I was a 67 year old man who died the same way that too many individuals in my demographic go (crushed beneath several bags of Scotts Turf Builder at Home Depot).

During my life, I did many things that earned me time in purgatory. For instance, when I was in my twenties, I joined an deep sea expedition that’s purpose was to find and kill the megalodon. Unfortunately, the submarine’s crew was consumed with infighting (everyone always thought it was their turn to use the periscope) so we all just left the sub down there and swam up. The sub was filled with missiles and years later, a group of radicals who wanted to destroy all traces of the movie Zoolander 1 (a guaranteed way to end happiness in the world) found them.

From what I understand, right now on Earth, there is no Zoolander but there is one megalodon roaming the seas. So that earned me sixty years.

Then of course there was the time I broke into Bruce Springsteen’s house, stole all of his flannel shirts, and framed Little Steven for the crime. Bruce was so mad that he made Little Steven perform while wearing a sandwich board that said, “The Great Deceiver” on it for a year. Bruce also refused to accept any compensation unless it was in the form of L.L. Bean gift cards until he re-accumulated his extensive flannel collection. Eight years for that stunt.

You are also supposed to buy the zookeepers a bouquet of flowers every time you go to the zoo. I didn’t know this but I had to do fifteen years because of it.

I did my time for these sins and more. Yet St. Peter said I still have one thing left to atone for: the time I claimed that I broke up with my eleventh grade girlfriend, even though she (allegedly) broke up with me.

There’s no way I could have been dumped. I was in the prime of my life when I was seventeen. I had a t-shirt for every major beer brand and I drove a Pontiac Grand Am in excellent condition. This was a full year before the disaster of 1970, in which I filled water balloons with Super Glue to throw at my dentist because he refused to chisel the mudflap girl onto my front teeth. The balloons accidentally burst in my lap on my way there and I had to live inside my car for two weeks to convince everyone I glued myself to the seat on purpose. By the time the fire department cut me out, I had created an odor so strong that it never dissipated and absolutely destroyed the resale value of my car.

So why would Eve break-up with me back when I was a stud? The break-up occurred at the county fair. Being a strong and cool guy, I was eager to try out the strength test. I was just about to swing the hammer when I remembered that I had to conserve my energy. I had recently joined the varsity football team as the designated player the ref can punch if he gets too mad (this was back in the '70s when referees were allowed to request a player to punch). We had a big game that Friday, and I knew I should take it easy.

Everyone at the fair began shouting that I was scared of getting the lowest result on the test, “Weak And Lacking Conviction of Character.” I knew if I tried, I could get the highest result, “Strong and Deserving Of A Big Consensual Hug and Kiss,” but all the insults from the naysayers were getting to me. Desperate to impress everyone, I attempted to drink all the water in the dunk tank, but only succeeded in spilling it everywhere, creating muddy conditions that ruined the fair.

At this point, Eve asked to speak with me in private, and as we were talking, I remembered I actually wanted to break-up with her (I meant to do it that morning, but forgot). And that’s the truth.

St. Peter said all I had to do to get into Heaven was admit I was lying. He kept telling me, “You really don’t want to go to Hell. There are mean guys down there who will stick you right in the keister with a pitchfork. It really hurts because the pitchforks are metal and it’s so hot down there that they conduct a ton of heat.” To which I replied, “If the choice is either admit to a minor embarrassment that happened to me when I was a teenager or face a life of eternal damnation, I’ll take damnation everytime, bro.”

Anyway, so now I’m in Hell and I actually like it. The Devil told me if I just admit I’m lying and that Hell sucks, he’ll let me go to Heaven. Nice try buddy, but I love Hell and suffering.

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