justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back, due to popular demand BGM: "Thugz Mansion" - Tupac ...or was it Makavelli? I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking, "Yo Nick, what's that 'Jesus' cat up to these days? And why the fuck don't you ever update your site?" Well first of all, you've all got a serious attitude problem. And second of all, I don't update because you lazy fuckers don't comment anymore. Well, now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, I can address your real concerns. So look up. Look waaaaaaay up, and let's check in on your favourite personal saviour and mine: Jesus. "Excuse me, sir? Do you have a moment? Sir?" "You ever listen to the lyrics of this song? Jesus is just alright, Doobie brothers. Like I'm supposed to be all flattered 'cause it's about me. 'Jesus is just alright with me. Jesus is just alright, oh yeah.' Well fuck you, guy. I've heard people say nicer stuff about me after stubbing a toe." "Yes, sir. Terrible. Bit of a situation, though, sir." "So? You take care of it." "It's an administration issue, really. Something of a problem with a new arrival." "What, and it's your first day, or something? Just fix it." "Well, it's just that, transfers need your authorization, sir." "Transfer? No no, no transfers. I start letting people transfer now, everyone wants to go to celebrity heaven and meet Elvis. I can't deal with that kind of paperwork." "Elvis isn't dead, sir." "It was an example. Now leave me alone, you think I have nothing to do?" "I'm afraid this really does require your attention, sir." "Oy, fine. Let me guess, someone else wants in on Muslim heaven? Look, there are only so many virgins to go around, ok? maybe I should put up some posters or something. Go get me some bristol board." "Um, well alright, sir. But it's not that. As I said, one of the new arrivals. A teenager. Car crash." "What about him?" "Well, he's been complaining quite a bit, you see. Causing something of a ruckus." "Eternal peace and still people find a reason to complain. What do these people want from me?" "Yes, sir. Attitude problems, sir. Youth today." "Oh shut up, brown noser. So who is this kid, and what's his problem?" "Martin Brown, sir. Down in 3A." "And?" "He wants his mother, sir." "Is she not dead? What's the problem?" "No, the entire family perished in the crash, I'm afraid, that isn't the problem." "So what is?" "Well, they were all sent to Protestant Heaven--" "Christianity light! Half the calories! Now with divorce!" "--yes, sir. As I was saying, sir, his family was sent to Protestant Heaven, but he wasn't." "Oh Lord, please tell me he isn't a scientologist. Every crazy bastard we send there practically doubles my special effects budget, you know that?" "No, sir, don't worry. You see, the Brown family resided in a small suburb, where the 'hip-hop' music as they call it is something of a fad these days." "You've got to be kidding me." "Well, you see sir, he was wearing a fake diamond-encrusted chain with his name on it when he died, and he was wearing baggy pants and the like, and, well, there was something of a misunderstanding in reception." "Get to the point, skeezix." "Well, he seems to have been sent to Thug Mansion. Sir." "'The only place where thugs get in free and you got to be a G.'" "Uh, yes sir. The very same." "And he's not happy?" "Well, no, sir. He's been crying quite a bit, really. And, well... it seems that he isn't being very well received, if you catch my meaning. It seems that dead gangsters aren't entirely fond of middle-class white teenagers who think they're... well, you know. Ghetto, and the like. He's been quite jumpy, really. Asking for his mother quite a lot, and well, I'm sure you can see how that's a problem." "Oh, cry me a damn river. You want awkward? Try being a black communist in Jew Heaven. Now that's minority, my friend." "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. But the transfer papers?" "Oh, ok fine, but keep this one on the down-low. Got it? I don't want everyone to come banging down my door for transfers to Dionysian heaven." "yes, sir." "Who was the genius working reception when this kid came in, anyway?" "That would be St. Peter, sir." "I swear, that guy doesn't even care anymore. You call him, let him know, I said he has to go on vacation. Send him to Valhalla for a day or two, watch a good fight." "Certainly, sir." "And you know what? While we're doing transfers, get me all the dead Doobie Brothers, and send them to Amish Heaven. Let them deal with that one for a while." Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, scene! I don't know, I'm odd. But thar she blows. Excelsior. 8:19 p.m. - 2007-04-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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