Light at the end of the tunnel
I'll cut to the chase. The tunnel was too long and the light was not bright enough.
When I accidentally electrocuted myself while installing an industrial meat juicer in my garage, I thought “well, at least I'll get a chance to see that bright light at the end of the tunnel everyone's talking about.” Imagine my dismay when that tunnel turned out to be loooooong. After spending 4 hours trying to balance a 4-ton juicer on an unstable tower of milk crates I was in no mood for a 4-mile hike through a giant celestial sphincter.
That brings me to “the light.” The so-called light was barely brighter than the arc of electricity that forced 1800 amperes of current through my dying body. It did not live up to the hype. Unless they install a shuttle of some sort or add some extra LEDs to the otherworldly glow that whispered secrets forbidden to the untried souls of the living, I will NOT be returning.
Seeing loved ones that passed before me
They really stretch the criteria for “loved one.”
After giving up on the juicer, I hired a local moving company (“J. Edgar Movers”, 1/5 stars) to extract it from my garage. As I stood nearby, providing constructive criticism on their technique, it came loose from the moving straps and toppled over. I had worn elbow pads for just such an eventuality, but they did little to prevent me from being crushed beneath 7,500 pounds of raw, corrugated juicing fury. After the initial discomfort of having my ribs driven into my lungs, I awoke in a sunny meadow to a voice telling me my loved ones were waiting for me.
As I walked through the lavender-scented field, I happened upon my weird uncle Wendell who died under odd circumstances that were probably a sex thing. We didn't really maintain eye contact as we made awkward small talk. At one point he asked me if I was almost done with school and I had to tell him I was 47 and had just died under the crushing weight of an industrial juicer. He perked up and said something similar happened to him except it was a taxidermied Zebra he'd dressed like one of the Pointer Sisters and I no longer felt okay with the conversation. Just as he was about to ask about my love life I felt air rushing back into my hastily patched lungs and I awoke in excruciating agony on the hospital gurney, but nonetheless relieved to be out of that hellscape. Do not recommend.
Out of Body Experience
Probably worth it if you can pay to play. That's how they get you.
After a massive stroke caused by the 4 gallons of juiced meat I'd consumed that day, I found myself once again in the market for a well-earned NDE. I had hoped to use this opportunity to travel to destinations around the world and beyond the stars but it turns out my life only warranted the basic package. Eager to begin my voyage through the ether, I tore my soul loose from my rapidly-cooling corpse.
My exhilaration was short-lived.
I quickly hit the end of my astral tether and whipped cartoonishly into a stack of urine specimens that exploded with the fury of a shy bladder in a locked stall. A frightened PA screamed something about poltergeists and tried to form the sign of a cross with a couple of specula, which I felt was quite unprofessional. Given my limited range, I had to entertain myself by looking into the “authorized staff only” section of the hospital. It turns out there's just more hospital back there. It was fun at first but got old quickly.
This was the rudest treatment I have ever received.
After a stern talking-to from my doctor and tearful family intervention, I was forced to give up my experiments with the meat juicer and, by extension, my sole remaining purpose in life. My wife shoveled an endless stream of broccoli, asparagus, and other hippy crap into my face but it only kindled my desire for oblivion. When a particularly large stalk of broccoli became lodged in my trachea, I managed a strangled “Told you!” as I was ejected once more into the Great Beyond.
I found myself standing on the steps of a brilliant white temple. All around me robed, bi-pedal cows tottered about with the silly, yet regal bearing of a young regent still in diapers. Rich earth smells filled the air, which was probably to the liking of the other guests but not to a more refined palette such as my own.
They soon noticed my presence. Several bespectacled cows gathered with a stack of files, some bearing my name and what I assume to be a complete inventory of my beef consumption over the preceding 47 years. One of them actually vomited (0 stars for cleanliness). A general air of chaos began to break out as I was headbutted out of this bovine idyll. I found myself whirling through the outer darkness, surrounded by tormented screams and greatly offended by the rude treatment at this celestial restaurant. They didn't even let me pick out which one I wanted boiled!
The experience is exactly as I imagined it would be.