The road to Hell

The road to Hell, it is said, is paved with good intentions.

That is of course utter twaddle, if you'll excuse my French-Canadian.

The road to Hell is paved with tequila shots, late nights, caramel popcorn, mojitos, tattoos, dope, swearing, Doritos, premarital and recreational sex, fart-smelling, banoffee pie, sick jokes and, most importantly, chocolate. For these are the things one ought not engage in or consume to any pleasurable degree, if the Church were to have its way.

But if the alternative is an eternity spent sitting on a cloud playing a harp and singing Hallelujah, I know which road I'd rather travel down. I'm sure the parties are livelier in Hell anyway, whereas I imagine it's wall-to-wall Rick Astley and Cliff Richard in Heaven.

I've never understood religion, not least since most of them tend to believe the best way to serve their all-loving deity is to suppress, abduct, forcibly convert, maim or kill anyone who does not share their particular brand of the variation on the same theme. So my chances of landing in one of their promised after-life celestial kingdoms are pretty slim at best.

I may not have a choice. Having been been christened as a Protestant, the Catholic Church says I'm going to Hell by default. As an atheist, the Protestant Church says I'm going down. As a non-Muslim, the Islamic faith says I'm headed straight for the fiery pits. Jews believe the same thing about gentiles. And Buddhists? Well, those chaps probably think I'll be reincarnated as a slug.

So I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. And you know what? I'll be damned if I'm going to Heaven.

As those nice boys from AC/DC put it so charmingly: "Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do. Goin' down, party time. My friends are gonna be there too. I'm on the highway to Hell."

See you down there!

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