I'm left with the feeling that God (after absorbing the smackeroo like it never happened) would look at you and get the can't-stop-em giggles. the ones which start at the corners of the mouth (beard helps big time here) and finally get Cuisinarted out the nose.
Finally he'd bust out laffing and slap you on the shoulders and say "don't you get it? it's really really rich! Hoooooo!"
Then he'd pour you some really astoundingly good beer. You're pounding the brewskies with God. "It doesn't get any better that tihs."
Meanwhile, Joke Is On Us.
We could laugh, politely, failing to conceal that It's Not ******* Funny.
That third tablet that Moses dropped and never 'fessed up to, probably said Thou Shalt Be a Good Sport. On the seventh day, He declared it good. Pretty darn good, actually. He roflHao, then he took a nice long nap.
I think Heaven is where you wake up, slap yourself on the forehead (D'oh!), and start giggling. Good one, Big Guy! Then you softly hum on the way to the kitchen, every now and then giggling at the humor content of the Metro section. |
