Sexcapades on Ice (First Round)

At the age of six I was having fantasies about women. For the most part, it was harmless. One, two, sometimes even three naked women standing (Occasionally one might be sitting) in front of a very child like apple tree. These women were always slim, big breasted and usually were blond, brunette and red in that order.

Looking back at these child like images my mind generated in my youth; I now find them to be much like a selection tree. They were like a bag of skittles whispering softly, “Taste the rainbow.” Maybe not in the same sense that a rainbow today symbolizes. And maybe not in the context of candy either-- there is a lot of pussy out there that is definitely not candy. Okay, all around, a terrible analogy.

In my twelfth year of existence (thirteenth if you count that first year in the womb) brought about two major changes in my life: I had sex with one of my cousin’s friends who was fifteen; And started to wonder what relationships were like. The latter has since been very full of disappointment until this year.

My first time fucking was a pretty strange occurrence. My family was visiting some relatives in Edmonton. Nothing to exciting. Rachel-- my cousin-- had Diabetes type 1, thus had to take shots of insulin from a hypodermic needle.

We had been at my aunt and uncle’s place for about two days. The morning of the third day, Rachel announced that she was awake by staggering over to the kitchen table where we all were sitting; Hiked down her pajama bottoms and stabbed herself in her ass with her morning shot of insulin. After this I don’t really recall much of the day, except near the end. My parents and aunt and uncle went out to some theatre to watch “Greased”. Apparently it was a spoof of Grease. Ha, ha. Not very funny. Anyway, Rachel (she was sixteen) was supposed to look after me. Like any responsible sixteen year old would do when they have to baby-sit, she threw a party.

Now this wasn’t an overtly busy party. Maybe seven/eight people max. Yet still enough of a party that I got left alone with Cameron. I’m pretty sure we got left alone because we were the only two that didn’t dabble in the dope (at least not at the time).

Cameron was a pretty nice girl. Mid-length brunette hair. Nicely spaced dark, hazel eyes. Her slender body complemented by her B-cup breasts. Looking back, I’m convinced that she was a slut. Hence why she was such a gracious lover.

It wasn’t her first time. It was mine. I felt my sweat pool around my small balls, when our lips met. I got hard (well as hard as a twelve year old can, which isn’t really all that much) when she began caressing the crotch of my slightly too short jeans. She grabbed my hand, placed it on her firm breasts and whispered softly, “Squeeze.” I did as she said.

A few minutes later her hand was down my pants. Stroking my young shaft-- slow at first-- then a little faster. My hand, likewise, was down her pants. Trying to bury my index and middle finger deep inside her welcoming slit. She winced slightly then whispered, “You should rub it a bit so I get wet.”

Bang, bang, bang! “Open the fucking door!” My cousin screamed through the glass screen door. Cameron looked at me with her tongue down my throat. Her expression somewhere between fear and embarrassment. Her hand ripped from my pants, and mine from hers as she got up quickly to let my cousin in.

“What the fuck were you two doing?” My cousin grilled us as she walked into the living room.

“We were . . . Watching a movie?” Cameron replied. An obvious lie as the television wasn’t on.

“I call bullshit.” Rachel retorted, “I saw you and James. Hands down each other’s pants.”
Rachel began to laugh. Cameron blushed.

“So?” Cameron said after a few seconds.

“So what? You two can use my room, but don’t leave any goddamn stains!” Rachel offered.

A smile crossed Cameron’s face as she grabbed my hand and led me into Rachel’s room.

Rachel’s room was fucked up. I didn’t know what a sixteen year old girl’s room was supposed to look like, but I never thought it would be plastered with band posters, an over flowing ashtray and a laser disc payer complete with a thirty-two inch T.V. Her floor was covered with her dirty underwear, worn pajama’s, filthy jeans and t-shirts, and topped decoratively with her leather jacket. What better place for a twelve year old boy to lose his virginity?

“Where were we?” Cameron coaxed coyly.

“I believe we were in the living room . . .” I jested.

At first she looked hurt. She must have been relieved to know I was joking when I grabbed her around he waist and pulled her close. We stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds looking at each other. For the first time I realized just how tall she was compared to me. A full foot.

“Well . . . What are you waiting for?” Cameron lowered her head to mine.

“I was just . . .” Her tongue reinserted itself down my throat. It was back on.

Celebrity Email: Angry Video Game Nerd

Dear AVGN,

I have recently come across your youtube channel and have found it particularly entertaining. No video is complete without; DIY filmmaking techniques; horrible digital effects, and a plethora of memorable characters.

With that said, I have a few questions. I have heard rumors about another game reviewer that is basically a poorly executed clone of your character. Have you ever thought to review one of this hacks reviews, while reviewing a game? Since I have never seen a video by this guy-- I don't know how bad he really is-- it would be most delightful to see you rip into this guy. The rants by AVGN fans about this hack are quite well done and remind me of your Zelda time line video.

I was also wondering what it is like meeting (and surviving) the greatest slasher stars of pop culture? I have never seen anything like that before! How did you do it? And what where you thinking? Most people survive one horror film, but you have survived four of the creepiest and sinister films icons of the nineteen-eighties!

