Dear God,
I’ve been comparing deals for my early Christmas shopping, and I’ve come to realize a huge problem with your afterlife offer: it sucks by comparison. Allah promises 72 virgins. Krishna gives you infinite chances to come back as George “the single most handsome and talented man in the world” Clooney, who has at least 102 virgins waiting on him at any given second.
And what are you peddling? A quiet neighborhood. Listen, props on preparing mansions for all of us. That’s nice. That’s personal space. I’m not passing up meth and prostitutes in my life so Uncle “Onion Breath” Jackie can tell me how exciting microeconomics is for all eternity. By the way, I want my mansion in the shape of my head, so when people look up towards Heaven — they see me, giving them the stink eye. But the upsides end there.
Just look at the main selling point: “a pure river of water of life” and “on either side of the river was the tree of life”. Well thank You we’re not surviving off the river and tree of death. Way to step it up, Jehovah. Way to really go out of your way and not go with the cyanide river. You can do better than a single body of water. Even Satan has a lake.
By the way, no night? So no midnight snacks. No midnight screenings. No late night programming with Conan O’Brien. No night games. No night drives. No Knight Rider — wait, ok, point to you.
But I can’t even give you points for the bling. A street of gold is nice, but we walk on the sidewalk, genius. It’s like you’re taunting us with your shiny temptation to walk out into the middle of celestial traffic and die. Again.
God, I appreciate the gesture and all, but You’ve gotta show me more than this. Instead of pearly gates, how about Blackberry Pearls? Swap the angel wings for a personal jet — you know, the kind Ironman has with the sexy stewardesses and the dance pole that comes up out of the floor? Sold. It’s a God eat God world out there, Jehovah. The next time I see your pad on DET Cribs, I better see a beer fountain. Seriously.
Sincerely,
Michael