Jerry Falwell goes to hell

“Um, it’s a little warm in here,” says Jerry Falwell, loosening the tie around his fat white neck. “When do I get to meet Jesus?”

“Jesus? Great guy. He stops by every Thursday for bread pudding and bowling,” says Lucifer, laughing. “He can’t bowl for shit, but he’s always got the best jokes. Last week he…have you heard the one about the nun, the priest and the dildo?”

“Bowling? Bread pudding? Where in hell am I?” asks Falwell.

“Well, you’re on Level One for processing but we’ll be shipping you off to Level Nine before you can say God Hates Fags.”
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Jerry Falwell is the reason why I don’t call myself a Christian.

Of course he’s not the only reason – not believing in the whole He Died for Our Sins thing is a biggie – but Falwell is definitely #2 on Hedy’s little pagan laundry list.

I don’t call myself a Christian because the last thing I want is to be lumped in with hate-spewing idiots like Falwell who have perverted and defiled Christ’s profound yet simple message of love and acceptance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bowling? Bread pudding?

Of course. What? Did you think hell would be all brownies and blowjobs?

That’s heaven.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With Falwell finally dead the world is a less hateful place.

And hell? I’m sure they’re all too happy to welcome him into the fold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Train – When I Look to the Sky
I am reading: Three Cups of Tea by Mortenson/Relin
And I am: Heading to Level Two