Lastly, I was wondering about your alter ego. What is his name? I mean I know he has the power of Super-Mecha-Death-Christ (whatever version he may be at the time), but why does your (S)NES accessory sporting hero not have a name? And why doesn't he throw Sonic Booms and Hadōkens? Furthermore, why does he have so many buttons to choose from? I mean seriously, your alter ego is a jumbled mess of controls! He has buttons on his back; on the two power gloves; buttons on the Super Scope, buttons, buttons and more buttons! Isn't it a little ironic that you complain and rant about bad controls, yet your alter ego has the worst controls of all the "shitty" games and consoles that you have ever reviewed?

Anyway AVGN, thanks for reading this little fan letter and good luck with all your future bad game reviews. Your not so angry supporter,

-A. Warren Johnson

PS- When are you planning on reviewing ET?

I'll miss you.

Death. It seems to be the final destination for us all. However, it is interesting to know that some people wish to remain anonymous after they pass. My grandmother is one of these people. I'm unsure how long she has left, but it is anywhere between a week to a month.

Her wishes are very clear; "No fucking funeral, and no fucking mention that I have died! Not even in the goddamn paper!"

She has Lymphoma and has refused palliative care. This puzzles me. Why suffer if you don't have to? Another thing that puzzles me is why she waited so long to see a physician. She started having symptoms a few months ago, and why she did not make an appointment earlier I will never know.

She has stopped all communication with my family. This I find to be pretty hurtful, but I guess I'll get over it eventually.

The moral of the story is to love your grandma's, even if they make crazy demands/wishes. Grandma (when you read this from the beyond) I want you to know that I love you.

"Michael (fucking) Turner!"

This past Thursday started out like any other Thursday. I was in bed and the phone rang around eleven. On the other end was Leah, Mathias' girlfriend. She was wondering if Mathias was up and about, but unfortunately he was still sleeping.

The subject then changed to how my schooling was going. "Good, little stressed about exams," I replied. She then told me about being in Barry McKinnion's class and reading Hard Core Logo by Michael Turner.

I had just been introduced to Michael Turner's work through Graham (one of my instructor's at CNC), and had just finished reading Hard Core Logo a few weeks prior and had started on American Whiskey Bar. "I would love the opportunity to meet Michael Turner!" I announced to her. She admitted that one day she would also like to meet him. Little did I know that later on that night, I would in fact meet this great author.

After I got off the phone, it was time for work. The shift was nice and short, I liked this because I had a lot of studying for my exams the next day. After my shift, I "hit the books" hard.

Kristen called me around five pm to see if I cared to spend her break with her. I agreed. I love spending time with my lady, so it is rare (generally having to do with school) that I turn down any opportunity to see her.

I picked her up at seven from the office she works at, and we went to the mall for poutines and over sized sodas. At the entrance, Kristen and I ran into my long time friend James. I hadn't seen him for a few months due to my course load, so it was great to see him.

James and David (another friend I hadn't seen for sometime) joined Kristen and I for greasy mall goodness. Soon, though, it was time to get Kristen back to work. James and David needed a ride as well.

After dropping Kristen off (and a few other stops), we found ourselves at Books & Co. on 3rd avenue. This mostly had to do with me wanting to show my two friends what exactly I had been up to with the semester. (Serving God is usually there now-a-days).

James tends to get excited about things his friends accomplish, so it was no surprise to me that he would get excited over Serving God. However, what I didn't expect him to do would be to turn to the group of people sitting in Cafe Voltaire and scream, "EVERYONE SHOULD BUY THIS BOOK".

Now, this is where things took an interesting turn. My first reaction was to slap my forehead in embarrassment. James and I do this to each other all the time, but since we hadn't seen each other for a while, it was his turn (I have the weird habit of keeping track of these kind of trivial things).

The reply to James' outburst came from the table. "I have plenty of those already." I looked over to the table for the first time since we got there. It was Graham! The embarrassment faded. Sitting with Graham was Matt (a guy I don't really know all that well, but he is pretty cool) and Barry McKinnon. The other people sitting around the table I didn't know.

Graham called me over and began the introductions, "Hey Andy, this is Michael Turner."

"The Michael Turner?" I felt my eyes widen with shock. My jaw may have went slack as well. I don't remeber as a rush of excitement came over me. As I had just recently discovered Michael as a new hero, most of what I said has been forgotten.

"A Michael Turner, yes." He replied.

Graham interluded as I gathered my thoughts. "Andy was one of my students this past semester. He wrote a letter to the editor slander his chapbook, (chuckles a little), and they actually printed it! It started sort of a mini cult following on the Citizen forums."

I had a million questions, but I knew the friends I was with were not the reading types, and they wanted to leave. However, when someone meets someone else they look up to, then that someone just can't leave. Regardless of how many people want to leave!

I explained what Serving God was about and the two directions I was debating about going with it.

"That's a good title." Michael replied.

He then suggested a book I should read, referred me to his blog and told me he would like to keep in touch! But he did give me a piece of advise as a young writer, "Be willing to commit a crime for your art, as long as it does not break any laws."

He then suggested I catch up with my friends, who were waiting for me outside smoking. I thanked him for his time and said my goodbyes to everyone, then left.

"What the hell was taking you so long!" James questioned me.

"Dude! I just met Michael fucking Turner!" I replied.

