Religion is a mess. Like can't we just consolidate the roughly four-thousand two hundred plus doctrines of belief into one handy little guidebook that reflects something like the Ten Commandments and call it a day. And if it pisses you off, we don't even have to call it the Ten Commandments. I don't care what you call it, just don't call me late for dinner.
Because when you think about it, all denominations pretty much preach the same thing. And those tenets are to simply believe in a higher power, honor that higher power, practice good faith, get rewarded with 72 virgins...or at least one soulmate.
I mean, everyone's paradise sounds so God damn appealing that I'm feeling uncertain about which stairway leads to heaven. And it's becoming a bitch pulling the trigger on which lord almighty best suits my lifestyle. You see, I don't want to pick the wrong one because this is eternity in hell we're talking about and I hear the air conditioning units are old and squeaky. It's a good thing temperature rises, because then potentially the melting of the polar caps will make things much cooler down there.
I'm just an imperfect person trying to make the perfect choice.
Maybe it's like this. Maybe you go to the heaven that represents the deity you choose to worship, which means there's up to twelve thousand different versions of heaven. Wouldn't that be divine. Because then there is no wrong choice. Anyway, I guess I better pick my horse while I've still got time to place a wager. I could be swept away by the angels any given moment and I sure as hell don't want to miss my boat across the river Styx.
Ok, I think I've made my choice.
I choose Rastafarianism.
Hey, does this mean I will get to smoke with Bob?
