Osama Bin Laden in Hell

The first thing that happened when Osama Bin Laden got to Hell was he was seated at the same table as Alice in Wonderland and the Fridge-O-Matic Refrigerator Man.

"This is cold," Osama said, but of course it wasn't cold at all because it was Hell.

Alice in Wonderland was singing "Lulu Had A Steamboat" in a droning voice reminiscent of certain patients in asylums who have inadequate minds and must resort to repetitive behavior because that's just about the only kind of behavior they are capable of.

Alice did not have an inadequate mind. This is what she sang:

Lulu had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell;
Lulu went to Heaven, the steamboat went to--
Hello, operator, give me number nine;
If you disconnect me, I will kick you in the--
Behind the door there was a piece of glass;
Lulu sat upon it and scratched her little--
Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies;
This all happened before Little Lulu died.

Alice loved that song ever since she had first heard it sung in Hell in the late 1950's when a group of teenage rebels killed in a drag race accident had arrived in Hell. They didn't go to Hell just because they were drag racing teenage rebels, but also because of a bunch of minor crimes they had committed. In those days it was a lot easier to get into Hell.

Osama Bin Laden was not interested in little girls in starched blue dresses wearing Mary Jane shoes, so he found neither Alice nor her tuneless singing "cute". He was dimly aware that she seemed mentally unbalanced, but since it was Hell he kind of expected to see a lot of that.

However, the other occupant of the table, Ferdinand the Fridge-O-Matic Refrigerator Man, was extremely surprised to find a little girl like Alice in Hell. What could she possibly have done to deserve such a fate? He was unable to ask her because he had no voice. Refrigerators can't talk. Yes, he was a real refrigerator man. He had two big doors that opened and shut, one for the "cool" section and one for the "freezer" section, and he even had a little special compartment in the "cool" door where you could keep your butter. Of course, there was no butter in there now because he was in Hell.

That was the group sitting at the table -- Osama Bin Laden, Alice in Wonderland, and Ferdinand the Fridge-O-Matic Refrigerator Man -- when Donna Jean Hoserunner clumped over on her way-too-tall high heels and pulled out a chair and said, "Do you all mind if I sit down here?"

Ferdinand couldn't talk, Alice was singing, and Osama Bin Laden was speechless.

"I guess y'all don't mind," Donna Jean said. "You know, I have been surprised to find that Hell is not the hateful place I expected. It's more of a... disinterested place, I would say. My boyfriend taught me that word. He's a college professor. I was in his World History class when we started dating. I didn't date him to improve my History grade, although my grade did get a lot better."

Bin Laden spoke with an effort because of the language difference, "I have affected world history myself."

"Have you, darlin'?" Donna Jean said. "That is so cool! I wouldn't even know how to BEGIN to affect world history."

Osama Bin Laden drew himself up to ask, "Have you not heard of the World Trade Center disaster?" but before he could get the first word out, Donna Jean spotted one of her girlfriends and leaped to her feet saying, "Dorothy! Dorothy! I heard about the tornado!" and in an instant she was gone off to another table.

Alice stopped singing for a moment. "Was that lady an American? Americans can be frightfully brusque."

Osama Bin Laden briefly stared at Alice then ignored her. He didn't like to talk to little girls.

Alice blushed a little. She wasn't used to being ignored. She was much more used to being adored. She sighed. "Oh well, I suppose this is Hell and I must get used to it."

Osama Bin Laden stood up and pushed his chair under the table. He looked around at all the other tables, wondering where it might be more congenial to sit, somewhere without little girls and refrigerator men.

A waiter rushed up. "Please, sir. All the seating has been assigned. Do not leave your table. The appetizers are coming."

Osama Bin Laden frowned and walked away.

The waiter spoke into his lapel mike. "Red Fox, this is Green Goose. We have a runner. Table six."

Within seconds a SWAT team burst in and surrounded table six. Far overhead could be heard the sound of helicopters. "Where is he?" said the SWAT Team leader.

The waiter pointed. "He went that way."

"Towards the hills? If he makes it to those caves we might not find him for years."

Alice clutched her hands together. "This is so exciting!"

Ferdinand cycled into cooling mode and the whine of his compressor sounded a little higher-pitched than usual.

"Is that you being excited?" Alice asked. "At my house we had to put blocks of ice into the refrigerator man. Then he would cry all day and the ice would be gone."

Ferdinand decided to make a few ice cubes for the girl to show her that he was her friend.

Meanwhile, Osama Bin Laden was hiding in the kitchen and peeking through the porthole in the swinging doors the waiters used. "Aha!" he thought. "So the SWAT team will search the hills. I'll just stay here. The least obvious hiding place is the one in plain sight."

A waiter came through the door and knocked Osama over. "Sorry, sir!"

Osama was furious. "Watch your step, infidel! May Allah curse you forever!"

The waiter rolled his eyes. "Sir, we are in Hell. Allah cannot hear you."

A chill ran through Osama as he realized the truth of the waiter's remark. In a daze he stumbled back to his table and sat down heavily.

"I thought you ran away," Alice said.

Osama turned sad eyes to her. "There is nowhere to run. What is your name, little girl?"

"Alice."

"And is this big rectangular man your father?"

Alice giggled. "No, that's Ferdinand the Fridge-O-Matic Refrigerator Man!"

"I see. And... and will you two be my companions for all eternity?"

"Not me," Alice said. "I never stay anywhere very long. But Ferdinand isn't going anywhere."

Osama sighed. "I don't suppose you are one of the virgins promised to martyrs?"

"Me?!" Alice said. "Uncle Walt and Lewis would tan my hide if they caught me having sex with an Arab. I would instantly become unmarketable except in certain highly specialized niches."

"What's a niche?" Osama asked.

"I don't know. I used to think it was an existentialist philosopher, but apparently Mrs. Dwardle, my advanced and gifted teacher, had a speech impediment. Do you know what impediment means?"

"No."

"It means you have a difficulty getting your words out."

Osama sighed again. "Well, you seem to have no difficulty getting yours out."

"Oh no. Not at all. I love to get my words out. I could talk all day as long as there is someone to listen. Maybe I won't leave right away because I am very much enjoying our conversation. Aren't you? I thought you were. Do you know what Mrs. Dwardle called that thing you hang socks on to dry?"

Osama's eyes had become heavy but he opened them and saw that Alice was looking at him expectantly.

"Uh... no. What?"

It was warm in the room and Alice's voice had the same droning quality it had when she was singing her little song. Maybe she would sing again. Osama realized it didn't matter whether she did or didn't. Maybe if he was lucky then one day he would become a refrigerator man. Hell might be a pretty nice place to be if you were a refrigerator man.

As if he sensed Osama's thought, Ferdinand burped out an ice cube. But it was for Alice. She picked it up and beamed. "Oh, thank you! You meet such nice people in Hell."