Bob Barker, the legend himself, who made spinning a gigantic wheel seem like a rational life choice, has finally stepped off the earthly stage. Guess where he ended up? That’s right—Heaven! But don’t pop the champagne just yet; eternal bliss comes with a price tag, and Bob ain’t buying it.
“Welcome to Heaven, Bob,” God exclaimed as the pearly gates swung open, revealing streets of gold and angels breakdancing on clouds. “The Price is Eternity!“
“Whoa, slow down, big man,” retorted Bob, his eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me my eternal happiness is gonna cost me? After I’ve been telling people to spay and neuter their pets for decades?“
In case you were wondering, God has a sense of humor. The Almighty chuckled, saying, “No, Bob, your soul’s already secured a VIP pass. But the pets you helped neuter? They’ve formed a union. They’re demanding reparations.“
Dr. Felicia Whiskerstein, a celestial veterinarian, weighed in on the matter. “It’s a feline revolution up here. They’re organizing, coordinating, and they’ve got banners. You’d think it’s the Meow March on Washington.“
Bob sighed, “Well, I guess I had it coming. What’s their going rate?“
God pulled out an iPad—yes, Heaven is Team Apple—and scrolled. “Two heavenly catnip plants and an apology tour across the seven layers of kitty Heaven.“
“Deal!” Bob agreed, ever the negotiator. “But I want an exclusive interview with Grumpy Cat. I heard he’s hilarious in purr-son.“
“You got it,” God affirmed, sealing the deal with a divine fist bump.
I know what you’re thinking: ‘Where’s the controversy?’ Well, brace yourselves—Bob Barker refuses to accept Heaven’s no-swearing policy.
“Oh, come on!” Barker shouted, clearly irked. “You’re telling me I can’t drop an F-bomb in the ultimate paradise? What is this, a monastery?“
Archangel Michael, Heaven’s Chief Security Officer, was adamant. “We’re sticking to our guns, Bob. If you’re not comfortable with it, Hell’s got a lenient language policy.“
“Ha! You think a few four-letter words are gonna send me to the underworld? I’ve survived decades in showbiz, pal. I’ve heard worse from toddlers.“
Sarah Silverman, the afterlife’s resident stand-up comedian, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Dude, even George Carlin had to zip it. Adapt or become part of the ‘Seven Words You Can’t Say in Heaven’ routine.”
Bob huffed. “Fine, I’ll play by the rules. But I want my own game show here. Something like, ‘Guess the Heavenly Price.’“
God grinned, “Already in the works, Bob. Contestants will wager their heavenly merits. Winner gets a front-row seat at the Last Supper—Unplugged.“
There you have it. Bob Barker may have left our mortal coil, but he’s shaking things up in the afterlife, one heavenly bargain at a time. Remember, the next time you neuter a pet, you might be negotiating with its ghost in eternity. And trust me, those furballs hold a grudge.
