Jesse Helms, that original raconteur, southern gentleman, and the perpetually-obsessed with gay pornographic art darling of the Republican party has joined his fellow pasty white overweight, slightly effeminate–and perhaps just a bit gay–conservatives in that bastion of conservationism called Heaven. And he will be spending eternity dancing away in that trendy nightclub, denouncing erotic art, pulling chairs out from ballerinas, breaking little children’s hearts by smashing their school-funding provided musical instruments, and generally being a bellicose bitch to everyone else in the club. And just like the eponymous nightclub in a trendy part of London I am sure he frequented, albeit incognito, eventually he will be bounced for just pissing off one too many artsy types.

Right now, I am sure he is fingering Michelangelo, accusing him of perversion for painting too many way too hot men in the buff. And I am sure he is searching down the original David to give him a piece of his mind. Yes, I can just see the exchange now, Jessie bent over an original casting of The Thinker, pants hiked down around his ankles, and taking it up the old Hershey Highway, while forcing teenage boys to watch, lest they become tempted by such recreation.

And then it will be off to the salon, where Jessie will find such sinners as Bessie Smith and Robert Maplethorpe. He might even reach out to Aristotle and Plato, and ask to be shown the many meanings of love. I can just hear his oral treatise of the matter. And although some may have accused him of being too anal about his crusades, many in Heaven will find the only way to stop him is to beat him into submission. Oh, Yes! Beat him, again, again, and again! Just don’t forget the safety word. Mizrahi!

Yes, Heaven will be a much richer place for Jesse Helms. I just hope he remembers to clean up all that Santorum.

Jesse Helms, totally dead, at age 86.