St Peter said, “I’d like to let you in, but God says you’ve got to choose between Hell and Heaven.” He took Boris to the elevator. Down there he met thousands of friends. They hugged him and reminisced about the good old days. The Devil came across offering a single malt.
“I don’t drink. I’m watching my weight,”
“This is Hell, Boris: you can do what you want and you won’t won’t put on an ounce.”
The day finished and everyone gave him hugs and waved as Boris stepped on the elevator and headed Heavenwards. The next day he chilled out with saints. St. Peter returned, “Well you’ve sampled Heaven and Hell. Now choose.”
Johnson reflected. “Well, I think I belong in Hell.” And with that he returned to Hell. The doors of the elevator opened and Boris saw his friends, groaning in pain and blackened with grime.
“I don’t understand. Yesterday we ate lobster and caviar washed down with cocktails.”
The Devil whispered: “Yesterday we were campaigning.”