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Maybe it was the idea of so many different takes on the afterlife, just blowing past me one after another, like the way small Iowa farm towns used to blow past my uncle and that smiling chicken.
John was surprised to learn that Heaven had only one duck, but even more surprised when the duck waddled over and introduced himself as God.
If there is any hope of knowing what’s on the other side, I’ve decided that I better find some time to walk both paths, both honesty and lying, both less traveled and more traveled, so that when I do eventually stumble out onto the other side and get to wherever it is I’m going, I’ll recognize truth for what it really is, and that it won’t sneak up on me during some desperate moment and end up looking like an outhouse in the middle of nowhere, with a crescent moon on the door and a fresh roll of toilet paper stuck on a nail; and that when it’s all over yet again and again and again, I won’t be caught standing there lost, hopeful for something better than my own shit staring back at me.
One by one, Bob moved slowly back down the line; if his plan worked he’d be free, but if it didn’t there’d be hell to pay.
He’d always imagined that the afterlife contained no second-guessing, but now that he’d begun moving, Bob wasn’t so sure; afterall, if he’d held still, he’d be going to Hell with a fireman as a friend, which sounds helpful no matter how you slice it.
Deceased Popular Science editor, James Sloughterly, was not surprised to learn that there would be no hover cars in the afterlife either.
If the streets of Heaven end up being paved with gold, I can’t help but wonder if shoe rental will be required, like when you go bowling.
Henry’s defense to the charges—which would result in death by decapitation if he was found guilty—were primarily a plea for clemency because he would have no place to hang his many hats in the afterlife and besides, he had recently gotten a haircut that he liked very much.
It is a little known fact that among the angels in heaven there is an ironclad hierarchy defined by your death—with death by falling piano the extreme top of the pecking order and death by banking complications establishing the other end of the spectrum
Dr. Leo believed that tornadoes were largely the result of indecisive souls going round and round, and that if all the pre-death turmoil of organized religion could be done away with, things would be much calmer.
If one assumes that 42 is the answer, and that stories of creationism are correct, and that God rested on the 7th day, working only the first six, this would go a long way (6 x 7 = 42) to helping prove my theory that God’s watch tracks time in dog years.
Rufus thinks the devil wouldn’t live anywhere, but would just wander around like a really mean hobo, and that rather than a tin of beans in his bundle he’d have a whole bunch of sad souls all rolled up with his extra socks and underwear, but my friend Schuster thinks the devil would be tired after living such a long time and would want to settle down, and that if he ever showed up at their door, which he was fairly sure would happen one of these days, they should try to rent him a room and maybe even trick him into paying for more than his fair share of the utilities.
It’s hard to imagine a place without socks.
Sometimes J. Edgar Hoover’s ghost will take a swing at me when I bring up that whole business about the gunning down of Ma Barker, but the Bureau has no power in the afterlife, and his transparent fists barely muss my hair.
When the meeting was called to order, the ghost of Samuel Johnson proposed that they get right to work on the afterlife’s first ghost dictionary, but he was vetoed immediately by an overwhelming boo, and not the scary, haunting kind like you might expect from a room full of ghosts, but more like a “Will you shut up already about that dictionary business!” kind of boo.
Dudley, my 2 year old deer chihuahua, explained to me this morning that the notion of a heaven for people is utterly preposterous, but doggie heaven was a very real place where good doggies chase squirrels across cool spring meadows of tall grass and roll around or sleep in the sun all day, and while people heaven was not real, a good dog owner could go to doggie heaven when they died if they gave the right kind of treats and good belly rubs everyday and, if I wanted to know, I was exactly the type of human he would like to have in heaven with him.
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