
"Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" crowed the exuberant Cagney at an afternoon press conference. "My mother thanks you, my father thanks you, my sister thanks you and I thank you!"
The margin of Cagney's win was as startling as it was decisive: 20 votes for Cagney, zero for Chaplin, zero for Robinson. That's right, 20-to-nothing. Those are the sort of numbers you'd expect to see in a petty dictator's plebiscite.
Allegations of voter intimidation and poll fraud were promptly dismissed with a couple of slaps across the kisser.

Cagney was exhumed from his final resting place as soon as the poll closed, breathing his first air above ground in more than twenty years.

While sometimes hard to handle, Cagney admitted death had its moments. "They paid tribute to a bad man," he said, "by electing me the mayor of hell, winner take all. Everyone in that torrid zone knew me as Jimmy the Gent," he said, "even the seven little Foys, and though each dawn I died, it was something of a sinner's holiday, the time of my life."
Married forty-four years in life, Cagney was a lady killer in death, making time for other men's women, and even becoming involved with a strawberry blonde. "I was her man," he said, "just boy meets girl, and it was something to sing about until I found out the bride came C.O.D. I told her, 'Love me or leave me.' So she left.

When not chasing women, Cagney made powerful friends in the afterlife. "My advice?" he said. "At the doorway to hell, shake hands with the devil. Otherwise, run for cover!"
Attempts to work Yankee Doodle Dandy and Arizona Bushwhackers into his victory speech proved unsuitable for a family-friendly blog and were dropped.

Legendary director Martin Scorsese immediately signed Cagney to a three-picture deal worth in excess of $60 million, by far the biggest payday of Cagney's career. "In terms of talent," Scorsese said, "Jimmy buries the competition."
"I'm ripe for a comeback!" said a beaming, if somewhat dazed and gamey Cagney. "I smell—Oscar, that is!"