A Masochist's Heaven
One morning, I woke up to find myself lying in a bathtub full of my own blood. Pleasant, eh? Actually, it was pretty nice, mainly because I'm quite the masochist. So I'm floating there above my body, and Death hops in. Lemme tell ya, all that "long cloak and scythe" stuff is bull. Death wears a Hawaiian shirt, sandals, shorts, and sunglasses.
"Good day," says Death to myself. "Of course, you're dead, so how good can it be? Let's see..." Death flips through a sheaf of papers. "Ah. You're going to heaven, my man! Enjoy!"
"But I don't want to go to Heaven! I'm a masochist!" I scream as I'm drawn up through the ceiling toward the clouds...
Later...
"Well, sir," says St. Peter, "I'm afraid we can't just kick you down to hell, you've been too good in your life to allow that."
"But I don't want to be here!" I emphasize. "I want to burn! I like pain!"
"Sorry, sir, but I can't help you."
I decide to go back to my heavenly apartment and sulk. The bed's too soft for me, though. Everything's too comfortable.
Maybe I can do something to get kicked out of here...