Where is Dickens, now that we need him? Makes one long for good old communist inefficiency, as recounted in this joke from Czechoslovakia some twenty five years ago.
Bush (the elder) dies and goes to ....well.... he doesn't know....he wakes up in a foggy place and starts wondering about looking for direction. At last he runs into someone official looking and he asks him "Where am I? Heaven or Hell?"
"Ah," says the official, "I'm afraid you're in hell. But it's not so bad, you get a choice, you can go to capitalist hell or communist hell."
"I think I'll try capitalist hell first," says Bush. And poufff....the fog clears, and he finds himself in a tidy suburb, with tidy houses, separated by white picket fences. He goes to the first house and knocks on the door. Steps approach, the door opens, and he is greeted by a dapper man, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase.
"Hello there" says Bush, "I'm not quite sure where I am."
"Hello yourself. You're in capitalist hell," replies the man.
"And what's life like here?" asks Bush.
"Well," the man says, "we wake up every morning, slit our wrists, rub a little salt in, and then we work ten hours a day."
"Ah," says Bush. Not so good. He thinks he'll try the other place.....and poufff, the fog descends, then clears, and he finds himself in a small enclave of dilapidated houses surrounded by gardens gone to seed. He goes to the first door and knocks. Nothing. He knocks again. Slow shuffling approach and the door is opened by a raggedy man holding a tin cup.
"What do you want?" asks the man.
"I'd like to know where I am and what it's like here," replies Bush.
"Where do you think you might be? You're in communist hell. We get up in the morning, slit our wrists, rub a little salt in, and then we work ten hours a day."
"Wait a sec," says Bush, "I was just in capitalist hell, and they do the same thing. What the difference?"
"Well, the thing is," says the man, "some days we can find razor blades, other days......."
Joanna