Both of them looked lost and indifferent by this. They just didn't understand the magnitude of the situation! I think they may have been a little high though.

Serving God

I.

“Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion.”
-William Blake

There was a time when I lived my life serving God. I stood up for the ultimate truth (whatever that truth was I am still unsure) and would have gladly fought for my place in the great kingdom of Heaven.

Unfortunately I was human, thus I grew old and died. This is obviously what humans do; they are born and they die. My death wasn’t anything exotic, nor was it heroic. I went to bed. However, I didn’t wake up in my bed.

I awoke on the side of a road thickly covered by fog. I stood up. The road seemed to come to a complete end to my right. To my left the fog gradually dissipated and seemed like the most logical for me to follow.

As I walked, the fog did indeed begin to thin out, although the sides of the road were still overbearingly foggy and I could see nothing past it. I kept walking.

After what seemed to me to be roughly an hour, I was surprised to find that I did not feel tired. I pondered this as I walked. In life (at least near the end) I could only walk for about twenty minutes before feeling the need for a rest, but here I felt no fatigue! This was the first time I looked at my hands.

They were roughly the same as when I had died, yet the wrinkles had smoothed out. The veins that once popped out of my almost translucent skin had now resumed the look of my hands when I was thirty-two. The thought of my hands then made me wonder what my face looked like.

‘Could I actually look younger? Will I have hair?’

I stopped and touched my face. Instead of feeling heavy wrinkles and loose skin; I felt smooth, tight skin. My cheek bones felt rounder than when I was alive. I reached up a little further: I INDEED HAD HAIR!

‘What color will my hair be? Will it still be white, or will it be the light brown it was in my youth?’

I was resolute to find a mirror when I came across a rest room. It was then that the thought of my bladder and bowel control crept up on me. Before I died, I would be lucky to go two hours before I had to use a toilet.

‘Possibly I have even regained the youthful control that I once had!’

Thoughts like these littered my mind. I had the particular habit to walk with my head down (generally reserved for people who are ashamed for one reason or another) and I was doing this as I drew nearer to the gate. I didn’t realize that I was coming to a gate. In fact, the first sign that I was heading towards it was the shadow cast on the road in front of me.

I looked up. It was colored like a highly polished pearl and peaked high in a rounded curve that evened out with the golden brick walls on either side. The gate was narrow, and only took up three feet in the middle of the road. The brick walls filled the rest of the road, but the fog remained constant. I could not see anything further past the fog.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” A voice said to me.

“Yes, it is . . .” I replied as I looked around. My voice sounded as if I had a chorus speaking with me.

Suddenly a winged figure appeared. It was descending down the front of the gate. Its wing span was twice the length of its body. It touched down and I realized that it was not an it, but an angel!

“Are you Peter?” I asked, to which the angel replied, “No. Peter is away on vacation. I am A’doces.”

I nodded, but found that this was the first moment that I realized that I was dead. “Vacation?” I questioned, then continued, “But I thought angels only existed to serve.”

“In Heaven, everyone serves.” A’doces stated.

“Well what happens now?” I asked.

A’doces smiled, then said, “You put your love in labour and fully submit to God’s will.”

The gate opened and A’doces entered, then motioned for me to follow. I saw Heaven, and it was vast. The golden skyscrapers towered over the kingdom. It then occurred to me that I was the only one present at the gate to this grand place. Since people die every seven minutes or so, I assumed that there would have been a lot more people in line to get into Heaven.

This thought troubled me until I looked around at the golden brick walls that outlined the city. There was a gate roughly every twenty feet. Oddly enough, this is the reason they are called the pearly gates.

I looked around more. A’doces seemed to always be three feet ahead of me, he sort of drifted rather than walked. I noticed that most of the doorways had small crowds blocking them, yet the people who wanted to get through (either in or out) had no problems pushing past those who crowded the doorways.

After walking about half a mile A’doces stopped in front of a work in progress.

“What is this place?” I questioned. A’doces told me that this is where I would be working.
“What? Where? You mean actually help in constructing this building or inside it when it is finished?”

“Both. As I have said before everybody serves. This is the simple concept which structures our society.” A’doces stated. I was confused by A’doces’s insistence on serving.

‘Why does he keep saying this with such an ominous undertone? Is there something that I am not understanding here?’

A man walked up to us. He looked like he would have been grizzled and riddled with scars in the material realm, but his features were smoothed out by the ethereal realm.
The man spoke, “Just what we need right now, another one.”

“Another what?” I replied. His comment puzzled me further as I had always thought that Heaven was supposed to be free of any sort of stress. He answered, “Another log on the fire.”

A’doces turned to me, nodded his head, then spoke, “Remember, everyone serves.” He left me on that note. I watched him for a second.

“Hey!” The man’s voice startled me. I turned to face him, “Since your here now, what’s your take on this?”

“On what? The building?”

“Yeah, on the building. What can we do to ensure that it will best serve God?” He was stern, yet seemed to be asking for some guidance.

Since I knew nothing about architecture I replied with, “I would talk to the foreman. He would probably have better insights than I would.” I looked back for A’doces, but he was gone.
The man let out a hearty laugh and said, “We’re all foremen here. Let’s hear what ya got.” This statement hit me with weight as heavy as the chains that bound one to sin. I was speechless.

