I would be placed in a coffin and remain there until nightfall, at which time I would rise to feast on the blood of the living.
Where do bad folks go when they die?
They don’t go to heaven where the angels fly.
They go to the lake of fire and fry
You don’t see them again 'till the 4th of July
–Meat Puppets
With God, to live in joy for ever.
In spite of the countless bad things I will have done, of varying severity.
Simply because Jesus, His Son, took the rap for me, and I accepted.
-Trupa,
expecting this tread to be moved to great debates any nano-second now…
Cleveland! 
I’d sign up for FUCS U, but I don’t know if I’d qualify. How, exactly, does the Wrong Reverend Shirley define pervert?
To my autopsy, followed by my funeral. The deceased, unfortunately, would not be delivering the eulogy.
Even assuming that the afterlife-type places exist, I’ve no reason to believe or even suspect that our impressions of the reuqirements for entrance are anything like we think they are.
San Diego, in a little cardboard box. I’d like to die as cheaply as possible, get salvaged for parts, and be scattered without ceremony. I don’t think medical science will want me.
When I die, I will go into the many tummies of hungry invertebrates and single-celled organisms.
I’m an inherently good person that does occasional bad things.
So I think I’d end up in Heaven, but in the low-rent district. 
Assuming there is a god, I no doubt will go to Hell unless he’s progressive and doesn’t force people that have commited no major crimes or sins to an eternity of damnation.
If there isn’t a god, which is what I believe to be the case, I will go to my grave an empty shell of flesh and bones.
Courtesy of Iris DeMent:
Everybody’s wonderin’ what and where they all came from.
Everybody’s worryin’ 'bout where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done.
But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me.
I think I’ll just let the mystery be.
Some say once you’re gone you’re gone forever, and some say you’re gonna come back.
Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour if in sinful ways you lack.
Some say that they’re comin’ back in a garden, bunch of carrots and little sweet peas.
I think I’ll just let the mystery be.
Valhalla, serving ale to the menfolk…
I would end up in the universal recycle bin and wait to be sent back as someone new
Hopefully, I would not be sent to a funeral home and put in a gag coffin set up to pop me up shouting “Gotcha Ya!”, but I really wouldn’t have anything to say about the matter.
I’m goin’ to Disneyland!!
Fagjunk Theology: Not just for Sodomite Propagandists anymore!
To an operating table to have my useful organs harvested for transplant and then an incinerator. Since I don’t think I or anyone else has a “soul” my consciousness would be extinguished upon brain death.
Purgatory. Which is probably pretty indistingushable from our current existence.
Wait a minute… hmmmmm.
If you find yourself alone, riding through green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled, for you are in Elysium, and are already dead.
-Gladiator
Actually, I am leaning towards FUCS U. It sounds like it fits my beliefs quite well, but I too am concerned about the definition of pervert.
Heaven
To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.-somewhere in the Bible.
I think I’m meat. Oblivion. Non-existance. “An unending, dreamless, sleep.”
Even if I’m not, I’m probably not going to heaven…not that I’m a bad person, or anything, mostly because a lot of the major religions these days only let you into the afterlife if you’ve admit that you’re scum and that God is a great guy; or if you’ve totally subsumed all earthly desires and impulses, etc.
That, or it’ll turn out that the Vikings were the “right” ones, and I’m not going to Valhalla because I haven’t ever killed someone in glorious battle. Or some tiny weirdo pagan religion was right, and I can’t go to heaven because I never made any goat sacrifices to anyone.
Or I’ll end up getting reincarnated as a weavil, or an undersea tube worm, or something.
So, I’m pretty much screwed any way I go. The best I can hope for is that my bones get dug up some time in the far future, and I spend the rest of eternity sitting in a museum under glass. At least I’d be remembered.
Ranchoth
(That or the Riverworld.)
What trupa said.