As Ozzy Osbourne and Hulk Hogan approach the Pearly Gates, a surreal tension crackles in the divine air. Ozzy, with his slurred Birmingham drawl and wild-eyed swagger, shuffles forward, muttering about bats and Black Sabbath riffs, while Hogan, flexing in his feather boa and bandana, demands Saint Peter “let us in, brother!” Peter, clipboard in hand, raises an eyebrow at the odd pair. Ozzy’s rap sheet—decades of drug-fueled chaos and that infamous Alamo incident—clashes with Hogan’s larger-than-life persona, tainted by scandals like the Gawker lawsuit and racial slurs. Peter, calm but firm, questions their worthiness, citing Ozzy’s debauchery and Hogan’s ego-driven controversies. The gate’s golden glow dims as Ozzy snarls, “I’m the Prince of Darkness, mate!” and Hogan rips his shirt, proclaiming himself “heaven’s main event.” The standoff teeters on chaos, with Peter unmoved, his serene authority a stark contrast to their earthly bravado.

The conflict escalates as Ozzy, in a haze of defiance, tries to bribe Peter with a promise of front-row tickets to a reunion gig, while Hogan drops to his knees, pleading for a “Hulkamania miracle.” Peter, unfazed, challenges them to prove their redemption. Ozzy mumbles about his charity work and sobriety efforts in later years, admitting he’s “not that bad a bloke” beneath the madness. Hogan, sweat beading on his tanned brow, confesses to mentoring young wrestlers and rebuilding his life post-scandal, vowing to “say his prayers and take his vitamins” for eternity. Peter, stroking his beard, senses sincerity but hesitates—their pasts are messy, their repentance shaky. The gates creak slightly, hinting at a decision, but Peter demands one final act: Ozzy must sing a hymn, and Hogan must renounce his ego. The rockstar and wrestler exchange a glance, realizing their fate hinges on humility, a foreign concept to both.

Resolution comes in a bizarre, heavenly spectacle. Ozzy, voice cracking, belts out a shaky “Amazing Grace,” his gravelly tone oddly reverent, while Hogan, tossing his boa aside, kneels and recites a prayer, his bombast replaced by quiet conviction. Peter, softened by their effort, consults the divine ledger and nods. “You’re flawed, but you’ve tried,” he declares, swinging the gates wide. Ozzy stumbles through, muttering about a “bloody miracle,” while Hogan flexes one last time, whispering, “Thank you, brother.” As they enter, a faint riff of “Iron Man” blends with the sound of angelic trumpets, and Peter chuckles, noting heaven’s about to get a lot louder. The gates close, leaving the duo to navigate eternity, their conflict resolved through a grudging embrace of redemption.