When it is good to be from Louisiana

Today you get humor because I don't have much to share:

One morning, a man woke up dead.

He knew he was dead because he was on a moving sidewalk that was heading upward toward the Pearly Gates. Furthermore, the sidewalk was packed with other souls and they were all stark naked.

As the sidewalk relentlessly moved upward, he noticed an extremely large he-devil looking over the souls as they went by on the conveyor belt. Every so often, or occasionally in a frantic burst of activity, the he-devil would boom "MINE!" and grab some poor soul by the scruff of his neck and his rearmost fundamental, stomp on a treadle and pitch the soul into the oily, black flames of the nether-world.

There isn't much to do on the trip to heaven, so the man watched the he-devil do his job. It all made perfect sense except for one thing. Every once in a while the he-devil would grab a soul, stomp on the treadle, then give the unfortunate soul a big shake, grimace and then throw the soul onto a huge pile of other "rejects".

Just as the man was pulling abreast of the he-devil, a dreadful, grinding noise came from beneath the conveyor and it shuddered to a halt.

Souls don't weigh much, but billions had passed along that conveyor and...well, even heaven struggles with its maintenance budget.

The man and the he-devil started chatting.

"Quite clever, really" the man observed.

"Thanks. Been perfecting it forever" the he-devil announced modestly.

"The only thing I don't understand are those souls in that pile over there" the man said, pointing at the rejects.

"Oh, they are from Louisiana" the he-devil said.

The man was puzzled. Were people from Louisiana entitled to their own special hell? Maybe something like New Orleans but with accordions, bag-pipes and harmonicas instead of trumpets and pianos?

"I don't understand" the man exclaimed.

"Well, like I said. They are from Louisiana. They are too wet to burn."