Arbitration Act
Me? My name's Chris, Chris Stone. Let me tell you. I swear in the name of almighty God, this is how it happened.
I was riding the subway approaching Lexington and 59th. It was maybe three, four months after the incident. I don't wanna talk about the incident. I ain't ready for that yet, and even if I was you're not ready, trust me on that. Look, let's just say, she came home, unannounced. Not that it's any of your business, but the woman totally misread the situation. She's a nurse for Christ's sake, she should recognise the Heimlich manoeuvre when she sees it. I'll explain to you, like I tried to explain to her. The girl was choking to death on a condom, and no, I don't know how the condom came to be stuck in her throat. What did you want me to do? Should I call 911 and explain there's a dead naked woman in my apartment with a strawberry flavoured condom stuck in her esophagus?
Busted!
You picked up on that didn't you? When you heard the words strawberry and naked. In your mind you gave a nigger a fine hanging. I knew it. Y'all the same as my wife. Anyway, the reconstructive surgery was successful, and the blood-flow may or may not return. Not that any of this really matters now.
You messed up my flow..... Yeah, I was on the subway because my therapist had changed my appointment, short notice. Like I didn't have other shit to do that day. But when a black man's pride and joy is, you know, not in service. I guess that frees up one big chunk of time. I'd just opened my bag to look for my mp3 player so I could kill, when this woman and me we starting chatting. Yeah, she was cute lookin'. So there I was, proper rummaging and cursing coz my apparatus was temporarily of service. As any man would? You'd curse would you? Cute lookin' woman, and you're sidelined. Out of the game.
"What's up with you? What's your problem?" she asked.
"I'll kill that bloody therapist!" I swear, that's what I said. She was undercover CIA. Who knew? Now, I admit, the subway can be very noisy but I can't see how she thought I said 'I'm an Al Quaeda terrorist'. At least that's what she told the coroner. Anyway, the last thing I heard was a vocal chorus of "Counter terrorist squad. Cease and desist!" Followed by several loud bangs!
So next thing I know, I'm next but one in the queue to get into heaven. I can tell you, the one thing they don't tell you about up here is the fog! It's foggy, damn foggy. Anything more than a few feet away, it may as well not exist. You can't see shit. I'll say I was next but one, but there was another chap just generally loitering and hanging around. Everybody seemed to be ignoring him so I did the same. You know what they say, when in Rome. Anyway, while I'm standing in this queue. I'm thinking. Why did they shoot me? – I did in fact cease, and I did do the desisting thing when asked. After deciding there was nothing I could do about it anyway, and realising there was some kind of delay in front of me. I took comfort that my mp3 player was still in my hand. Could I get the thing to work, hell no! Then I realised why it was broken, bullet hole clean through the middle. The display and everything still worked. It dawned on me! My momma always said hip-hop would be the death of me. The player had stopped 2 seconds in to track 23. My mp3 player's wire-less, The CIA got earpieces, track 23 is NWA – F*ck the police! Who knew?
The fella in front of me is all dressed up like he's a vicar or something. At first glance I would have sworn it was Bill Clinton. Anyway, as he got to the gate the doorman's stopped him. That's what was causing the delay. This doorman was a huge brother, built like an Ox.
"Sorry mate, you're not coming in, you're not on the list." The doorman was telling him.
"What you mean?" the vicar guy argued.
"You're not coming in, you're not on the list."
"Of course I am," he insisted." The Reverend John Smith, died 10th October 2008. I must be there, check."
"You're not coming in, you're not on the list." The doorman repeated himself. He remained eyes front, his face expressionless but the tone was now more assertive. Why do they always do that, I wondered? You know they just stand there, eyes front. They never actually look at you.
"Excuse me. You haven't even checked the list." The Reverend objected.
"Don't need to," replied the doorman, pointing to a sign without looking at it.
"You can't say that!" coughed the Reverend. "No cats, no whites, no atheists. It's illegal, and very probably unconstitutional."
"I'm sure you'll find it's legal. It does say, by order of the management. We don't have constitution. Heaven is, and always will be, a dictatorship. Now if you'd like to move along sir, they'll be expecting you downstairs." The doorman, though polite, was becoming agitated. Reverend John tried to push past. The doorman grabbed him and threw him to the ground. John sat crying on the kerb. I realised why they never look at you. They're always them butch body-building types. To turn their head to look at you would require them to have a neck. This guy didn't have one, neither did any doorman that I could recollect.
"Come through mate!" The doorman beckoned me.
