St. Peter: Good morning, how may I help you?Achmed: I'd like to be admitted into Heaven. St. Peter: Name, please? Achmed: Achmed Mamoud. St. Peter: Mamoud, Mamoud... Ah, here we go. "Died in a car accident". That must've been dreadful. Achmed: Not really. St. Peter: Ah, yes, quite, I see. Hm. You will be expecting seventy two virgins, then. Achmed: I thought it was part of the deal, yes. St. Peter: You need to sign here. And here. And here. Note that the virgins are officialy 'on lease' and are provided by Heaven on an as-is and need-to-know basis. Achmed: What do you mean, need to know? St. Peter: You don't need to know. Achmed: Ah. St. Peter: Right. I'll walk with you, it's only a short walk from here, and it's been a slow morning. I could use the exercise. Achmed: Where are the lines? St. Peter: No lines here. Maybe downstairs. Turn a left here.

(They walk in silence.)

St. Peter: So, interesting job then, being a terrorist? Achmed: I suppose. Not many future prospects and all that. We tend to live in the moment. St. Peter: So, were you, err, educated? Achmed: Yes, we have a Suicidal Terrorist Training Center. St. Peter: Nice place, is it? Achmed: It used to be. St. Peter: What happened? Achmed: New guy. St. Peter: Ah. Achmed: Tried to practice. St. Peter: I see. What did you learn from that? Achmed: Location, location, location. St. Peter: We're quite close now. Just a few more minutes. Achmed: I'm looking forward to it. St. Peter: Don't. In fact, most of 'em have no idea how to please a man. Trust me, I know, I get all the rejects. Achmed: What kind of reward is that? St. Peter: Well, they're virgins. Achmed: I never thought about it like that before. St. Peter: Being dead tends to put things into a new perspective. Achmed: Why is this such a long walk, anyway? It's Heaven. St. Peter: And in order for it to stay Heaven, we don't need no Ferraris filthying up the place with their exhaust pipes and helium afterburners. So, we walk. Besides, it's good for the heart. Achmed: I'm dead. St. Peter: Don't be insensitive. Anyway, here we are.

(They enter a small, dark room. Seventy two confused, elderly men with waspy beards stare in their direction.)

Achmed: What are these? St. Peter: Your virgins. Achmed: They're men! St. Peter: Yes. Achmed: What about the women? St. Peter: Don't be gullible. Achmed: But... this is not what I wanted! St. Peter: This is not, I feel, our fault. Achmed: Can't you do something? St. Peter: Well, there's always Hell. They have women. Achmed: I'd like them! St. Peter (Carefully considering): No, not these women.

(Suddenly, a red Ferrari cruises by at record speeds)

Achmed: I thought you said 'no cars allowed'! St. Peter: Boss's son. What's a guy to do, y'know? Achmed: I don't like this place! St. Peter: Maybe you should've considered not blowing yourself up, then! Achmed: I want to go back! St. Peter: You can't. Your only hope is now for the mercy of Hell. Achmed: What? St. Peter: Just our little joke. Goodbye, mister Mamoud. [tags]heaven, hell, virgins[/tags]