Cramping My Style

Yeah, I am not going dance around the subject here, St. Peter is always seriously cramping my style. He is like what happens when your style eats too many PB&J's right before it gets in a swimming pool.

For those who don't know who St. Pete is, he is this old guy who sits in a dingy little toll booth at the intersection between Heaven and Hell and sends people one direction or another. Now understand that though it seems like everyone has a fifty-fifty shot at going one way or another, that this is a lie. A ruse, if you will, carried through by St. Pete, but concocted by none other than the big man in a big robe and big sandals himself, Jesus, (don't even get me started on him) who thinks he is some sort of big shot and acts like he is your friend but then makes some lame excuse every time you want to hang out (when are we gonna hang out Jees? I called and left a bunch of messages on your machine but you must be busy again. Sorry.)

In short, St. Peter caught some sort of shady deal or bribe from Jesus sometime whenever and now he sends all of the awesome people to heaven, which is most people, and then he sends the people who are complete bummers down to hell, which is like twenty "other" people, all of whom have psychotic issues. And I have to hang out with them. I try to be nice. I guess I sort of understand that it is much more "fun" to live in cloud palace or whatever than in a stuffy cave with no lights, but whatever, it's still not fair. I heard Heaven installed a bowling alley, so I installed a cosmic bowling alley. That's just the kind of guy that I am.

And it's like I can't even catch five minutes of Gossip Girl without Adolf bursting in screaming about whatever and then vomiting the nice lunch I made him into some flowerpot, or having Saddam try and give me Indian burns while I am quietly knitting him a scarf. Think about trying to organize an intramural basketball team with these people. They are the worst, all of the time.

And I blame Jesus. Indirectly, through St. Peter, because I want to be invited to the Christmas Party. Sorry.