When In Heaven

Earth bothered me with its dramatic temperature swings. I later found out from Jessie ( otherwise known as Jesus) and Big Buu (Buddha) that the temperature changes bothered them as much as us. They told me this same story that I will now unveil to you. Apparently, the Earth is a crazy psycho chick. A couple billion years ago, Earth and the Sun started hooking up. She was his main piece, but Venus was always his girl on the side. Anyway, Jessie told me that Earth and Papa Sun were doing it “raw dog” for about 17 billion years. Earth had no idea about Venus until she showed up on Papa’s front door, mid-penetration, fifteen seconds away from the best orgasm Earth has ever had, with a little baby comet, Halley. Well Earth was furious. And what made it worse was that Venus had an STD, which is Papa Sun is burning all the time. So, fast forward to now and Venus and Earth can’t stay away from each other. They follow Papa Sun and remain nearby all day and night for the rest of eternity. Halley ran away a long time ago, but flies in every once in a while to ask Venus for more “space dough.” And Earth is always crying (rain), throwing shit (lightning), or breaking things (earthquakes) because of her feelings toward Big Papa.

This leads us to the sweet part about heaven. It’s always 75 degrees and sunny. Unless we all choose otherwise. Everyone can dress any way they want, but most guys take advantage of this degree shift by going shirtless and rocking a fiery red cape. “Ninja Turtles”-style bandannas are imperative. “Light-safe” light sabers are carried around at all times, just in case you and your bro want to get together and have a friendly sword duel. And if an arm or head falls off, no worries. Everything grows back instantly. Board shorts are a must as well. And if you want to roll in packs, there are HeavenBoard long boards everywhere. Why walk when you can roll. It is tots the way to have funzies. Oh, i almost forgot, we are all perfectly chiseled up here. My abdominal area is so defined, I had to give all six areas of my six pack individual names. And i feed them twice a day, and water them every six hours. 

Alright, I gotta get outta here. Jessie and I got a Wii bowling match in like 5 minutes. He says being late to events is the unofficial 11th sin. “I know we have all eternity and everything, but c’mon dawgggg!” I tried to tell Jessie that “dawg” was dead slang, but he refueses to let it go. Thinks its his best contribution to the English language since “gov’na.” Where is Mufasa?

- FLO

Firesafe cigarettes and lighter safeties are completely illegal in heaven (God’s personal rule.)

I hated those fucking things.

Oh and flies are extinct too…they were douchers anyway.

- Love

The best part about heaven is Mufasa. He’s my lion friend. He has a cartoon mane, cartoon face, and cartoon personality. After I float above mashed potato clouds and snag a quick bite to eat, Mufasa bites my shirt and flips me over his back on top of him. We can go anywhere we want and everything is thirty seconds away. Teacup pigs are everywhere. They wear cardigan sweaters, they all have spots like Dalmatians, and in heaven: pigs do fly. My favorite Teacup Pig, Eugene, cooks me ham & cheese omelettes with bacon and smoked sausage on the side every morning because, like he says, “No one cooks bacon better than bacon can.” He’s the real deal. There are no vegetarians in heaven. And McMuffins and McGriddles are available at all hours of the day and night. If you want a delicious Mickey Dee’s breakfast sandwich, just touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth and our little blue helper friends are cannon-balled to wherever you are. And dogs do go to heaven. But they are all puppy-size and speak with British accents, drink tea, and take shrooms 24/7.

Oh, Mufasa is kick ass in Wii tennis. He always tries to beat me, but in heaven everyone is a winner. So, a lose is always followed up by a win. I just hope my magic eels, Brian and Bobby, are back from tanning so they can power up my 69 foot plasma tv. I have friends coming over tonight to watch Disney’s The Aristocats.

-FLO

Ah Heaven, what a lovely place. If you ever stop by here, cruise on over to Chronzo Avenue. The trees, the nug-trees that is, look glorious on this everlasting summer day. Stems as big as Christmas tree trunks, the scent is saintly but never overpowering, and you can pick pine cone shaped nugs straight off the branches. (If there’s a particularly high one that tickles your fancy, call a blue boy to help and he’ll come waltzing up to you, ladder in hand.) On the way to my house, you could stop at any one of the many pipe stations and rent one for a quick rip-ali-skip. Front flip up my front porch to find my next door neighbor Jak and I in our rocking chairs, discussing our own philosophical insights.

He came over through one of the several secret underground tunnels connecting his home with mine. Dave Matthews is playing at all times around my house and my pet penguin Blaze is always sliding around somewhere. To my mansion’s left is Jak’s place, Flow’s is the one facing mine across the street and Al’s front walk is just a few strides to the right of mine. Feel free to explore the jungle in my backyard, you’ll see some fierce beasts but they’re all passive so there’s no need to worry. My garage has a keyboard where I can type in any vehicle I please, be it dragon or a sedan from the Flintstones, and it’ll appear before me. So stop on by, the boys and I are always down to chill for awhile in my underwater bar.

- Love

Sometimes when I go over to Love’s house for coffee and scranwiches, I take the zip line. There’s one between my place and his, just outside my front door but before the drawbridge and moat. It slopes downhill on the way over, and downhill on the way back too. And it goes wherever I want—the National Gallery, Indianapolis, Purple—and coils neatly into a pink lawn flamingo when not in use.

-Albèrt

When I need to travel in heaven but don’t want to take the magic carpet moving sidewalk or Aslan the Lion from C.S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia, snake skates are my favsies method of transitation. Transubstation? translation transportation. 

I just think, “Snakes under my feet,” and two forest green serpents slither from the nearby grass, which is swaying so effortlessly with the ever-circulating southern breeze, and greet me with a square, toothy grin. They slide under my feet carefully—they don’t want me to twist an ankle—and locomotion ensues as they push forward. Snake skates can reach speeds upwards of seventy kilometers a cigarette. Which is fast enough to get me home for dinner! Which is thin crust pepperoni tonight.

-Albèrt*

*Pronounced: all-BEHR, as in derrière.