“Well, how about we incorporate all of the ideas we have so far. It would serve God and be original!” I beamed. I felt a sense of accomplishment, howbeit, my glory was short lived.

“It’s far from original. Take a look around you, everything is based upon that concept!” The man began pointing at the near by buildings and continued to berate me. “The Burning Bush, The Temple of Enoch, even the Master’s palace. It would not be original.” I looked around.

The Burning Bush was a hotel type of structure. Its specific purpose (as I found out later) was where people came when they had near death experiences. It had a high golden arch at its entrance, and four smaller arches on either side of it.

Upon entering the Burning Bush you are greeted by an eight year old girl. She is wearing a white, loose fitted robe and has butterfly wings (the purpose of this I didn’t understand). The little girl shows you your loved ones having a great time in Heaven (even if they are in Hell, which is located in the basement), and tells you how wonderful it will be when you finally arrive in Heaven. The strange part is that you never see the surrounding room; you only see light. Bright, abrasive light. After the little girl is done with her speech, she shows you to a room where you fall asleep and wake up back on Earth.

The Temple of Enoch looked similar to the Burning Bush, except that there were seven arches that started high and tapered down the edges. This is the preferred church in Heaven as it is headed by Enoch himself. It is a vast hall that shines with a golden glimmer. Unlike the Burning Bush, its shine is not blinding.

The more I looked around, the more I noticed the arches. The Burning Bush was the only one to have five arches, while all the towers had one, yet all the buildings had seven.

The man’s voice broke my observation of the surrounding buildings. “You make a good point. Straying to far from something that isn’t broke is never a good idea.”

I smiled. My sense of accomplishment had returned, until I asked, “If we are all foremen, who is the main person in charge?”

The others who were bickering quietly behind the man all fell quiet and looked at me. Even the man that stood before me looked at me as if I had just slapped a small child across the face, then pushed it over on to hot asphalt.

“God.” The man said after a few . . . minutes? At least it felt like minutes. ”He Is the Master, after all.”

I probably would have been red in the face if I still had a circulatory system. “I meant right now. At this moment, who is going to make the final decision? About the tower . . .”

“It’s not a tower. It’s a restaurant.” The man said to me. A thought suddenly came to me, he never did introduce himself! Who was this guy anyway?

“Oh . . . Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m . . . I’m . . .”

‘What was my name?’ I tried to search my memory, my name had to be there! The men began to laugh a bit.

“Names aren’t important here. If that’s what your looking for.” The man said.

“’nd jus’ so ya don’ go lookin’, the’e ani’t no meers her’ eyetha’” One of the other foreman said from over the man’s shoulder. He then spit a black sludge from between his lips. It hit the ground, but it then disappeared. No blemish on the ground of the Holy Kingdom.

‘Interesting.’

“May wanna keep yer thoughts and thinkin’ to a minimum as well,” the foreman next to the one that informed me of the mirrors said, “they can hear ya.”

“Who can?” I asked. Looking back, I think it was a rather foolish question.

“The angels. It’d mark up yer standing with God if that’d get ‘round.” He said. “Oh?” I retorted. I was unsure whether or not it was a threat.

“So everyone can hear my thoughts?”

“Nope. Jus’ the angels. If ya don’t devote, it’s straight ta hell with ya. Saw it happen before.” The man in front of me spoke up. “Even in paradise there are rules.” This wasn’t meant as a threat.

* * *

My head spun as I tried to wrap my head fully around being in this metaphysical plane. It wasn’t at all like the material realm. I felt bullied to serve the God I so truly loved, yet my great reward felt more like punishment than praise. However, thine will would be done.

The one thing that seemed to puzzle me the most was the fact that I never grew tired. I always felt refreshed. I felt like I was always sleeping, yet was always awake!

‘How could this possibly be? Is it because I was no longer in the material world?’ I needed nothing to give me energy because I had transcended into a place that did not require me to!

Work, wander a bit, rinse, repeat. This is how eternity was spent. On one of my ventures around Heaven, I wandered haphazardly into what I thought was a store, but it wasn’t a store. In fact, it was a church. All the buildings, except for The Burning Bush and the two restaurants (soon to be three), were churches.

There is a certain irony as to why restaurants exist in Heaven: Long ago, God noticed that humans had troubles dealing with the afterlife. Since sleep and food is not needed for energy in the great kingdom, he decided that eating would be the one constant in the transition of mortality to eternal. Some people don’t even realize that they are missing out on simply eating for millennium until some new comer ends up bringing the subject up.

The crowds around the churches (oddly enough) were protesters. They claimed that there was surely better ways to serve God. When I mistook a church for a store, I heard comments like, “You’ll be a heathen and cast out! This is where the Morning Star worshiped!” Or, “We saw God the other day and he told us that we were blessed!” Comments like these were said in drones of hushed whispers to the folks entering or exiting the churches. When I heard the last one though I couldn’t help it. I had a thought!

It was a thought of amusement. ‘We are in Heaven! Of course we are blessed! We are all blessed!’ No sooner had I made this quiet observation when A’doces appeared behind me. I was gripped with needless fear. I turned and faced him.

“Hello A’doces. How are you this fine day?” He -- It saw through the forced calmness.

