I will not be paying the bill that I received yesterday. I have retained the services of a lawyer to ensure that I am protected in my decision to do so. The reason is simple: as it turns out, there is no such thing as heaven. I was sold the package with the understanding that there was, and that moreover I would be secured a spot there and availed of all privileges and services, inclusive: fluffy pillows, ceaseless happiness, the company of attractive intimates and equally attractive strangers, free meals, the ability to fly. Imagine my shock, then, when upon expiring (a heart attack, and a bit of a surprise—I was sure that the wasting disease would take me) I learned that what awaited me was simply an empty void, colorless, odorless, and mostly soundless—I say mostly because I could (and do) hear the sound of individual cells popping apart, a faint noise that occurs once a second and that will, as a result, last for (this estimate is based on a count of 15 trillion cells in the human body, only a rough guess of my own inventory) four hundred and fifty thousand years. It’s been a day and a bit. That’s about ninety thousand pops. By now, I see that I’ve been duped. Your representative, the one that had me all hopped up on ideas of heaven, made promises and then some, and in that light, the bill did not seem unreasonable. Now it does. You should be ashamed for taking advantage of a dying man. Pop, pop, pop. Come for me in court if you like. You won’t see a penny.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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