I WON’T LET THIS HAPPEN! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS?!”
“Yes, I do. Kriss, your father was the one who ordered this. Have fun, and don’t forget to rate us on Yelp!”
