What I think heaven is like

Despite my insane attitudes toward life and limbs, I do believe in heaven above. I think that when we die our souls (barely visible versions of ourselves) float out of our bodies and float all the way in to the sky. There's a bunch of other souls up in the clouds with special nets designed to catch the souls. If you're a piece of shit or if they're not paying attention your soul will just keep floating up into outer space. No one knows where you'll end up then. Probably getting butt fucked my Martians.

The people who are caught in the nets (about 86%) get dumped out on their heads. It's going to hurt and you'll be tempted to jump up and start a fight but then you'll realize you're on a cloud and that's going to scare the shit out of you. Then some dude with a beard will float up to you and start singing some boring song about your life. You're going to be bored out of your mind but some parts will be cool. There's a verse about the first time you fucked a girl and it'll be a little embarrassing to listen to because your grandma will be standing right there shaking her head but it's still cool.

After the song you have to get stripped searched to make sure you're not smuggling any contraband into heaven. They make you get fully nude and they're going to look in your butt hole. It's sick as fuck but they wont stick a finger in there or anything unless you give them probable cause, so don't clench your cheeks too tight.

Next you'll be fitted for your new clothes. You go into this big empty room with a ton of other souls and you'll all still be naked. There's going to be some hot girls in there too and you're going to think that one of them wants to fuck. You'll start to get horny and then this older heavenly guy will come over and give you a talking to and make you feel like a dick. He gives you this big long speak about "bodies and lust and boners and blah, blah, blah" By the time he's finished you wont want to do it with that chick anymore. That speech is the equivilant of saltpeter. It sucks but you wont have to worry about getting hard-ons while wearing your new clothes which are nothing more than shitty K Mart bedsheets.

When you're done, that's it. You're dead and in heaven. You can look down and see all the people that you used to know. Those are the only people you can see too; them and reletives. You can't just randomly look down and watch the circus for instance. It's good advice to know as many people as you can so you can watch more people when you die. I'm probably going to spend most of my time watching my great grand children learn to ride bikes. I just think it's fun to watch them fall down and cry. That sounds mean but I don't think it is. That's a hell of a time in a childs life. Learning how to fall and fuck your knee all up and then get back on the mother fucker knowing there's a good chance it's going to happen again. That takes some balls. Sometimes I think those balls shrink as people get older. As soon as something happens and they think there's even a small possiblility they're going to get hurt they won't do something. That's bullshit.

I hope my balls never shrink.



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There's a good chance this will happen.

Tomorrow's Tax Day and everyone knows what that means: time to give/get atomic wedgies to the old man who lives next door.

I love Tax Day. It's my favorite fucking time of the year. I know Old Man Jensen hates it; can't rightly blame him. He's the one who gets the fuck ripped out of his underwear and his butt hole all torn to smithereenies. Of course there's always the chance that you yourself could get your undergarment snatched nice and tight like up your own shit crack. There is a chance of that, but it's so unlikely nowadays that I hardly even think about it. All I care about is getting my hands on Old Man Jensen's elastic waistband and pulling the shit right out of it. I might even bite him this year. It's frowned upon in most Tax Day circles, but I say "fuck'um."

Hopefully, the butt-face looking dude who lives upstairs doesn't get to the old man first. There is a good chance that will happen. I overheard Dr. Butt-Face talking to his daughter-in-law about how he just bought this new chair and how he was going to sit on it all night long waiting for the Tax Day bell to ring. He'll more-than-likely shit in the chair too because his ass is so big turds have a hard time staying inside his stomach.

Unfortunately I don't have a chair for my turds to jump into. I don't even have a tree that I could make a chair out of. I'd give up half a wedgie if I could get my hands on a good chair building tree. There's only two chances of that one ever happening which are slim and none. The trees around here just aren't made for chair building. They're too tall and the wood is too hard. Most of them are even covered in this real tough looking shit called "tree skin" that I'd just assume avoid.

My game plan for getting to the old man first is a simple one. First, I'll be wearing a disguise. It's an elaborate get-up complete with a wig and fake mustache. There's also a fake road sign that looks like it's sticking out of my right leg and a rubber hammer glued to my left leg. Both my ears will be glued tightly to my head making hearing anything virtually impossible. I decided to actually shave my head instead of wearing one of those corny bald wig things. Those always make me look stupid. And the final piece of the custom, the piece that turns this from ordinary to extraordinary, are my fully functioning rocket skates that'll strapped to my feet. I haven't tried them out yet because the the guy who sold them to me said there was a better than average change that I'll blow my feet off the first time I use them. I hope Old Man Jensen get's to be the poor sucker who sees that!

Part two of my plan is call him first and ask him nicely if he'll let me rip his underwear up his butt. If he says no, I'm fucked. If he says yes, it's game on. Fuck right it is.




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