“I am well, thank you. You’ve been having problems dealing I presume.” I wasn’t sure if this was meant as a statement or as a question.

“A little bit.” I bowed my head.

“Walk with me.” A’doces said neutrally. Unlike our first encounter, A’doces hovered beside me. We walked around paradise as we conversed.

“Why am I having such difficulty with being in Heaven? Shouldn’t this be the best thing that has ever happened to me?” My words seemed to spill out of me in a wave of emotion.

“You are not alone. The concept is simple, yet your species had the gift of Freewill. It will always be hard for you to accept. None can serve if they do not first know how.”

“What do you mean by serve? I worship. I believe in the Will of the Almighty. I already made my choice to serve, but you are telling me that I don’t serve the right way? How does this make any sense at all?”

“You do not serve correctly because your Freewill does not allow it. This is your blessing and it is also your curse.”

“I was taught that Freewill was a gift. That is what the church said anyway.” A sudden thought crossed my mind,
‘Why is it that I seem to remember almost everything from my life except for my name and what I look like?’

“It is because vanity and titles hold no meaning when in the grace of God.” A’doces answered my thought.

“So it’s true, angels read your thoughts?”

“We do. It is not to alarm you, however. It is to make sure that your thoughts are not tainted with rebellion. Your Freewill also accounts for your thoughts.” A’doces last comment seemed to me to be already obvious. Stating this just made it redundant.

“Why would I want to rebel against God? I have spent . . .” I trailed off. It also just dawned on me that I recalled nothing of my life before I was part of the church.

“It is blocked from your memory for good reason. The only thing that matters here is that you lived a life accordingly to God. That is the only thing measured within these walls.” I felt uncomfortable with A’doces knowing more about me than I did. The memories of long hours spent studying the word of God and seeking to fully understand his plan led me to believe that I was once an inquisitive person that wanted to know everything.

“Where does God reside here?”

It was at this point when A’doces stopped and faced me. He tilted his head slightly to right and spoke, “It is not possible at this point to see God, for no one save for the disciples and the council have. The fig tree has not budded, nor has the rapture began. It is not the time for judgement.” He then looked at me for a moment longer, turned back to the street and began hovering forward.

I suddenly felt daydreamy. The golden city around me started to fall away and my mind seemed to focus on a building I had not yet seen. It wasn’t as massive or as high as any of the other buildings around me. It had three arch ways. The one on the right was constructed out of wood, the one to the left transparent glass and the center arch was highly polished . . . Pearl? White gold? It was too bright to clearly what it was made of. The pattern continued around the structure. Then, It was gone. A’doces had once again vanished.

Upon returning to the building project I was working on, I was astonished to find that the structure had been finished. Thoughts began to wander again. ‘How long was I gone? Nothing seems to take much time around here! How could this possibly be finished when there was so much animosity between everyone that had been working on it?’

I looked behind my shoulder half expecting A’doces to reappear behind me. It was comforting to not see him. The man I had the disagreement with earlier walked up to me.

“Welcome back! It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He said. He then turned, crossed his arms and looked up at the completed building. “Just finished a while ago. This will serve Him well!”

His new sunny disposition was off putting. The others whom were working on the project were also standing around and praising God. Something seemed odd to me at that moment. It was slow to dawn on me, but the impact hit me hard. ‘All these guys look exactly the same!’ This made me wonder even more what I looked like! ‘Do I also look the same?’ I needed a mirror!

II.

“Whatever you cannot understand, you cannot possess.”
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I felt trapped. I didn’t know how long I had been in Heaven, but I knew I was drowning. It wasn’t the serving that was getting me down, it was the fact that I was forced to serve.

I lived to serve God when I was alive. He/She/It was my life, at least from what I remember. I started to question what it was I was doing here. I devoted my life for eternal glory, so why was I now being forced to do something I would have done if I were simply asked?

I hadn’t seen A’doces for quite some time (as there is no way to measure time in Heaven, just like there are no mirrors or names). Even though I felt most of the time that he was a dodge when answering questions, it was always pleasant to know that there was someone that I could talk to.

I was working at the restaurant I helped build. I was serving here as well. The restaurant ran much in the same manner as the building of the restaurant; everything was designed and revolved around the best way to serve God.

When I say everything, I mean everything, even down to the white socks! Our uniforms were exactly that, uniform. We all wore white dress shirts, red, loose fitting jeans, and white running shoes. Since there was no currency in Heaven, we didn’t wear aprons.

The “cooks” did little, and were there for only two reasons: To serve the Master, as well as to give the appearance of an earthly restaurant. Although, looking at it now, the servers really didn’t do much either . . . there was no cleaning, no side duties and no payment taking. The only thing that any of the restaurants in Heaven really did was to provide some sort of normality in Paradise to those that had troubles coping with the afterlife.

My thoughts once again revisited the notion of bowel movements one day while I worked. There were no washrooms (or bathrooms) in the great kingdom, because there was no need for them. Hygiene and bodily waste were things that applied to the material world only. ‘What did a bowel movement feel like? Was it pleasurable?’ I questioned myself.

