Ralph

So here's another little play, a skit, an appetizer, an amusement. A foible, folly, flight of fancy, RALPH REED MEETS HIS MAKER. Picture Ralph, and God, cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown. "So I made it, Lord, I knew I would," says Ralph. "Not so fast, Ralph," says God. "I've got a couple hundred thousand assorted Muslims up here early and it's on your account, because you did that thing you do so well, too well, in 2000. You were working for the wrong guy there, Ralph, and I don't mean what's his boots, who won the election, or whatever.

I mean the guy with the little horns. Ya'll did a lot of damage. So here's the deal. You can stay, and wait on all those folks for eternity, those Muslims. Turns out they're big into margaritas and daiquiris, up here. They love them. You get a cute little outfit. Not a bad gig, Ralph, I assure you. But, you know, the last will be first and all that. I, too, have promises to keep."

"So, Lord," says Ralph, "I get to be cabana boy to a bunch of heathen? Forever?" "Yes, Ralph. Not quite the way I would put it, but yes. Or you can go to the other place. Your choice," says the Lord. And, as the lights dim, Ralph stands there, stupefied.