Post for the first day of Feb

Have you ever been to a dinner party where one of the guests — a well-dressed man — pulled out two firearms and shouted “Everyone must do as I say: We can all still have a good time at this party; but I’m calling the shots now,” and, with his guns pointing upwards, to prove that he means business, he pulled both triggers, which caused a chunk of the ceiling to fall to the floor?

Why is it sorta less fun to mingle when this armed man shouts “OK, now go ahead & keep making small talk”? And why is it difficult to feel an appetite without the help of an apéritif or two, when the armed man announces “Let us all now proceed into the dining room for the first dish of a multi-course meal that our host’s servants have prepared”?

And why is it not naturally awe-inspiring to gaze into the clear water and behold the subaqueous creatures rushing by the edge of the vessel, when you join a few close friends and the heavily armed man for a ride in the speedboat, later in the evening, before the sun has sunk beneath the sea, and the armed man is holding his gun to your head and commanding you to “Enjoy the look of the sea-life that we’re passing as we race to the island where the gates of Hell are located”?

Also, when you reach the iron hinged barriers that mark the mouth of Christian Hell, and the above-mentioned well-dressed man waves his firearms in a manner that suggests “Enter this venue or I will deprive you of existence,” why is the descent into this fiery realm accompanied by a feeling of ecstasy? You would think that fright would be your predominant emotion, but the scene is rather thrilling, now that you’re here in the flesh, clutching the handrail and going down into the thick smoke.

And why does everything always turn out fine in the end, after spending the night with the Devil? Why is it always so much fun? Why is the return to Earth such a letdown? Why are the women in the underworld every bit as attractive as their above-ground sisters but much more compassionate? Why does the Devil allow you to roam his kingdom so freely? Why is the food so good here? Why is his wife so generous with her charms? What made this hellish couple so charismatic?  And, when it’s time to leave, why are you allowed to grab as many gems as you desire, as you walk past the enormous ruby trough on the way out? 

And why is the Devil’s dog so sweet-natured? Why does his coat look so healthy and feel so soft? 

My big problem with the Devil and Hell is that they still use a heavily armed mercenary to usher visitors into the depths. Why don’t they change this single detail? Moreover, I think it would be superior if the inhabitants all wore golden robes instead of red. Or, better yet, bright white togas. And the Devil should dye his hair blonde. And his wife should dress in a modest fashion and not share her love so graciously. It’s almost indecent.

The cherubs Gabriel and Michael, who are actually archangels now — or I think they might’ve even officially been designated seraphs — have a much better way of escorting hostages into the cloud-layer. They beam you up gently, using a standard anti-gravity floodlight that they salvaged from an abandoned UFO. And they carry swords, not guns. Plus they don’t use impolite words or any foul language, even when they’re having their way with lesser angels, except when God tells them to curse someone. But that’s only if a person commits a sin.

God is good: much better than the Devil. First of all, despite being fully masculine — an Alpha Male, in fact — and having the equipment to prove it, God needs no wife. So he doesn’t resort to tempting you with romance. God has breasts all up and down his belly, like a mother pig, and you can suck on those if you want. God is also a shepherd, so he carries a rod and a staff, which he will use to keep you in line. His hair is real, just like the Devil’s: it’s not a wig. But he also covers his natural follicles with a respectable peruke — the same type of headpiece worn by British judges and barristers. This brings a sense of solemnity to the heavenly proceedings, God will explain if you ask him.

I won’t tell you what God’s favorite movie is, because it’s not legal to speak of such things here on Earth. You’ll just have to visit him yourself, and sit down and watch it with him, on the big screen. God has a nice setup. You’ll be surprised when you find out what film it is, I guarantee.

And there are bakeries in heaven, and their jelly-filled pastries don’t make you obese. They also sell manna.

And God’s dog is understandably irritable, but he has a serious job: protecting the sky from usurpers. One time I saw a stupid demon climb up a beanstalk and try to sneak into God’s own bedroom, probably with the intention of stealing some of the deity’s royal jewels, but God’s guard dog started barking and woke up everyone in the vicinity. The sun hadn’t even risen up out of the sea yet.

But even the jail house in the upper atmosphere is comfortable. If I had the choice of getting imprisoned either on Earth or in Heaven, I’d choose Heaven in a heartbeat. Earthly jails are small and dirty: they contain just one toilet, one sink, and one bed — not a king-size but a single, and the mattress is stiff. Yet the jail cells in Heaven are deluxe: they have a queen-size bed with a nice, thick comforter that keeps you warm during even the coldest winter nights, and there’s not only a toilet but also a bidet, and the sink has a built-in soap dispenser that contains orange liquid, instead of a solid bar of soap that must be kept in a little dish that can be easily lost. 

Plus in the exosphere, which is God’s region (it’s just below outer space), everyone pilots nice cars. You’ll rarely see a sedan or a coupe — instead, everyone either operates trucks or sport utility vehicles, which have all-wheel drive and can plow thru snow and easily navigate off-road terrain. These are large, sturdy vehicles that have child-safety booster seats installed which are designed to protect youngsters from injury during vehicle collisions. And nobody dies in Heaven. 

But why is it that when God decides to stand up and play his harmonica, at least one attendee always begins to mosey out of the dinner party and make excuses for leaving early while fetching and donning his or her overcoat? Why can’t people appreciate the fun times and decent fellowship that God offers us living creatures when he invites our kind into his cabin? The reason that God is devoid of any loved ones is not that he slew them. He probably would enjoy spending time with his family.

I guess it’s hard to survive in today’s world. Nobody cares about dual-entry morality anymore. Everyone’s a shameless hedonist. Who wants to read the family Bible at my house on a given night? Nobody prays to Ancient Egypt asking for a simple yet nutritious meal of rice: no, modern churchgoers desire glam-bombs bursting in air. They’re true souls. They’re the salt of the sacrifice. They buy ethanol in bulk and share their insulin with foreigners. I hope that they make it. Yes, I wave my two firearms while shouting “Get these people rich quick; for I’d like to savor the secret of their success.” I’m very interested in how they did it. I’ve talked extensively to Satan and also interviewed his twin brother, and I can’t make heads or tails about a darn thing. For there are rules in place, but nobody seems to be minding them. Small-time crooks are jailed in comfortable suites, while big-time criminals are buying up all the skyline (Heaven’s real estate). I can only tell my lying eyes to go blind a few more times, if you insist on exhibiting all the incriminating photographs in your wallet which feature God with every member of his church. I can’t believe he made so many converts — that’s amazing! I myself served as a door-to-door Gospel Vendor, back when BC became AD, and I could never get any fish to bite the bait. Yet the worm never died.