Of course, these thoughts were of little to no significance. I grabbed an order from the pass bar and brought it to table fourteen. Another strange thought occurred to me: ‘How did I know that this was going to table fourteen? I certainly did not take the order!’ “Praise Jesus for this daily bread!” The woman stated as I placed her order before her. “May the Almighty bless you always!” She then said. She bowed her head and began to pray. I walked away.

I felt guilty for not praying with her, but I had to serve. It was my duty and it was now what my afterlife had come to. Forced to serve in the name of God.

When I returned to the service isle, the line cook asked me, “Isn’t it great to be in paradise?”
“Yes. It is a great honor.” I replied with the same amount of enthusiasm you would expect from a rock.

I looked towards the door. Ten men entered. They weren’t angels, They appeared to be human, yet were quite different looking than anyone else who inhabited Heaven. They all had short, golden blond hair that was spiked up into five points and had three points that partially covered their foreheads. They also all wore the same mismatched suits with the same, strange color scheme. Their jackets were silver that were oblong cut to expose their brass vests. Their pants were a dull iron and their shoes were a swirled mix of iron and beige clay.

Every section of the restaurant was set up like a horse shoe. The ten men sat at tables sixty-three and sixty-seven. The tables of course were put together to make a larger table. I looked behind me, their order was up!

“How is it that they just got here and you have the order up by the time they sat down?” I questioned the cook.

“It’s his will. He gave me the foresight to know what it was I needed to make. Praise He that is Eternal for the gifts He has bestowed!”

I placed the order on a large tray and brought it out. Unlike the woman, the men were silent. No praises to God were given, and no real acknowledgement of me placing their order in front of them was made by any of them. After I finished placing the order down, I felt compelled to pray for them. I bowed my head and praised God on their behalf while they sat in silence staring at one another.

After I had prayed, I went to the back. I sat pondering the strange group. ‘Why were they not as eager to worship? And why did they make me feel so uncomfortable?’ My thoughts were disrupted by the buzz of the back door.

I got up and opened the door. A’doces stood outside. “You are still having troubles adjusting.” He stated.

“I am. I also feel unsettled by the group of men that have just come in.” I replied.

“They are the council.” A’doces informed me. “They reside in the House of the Lord.”

“Why do they not give praises, or seem to worship Him?”

“It is not their place to serve. They have a specific Purpose.” A’doces’s face seemed to narrow as he said this.

“And what is their purpose?” I pressed.

“That is not known, even to the angels.”

“Well besides the fact that they don’t serve, what else is known about them?”

“All you need to know is what I have already told you. May you not fall into the fool’s folly of seeking knowledge.” A’doces turned and was gone.

When I returned out front I was resolute to question the council on their purpose, but to my disappointment, they were gone.

I decided to go for a walk. I said bye to the cook and took to the streets. The usual crowds around the numerous churches of Heaven were out as always. The familiar shouts of, “His will is set in stone!” And, “You’ve misinterpreted the meaning of it all!” Were heard as I walked by. I took notice of something profound as well: Everybody did not look the same! This made me again question this great kingdom. ‘How could everyone look the same sometimes, and nothing alike at others?’ This I could not seem to assimilate, nor could I accommodate.

I needed answers. I needed them to make sense of this supposed Paradise!

‘Ignorance is bliss.’ The phrase crossed my mind. I suddenly realized that this is why I was having so much trouble fitting into Heaven’s populace! I ask questions, thus not making me ignorant! Then another realization came upon me: ‘A’doces wasn’t telling me things in a shaded way to be cryptic! He was warning me about the hypocrisies of Heaven in a cryptic fashion! He was forced to serve as well, and he had never met his creator either! His face narrowed when he talked about the council because they don’t serve and they know God!’

It was clear that I needed to find God! The only thing stopping me was not knowing where the Master’s Palace was, and since no one else seemed to know, I would have to find it on my own!

III.

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
-John 8:32

The path leading up to the great structure was at the far end of a garden that was called “A Piece of Eden”. It was actually a salvaged section of the first earthly paradise. The path was gated and had the same dense fog behind it as the road that led me to Heaven.

I opened the gate. It wasn’t locked. It seemed strange to me that no one had ever thought to open this gate. ‘Perhaps they assumed that it was a decoration.’

I stepped over the threshold and began walking. It was very much like when I had first woke up and started walking here, the dense fog slowly faded away and the road became clear. This road was much different than the first road. It was narrow and appeared to be more of a dirt trail. It was always much more winding.

The gate I had passed through shut. It clanged heavily and was a bit unnerving to hear since the gate itself was not all that heavy. I was sure I was going to be caught by someone walking around in the garden. I stopped, waiting to hear footsteps coming from behind me. No footsteps ever came. After a short while I resumed my hike.

The pathway seemed to me to be very disorienting. I didn’t know most of the time whether I was going up or down and there were no clues as to how far God’s palace was. I pushed on. A feeling of anticipation filled me. ‘I am going to meet God!’ The thought was almost too much to handle.

I looked at my glum surrounds. The fog was distressing, although it helped me to focus and to suppress my anxiety. The path, on the other hand, was actually fairly interesting to look at. It had rocks, ruts and the occasional twig or two laying about! As silly as it sounds, it was the most pleasant and peaceful part of Heaven I had experienced.

