Napoleon - My Fake Diary

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Of course, I'm not alone, although perhaps the first in this region to speak on this matter, that there are ethereal zones where we souls continue in private chambers.

I wouldn't call these zones "heaven" exactly, as the food is dull, reminding me of a prison camp. True, we are officially "dead," but we are also provided with balconies where we can recline and stare down "below," so to speak, at the very brief physical lives taking place on Earth.

Now, on arrival, we're immediately required to attend orientation sessions shown via enormous movie screens with monotone female voices supposed to be "angels." They at least clarify why certain of us were destined to lead the general rabble. Since my time, there has been some decline in the standard for leading . . .

But I won't carp. There has also been some comfort in forthcoming companions transiting from Earth to here - we meet weekly for card games and billiards - and I have watched most of them in their sublunary lives from my balcony for some time.

Most impressive were the would-be world emperors (although they prefer "world dominators" as phrasing), who, on arriving here, are always interested in cultivating my friendship.

Most of them are derived from the ranks of corporations. Their greatest amusement, which they never speak of, but allude to with winks and nods and various facial expressions, is their confidence they control the world, and are, hence, more powerful, each, than previous suitors to this self-designated throne.

From this quest, they invariably assume a mock humility and pretend righteous good works for humanity. I speak knowledgeably, having been one of them. I'm The Chairman up here of this group, and always have been. And, of course, one by one they try to oust me.

But enough now, they weary me. It was also not amusing recently to find in size 4 font, on a hinge for my bedroom door Lot #14 Lower Bowels Hades.