Cindy Sheehan Goes To Hell, Visits Obama’s Mother

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Dear God,

Usually, when I write you, I bitch, I complain, I whine, I nag, I ask you sarcastic rhetorical questions, and then I mock your existence – sometimes in the same note. Sometimes, when I write you, I figure that you’re not listening to me, and then I cry after hitting “Send.” Other times, I cry as I’m writing you. Oftentimes, I pretend to cry to test you.

On rare occasions like this one, I cry before I write. But, this time, it’s different. This time, I cry not out of my own self-pity and self-absorption. I cry because I can’t stop laughing. Visiting Ann Dunham in hell changed my life. Her magic opened my heart and, oddly enough, tickled my funny bone so hard it still hurts!

First of all, let me be clear. Going to Hell was not my idea. I was left there. Everybody had a hand, literally and metaphorically. It started with my son Casey. Once he left me, then my husband left me, then the media, then the Democratic Party, then the progressives, then the leftists, then the voters of San Francisco…

Now, none of the American peace groups want anything to do with me. My own followers are even too scared to challenge the “Establishment” with me. It’s like the only people of any importance who find me important are Hugo Chavez. It’s only a matter of time before he ignores me like President Obama, too, I’m afraid.

So, there was nowhere else to go but visit Obama’s dead mother in Hell, which was not my idea either. It just happened, as if the universe needed another sowing circle. Ann, though… Ann to my amazement is such a hoot. She not only showed me the cancer that took her life, but she also made it do a little “Snoopy dance” with some demons for me.

Normally, I would post a video and a transcription of the interview a day or two after on my website, but my equipment broke down as I was passing back from Hell to Earth through Limbo. From what I remember, we had a great conversation. She really put things in perspective for me. In fact, Hell is a lot closer to Heaven that I grew up thinking as a Roman Catholic.

You know when you’re not quite awake, and you’re not quite asleep during a nap, and you have enough of a mind to question your own existence in that split second? That’s how close Heaven and Hell are. It’s too bad that I’m not able to even “borrow” Ann in exchange for a meal from Italian Fiesta Pizzeria in Hyde Park. But you know how fickle Satan’s tastes are.

And Ann seemed to be up for it, too, on the condition she could still knit orgasms for midget unicorns. At the time, I said sure, but after seeing the result of my soapbox after flying through Limbo, I’m not so sure it’s possible. It’s probably for the best that I am unable to use her to further my agenda anyway.

Truth is, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I entertained the thought of the “Peace Mom” and “Obama’s Mama” teaming up to fight for World Peace, crush the Empire, and launch hip, new catch-phrases. But after walking around Hell for only one afternoon, I wouldn’t want to threaten the fabric of the space/time continuum by importing to Earth tiny, enchanted one-horned horses that require such specialized sexual pleasure techniques to survive.

Instead, I hope that you at least save the Crawford Texas Peace House from its financial woes. This is my prayer. Besides, it’s not like Ann has nobody to cut her hair in Hell. She’s got UNICORNS!!!

Your Daydream Believer,
Cindy Lee Miller Sheehan