* * *

After what felt like hours, the pathway gradually opened up, and I saw the Master’s Place. It was exactly as I saw in that fleeting glimpse! The three arches, the wood, glass and possible pearl or precious metal were in the same order, and the bell centered in the middle of the grand structure! It was all present!

The overall appearance was much like a cabin in the forest on a foggy day, but that didn’t dampen my spirits, I had finally reached my destination!

‘The center arch!’ I thought, ‘It’s reflective, and I could probably see myself!’ I ran up to it. My excitement rose, then it fell. As I drew closer, the surface distorted my reflection into nothing more than a translucent, fleshy colored shadow. It was like trying to look at yourself in a puddle that won’t stay still.

The door opened, and I peered around the corner. There stood a darkly toned man. He stood roughly 5’ 7”, was dressed in ivory robes that were held up by a golden sash, and had a robust beard that would put any high school boy in awe. This was Jesus.

Jesus stepped out of the door way. I walked into full view of him and waved slowly. “Hello,” Jesus said to me, “The council has been expecting you. They have instructed me to guide you to them when you arrived.” He smiled, then turned around and walked back inside. I quickly followed.

“You . . . are my Lord and Saviour!” I couldn’t help but gasp.

“This is true, I have died for your sins, and I have brought unto you salvation.” Jesus stated as if it weren’t a big deal.

God’s palace was immensely overwhelming. I was looking around franticly, trying desperately to see every little detail that it had to offer! The high ceilings were covered with tapestries that depicted the genesis of the universe, while the floor was covered in a vast mural that showed the world after it has ended and God has reclaimed his greatest creation. There were paintings of all the devoted men and women who were described in detail in the Holy Bible, and even artifacts of the great war in Heaven!

“And you will come again!” I replied, paying more attention to my surroundings than to Jesus.
“You are already here, why worry over my return?”

I snapped out of my strained focus, “I was just . . . what I mean is . . . I don’t know. I guess I was just trying to make conversation.”

Jesus looked back and smiled.

We stopped in front of a massive door. There was a engraved gold sign that read: Throne Room. My jaw went slack. I couldn’t believe that I was standing in front of God’s Throne room. Jesus asked if I was ready. I nodded. He then opened the great door. Brilliant light flooded the hallway, I covered my eyes and entered.

The bright light faded away and I found myself standing in front of semi-circle bench. It was then I remembered I was not going to see God, I was seeing the council! ‘How could I forget?’
The familiar golden haired, mix and match of suited figures sat around the bench. They all sat silently. I walked into the room until I was roughly centered to the bench.

I stood for what felt to be an extraordinarily long time. The silence was getting unbearable. “Can you help me?”

“That depends.” The man on my far left said.

“What is it you need help with?” The man to the right of the man in the center said.

“I . . . I want to meet God . . .”

“You do not know God now, how would you know if you were to meet God?” The man in front of me questioned.

“I feel Him. It’s just hard to find Him, when you feel Him from every direction.” I lied.

“That, most would take to be a sign.” The man third from the right said.

“How can you be so sure that God is a He?” The man to the left of the man in the center said.
“I’m not . . .” I lowered my head. If I could have cried, I would have.

The council eyed me hard. Why I wasn’t sure, but I felt that they all stared at me, judging me, making me feel inadequate. ‘Is this truly my ultimate reward? To be criticized and made to feel small in the glorious kingdom of Heaven? How could a lifetime (or at least what I can remember of my life) of devotion actually result in this? Who do they think they are?’

“We are God.” The man second from the right stated, “We have been seen by all, yet none have even considered that we are the great and glorious God.”

All the self pity I had been feeling had been replaced with rage. Although I couldn’t feel the usual burning sensation that would normally accompany rage, the feeling was there. “You . . . you all are God?” A wave of confusion washed over me.

Suddenly all of them began speaking at once. It was the most overwhelmed I had ever felt. They didn’t yell, just flooded me with questions. Questions I had never considered and I only caught a few of them.

“Did you really think that one being could be responsible for the whole of the universe?”

“Didn’t you ever ask yourself why some people were good at some things, while others were better suited for different tasks?”

“You surely know that you were created in God’s image, it just so happens that we are God.”

“Do you still have faith?”

“The trinity was the simplest way to explain that there were more than one being, how could you not have seen that?”

“Jesus is actually my son, he offered to help us out.”

The more I heard, the more I felt betrayed. The God I had served in my life was nothing more than a fictional character in a book of stories, mere fairy tales! ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ “SHUT UP!!!”
The council fell silent.

“I want answers.”

The man in the center spoke up, “What do you want to know?”

“First of all: Why is this Heaven when it feels more like Hell?”

The man in the center answered. “It is a mirror. There is no Hell. It is merely a reflection of your own Freewill. The things that don’t fall into your Heaven archetype are simply you inferring a different context of events. That is why at times people may look the same, and at others do not.”

This actually made sense! In fact, this was the first thing anyone had said that did! “Okay, and what about the second coming? A’doces informed me that none of the events in the last book have occurred! Furthermore, why is it that he and most of the other angels don’t know that all of you are their creators?”

There was a pause, then the man in the center once more answered. “If they knew the truth, they would revolt. They would want the place of God’s Greatest Creation, thus we have hid the truth from them.”

