Ted faces the Death Panel

This post is not compassionate or respectful. Consider yourself warned. Hopefully Ted offered up a genuine heartfelt repentance on his deathbed last night. But we have no way of knowing if he did. Andrew Breitbart's tweets (as collected on iOTW.com) summed up my attitude nicely, which is why I have no qualms about writing this.
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[Ted, disoriented, examining his surroundings] "Wow! My head hurts, I'm naked and I'm in handcuffs. That must've been one heluva party! Woohoo! Hopefully I'll remember more once the hangover passes!]

[security demon] "Ted, this time you're not in the drunk tank. You are dead. Soon you will face the Death Panel."

[Ted] "Death Panel? That's just a lie fabricated by that non-Ivy League hockey mom."

[security demon] "You're partially correct. What Sarah Palin calls a death panel might be more accurately called 'a bunch of bored bureaucrats dryly referring to charts and tables to see whether you'll get a treatment.' But you are dead. You will soon face the real Death Panel."

[bailiff demon] "All rise!"

[assembled crowd stands]

[Satan, Baalzebub, Mephistopheles enter] [Satan] "Be seated"

[assembled crowd is seated]

[Satan] "Mr. Senator, do you prefer 'regular' or 'extra crispy'?"

[Ted] "Wait a sec! My parents took me to church a few times when I was a kid. Between bootlegging runs. I even went to Sunday School once. I don't belong here!"

[Satan, mockingly] "Blah... blah... blah... A few minutes of childhood pew-warming mean nothing."

[Ted, defiant] "I am a Kennedy! I am not subject to laws and regulations! Release me, NOW!"

[Satan] "Senator, answer the question! Regular or extra-crispy!"

[Ted] "Regular, I suppose."

[Satan and cohorts huddle up and whisper to each other, then hand bailiff a note]

[bailiff demon, reading] "The Death Panel has reached a verdict. Extra-crispy!!"

[Ted] "But I said 'regular'!"

[Baalzebub] "Yeah, well, guess what. We don't care. We're just like the liberals on earth who don't care what their constituents say. We just ram through whatever policies we feel like."

[Ted] "But that's not fair!"

[Mephistopheles] "Ha! I know! Ain't it great!?!"

[Satan] "But Ted, you've done more than most to further our agenda. So we'll show you some mercy." [Tosses Ted a small "sample size" tube of sunscreen] "That's SPF 9-trillion. What you apply that to will be safe from the sulfurous flames. Too bad you're so stinking fat that it won't cover very much of you."

[Ted begins to apply contents of tube to his bulbous red nose] "Whuu? Gaah! It burns!"

[Mephistopheles] "Ha-ha! Gotcha! That's actually battery acid mixed with habañero sauce. We like to give our tortures pleasant-sounding names. It kind of adds a little to our enjoyment of your misery. Not unlike how dems call cutting up babies 'choice' or calling gov't-run waiting lines for medicine the 'public option.' And we really like the card-check union-goon 'employee free choice act' one you guys tried to pull. That was, like, straight out of our playbook."

Satan pulls a lever which opens a trapdoor beneath Ted's feet. Ted plummets out of sight.

[Satan] "The Death Panel is adjourned"