Even if I’m wrong about god and his interventionist tendencies I still can’t imagine that he’s without a wye sense of humor and so I’m left to think of a moment in the future when I’m standing at the pearly gates and Saint Peter (who I imagine has no sense of humor whatsoever)
looks down at me and asks, “So do you want to answer for this rather long list of sins or do you just want to go straight to purgatory and hang out with Sinatra and George Clooney and the tailor who makes their suits and the bartender in a skirt who always remembers what you’re drinking?” And for Peter’s sake I will pretend for a moment that I am thinking about how to answer. If you ever need to find me though, I’m the guy by the bar getting his inseam measured..
.
.