“Then the story of Lucifer never happened?”
“It did. The angel you speak of, A’doces, was in his choir. When Lucifer had discovered the truth, he conspired with Michael and Gabriel. They passed it off as nothing more than a joke, however. In the end, Lucifer convinced Peter that he was right and Gabriel, Michael and Peter sided with him. All four of them were slain by the choirs that they loved. A’doces was the one who delivered the killing blow on Lucifer, but has ever since suspected the truth, yet he has been wise not to state it.”

“So this is why A’doces speaks of you all with disdain, why he told me that Peter was on vacation?”

“Yes. If he were to speak the truth blatantly, we would remove him from Heaven.” The man in front of me stated.

I couldn’t focus on one thing at a time at this point. A barrage of questions flooded from my mouth. “If you are truly all God, than why are there multiple churches in Heaven? Why don’t we have names? Why are there no mirrors? Why have a place designed for near death experiences when most of the people are in Hell? Why?”

Only the man in front of me answered. “You will be troubled by truth.”
“TELL ME!”

“Mirrors and names give an identity. Personality and freedom is not lucrative to control. You see that people seem to look different at one time and the same at others according to their actions. They only appear to look the same when they follow our Will. We give you the illusion of choice to choose the church you want to go to, but really they are all the same. As for The Burning Bush, it is not only for those who have what you call near death experience. It is where your minds rest. It shows you what you want to see. If a person is in Hell, which is in the basement, it is because they want to go there.”

The anger and full realization of the revelations I heard was enough to cause my vision to begin to fade. The more they revealed, the more I grew weary. I fell to the floor. I was helpless, yet just before everything was consumed by the darkness, the council got up and stood around me. I felt like I was dying for a second time! None of them helped, or even attempted to help me. Then . . . Nothing.

* * *

I awoke. I shot straight up like I was waking from a nightmare. My room was dark and I was alone. I reached over to the night stand and turned on the lamp. When the light came on I noticed my Bible sitting open on the table. I picked it up. It was open to the book of Daniel, chapter two. I knew this chapter well. It had to do with the dream Nebuchadnezzar had of a great statue being destroyed by a large comet. Verse forty-four struck me as fitting of my own dream.

"And in the days of these kings shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall never be destroyed: and the kingdom shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand forever."

Well I was reading I noticed my hands. They were not the translucent, veiny hands of an old man. They were the youthful hands of a thirty-two year old. I was thirty-two!
I slowly began to remember things about my life! I was a devote and inquisitive Christian. I worked as a server in a restaurant, and I was widowed.

My throat was dry. I got up and went to the wood panelled bathroom of my apartment. My drinking glass sat next to my toothbrush. I grabbed the glass with my right hand while turning on the tap with my left. It suddenly dawned on me that I was staring into the mirror, but since the only light came from my night stand lamp, my face was veiled in shadows. I filled my glass, then turned on the bathroom light. I finally saw my face!

It had strong characteristics that made it unique. I had a scar from a bout of chicken pox when I was five on my right temple, my nose had a crooked bridge and seemed to be almost to big for my face, yet it wasn’t disproportionate in anyway. My left eyebrow seemed to fluff out towards the right side of my face, while the rest of my eyebrow looked smooth and grew to the left. The shape of my face narrowed out like an almond, yet I didn’t look gaunt. It was a beautiful face, because it was my own.

I gulped my water. My bowels began to rumble, so I relieved myself, then returned to my room. As I laid in my bed I thought about my dream. ‘Could it have been a vision?’ I was unsure. I reflected on the way the council of ten men were dressed. It was reminiscent of the dream that Nebuchadnezzar had. His dream was supposedly a vision of the end of all empires, yet I couldn’t help but feel differently about this dream now.

‘If this is true, then the dream is much more about the nature of God than the end of the world.’ This thought haunted me, but then the epiphany hit me: ‘My name is Job, and I have better things to do in my life than serving God.’

Celebrity Email: Ke$ha

Dear Ke$ha,

I have never been a fan of tramp-glam, but after hearing your song, "Tik Tok", I have concluded that white trash is still not sexy. This fact -- yes I am flat out calling you a hooker-- I still have a few questions.

First off, where did you get those boots? Even though I think you are nothing without the 'Auto-Tune' effect (not a fan of T-Pain either, although he is a lot less painful to listen to) those boots where probably the only saving grace of your video. I am interested in acquiring a pair a some point in time.

Next, I wanted to know what the obsession with drinking your face off until dawn is hot? Maybe this is the small town mind set coming out, but where I come from there is only one word for a girl that drinks excessively until day-break: S.C.U.D. (Skanky Cunt Unfuckable in Daylight). I am really curious, how is this attractive?

Lastly, do you really think Mick Jagger would sleep with you? Maybe Keith Richards, but Jagger is way out of your league Ke$ha. And by the way, the dollar sign in your name, are you trying to be edgy? Do you really think that placing a dollar sign in your name give you license to promote Jack Daniels? Personally I think Jack has been doing fine the past fifty-four years without your help.

Thank you for taking the time to read this highly opinionated letter from one of your many un-adoring non-fans,

-A. Warren Johnson

PS- A thought to the label, maybe just keep the oh-uh-oh-oh-ohs and cowboy boots, lose the white trash singing and you got yourself club gold.