"Cool," I replied. "It's good to come to a place where us nig...." Have you ever watched the old Batman? You know where they put that 'KAPOW!' and 'BLAM!' stuff on the screen. Trust me this was 'KABOOM!!!' I flew clean over the Reverend guy and ended up in the street with my jaw feeling like it'd been homered.
"He doesn't like the N-word, it's forbidden up here," said the doorman who'd punched me.
"Who?" I replied, getting to my feet.
"Him." He raised his eyes skyward.
"Who?" I repeated.
"Him." He raised his chin and looked up this time.
"Who's him?" I was gonna get this bastard.
"Him up there!" He leaned back to raise his head a little further.
"Him up where!?" It had to work this time.
"Him up there!" He leaned back as far he could and pointed upwards. For a split-second he stood there like the leaning tower of Pisa. Eventually, he went down like one of the World Trade Centre Towers.
"Don't ever punch me again, you no-neck, over-trained, top-heavy meat-headed bastard." I warned as I stood over him. Thunder roared in the distance. I stopped to think for a moment. "Bastard," I said quietly. The thunder roared again.
"He don't particularly like that word either," the doorman announced getting to his feet."You wanna go for strike three?"
"Not really?"
"I suggest you just go on inside then."
"I'm okay for a bit, I'll wait," I replied. To tell the truth I was still a bit dazed, extremely sore and I had the mother of all migraines. Seven bullets in the head can do that to you, and the punch in the jaw didn't help none.
So while I'm standing around I can hear serious boom boom janga janga goin' on. The gates are rattling, vibrating and shit. Let me tell you straight! Heaven got some serious bass goin' on. I'm talkin' serious, teeth ratlin' ,mutha-bass up inside the place.
"What the..." I started.
"Don't say it." The doorman cut me off.
"What kinda sound system they got inside there?"
"JBL!" the doorman announced proudly."Twenty-four inch sub-woofers"
"No shit!"
"Yup, the devil was braggin', since they got their system coz the vice president of the Bose corporation died. Two weeks later some big-shot Jamaican club owner got shot in a drive-by. So we got this."
"You tellin' me they got Bose downstairs and God's got kick-ass JBL up here."
"Yup, them two are kinda competitive like that. They take turns picking when people croak. Like God got Nike so the devil picked Prada."
"The devil wears Prada?"
"Sure."
"Thought as much. It sounds about right."
"Who's guy over there?" I pointed to the loiterer.
"Don't worry about him, he's not in line," replied the doorman.
"I have to get inside there," the Reverend sobbed as he stumbled towards us.
"Look mate," said the doorman,"It's policy. God got fed up with the lot of you a few years back. One day he just said he'd had enough. I think he said, I hate cats, I'm allergic to cats. The atheists made their own bed and white folk are just trouble makers."
"But my wife must be in there, she passed away last year." Reverend John was distraught.
"Look," I explained the sign to him."It's just for the brothers to hang out. I guess your wife must be in that other place."
"But my wife's black!" he blurted out.
"I see", replied the doorman before speaking into his radio. A long minute later, a woman looking suspiciously like Julie Andrews came skipping through the gates.
"We got ourselves an inter." The doorman stepped away.
"Hi," she offered a hand."I'm Mary, God's PA. What appears to be the problem?"
"My wife's in there, I desperately need to go and speak with her," insisted the Reverend.
"Sorry you can't, no entry, no exceptions." She pointed to the sign. "No white folk."
"Well can you get her to come out then? Is that possible?"
"Ah," Mary paused, screwing up her face. "Your wife, Adrienne Smith isn't it. She said to tell you. She can't come out because she's next up on the karaoke. But she knows about you and Matthew the alter boy, but it's okay she forgives you."
"I did not have sexual relations with that boy," he denied the allegation flatly. Mary eyed him suspiciously over the top of her half-moon glasses before removing them, leaving them suspended from the chain around her neck.
"I'm just bringing you a message, I'm not involved. There's a counselling program downstairs. I think it's run by a Cynthia Payne."
"But Adrienne's my wife! I've got to see her." John begged.
"Ah, that's the other thing." Mary forced a quick smile and pulled a document from her clipboard."This, I believe is your marriage contract." She held it out in front of his face."Can you read for me please the last part of section four?"
"'Til death us do part," he read slowly.
"Not wanting to stress the point, but you are in fact, dead! Both of you!" She tore the contract up in front of him before turning and skipping away.
"Excuse me Mary ma'am!" he called to her just as she was about to re-enter the gates. She stopped in her tracks."But you're white," he added.
"Damnations, bugger and blast!" she cursed, paused a moment, tapping her lips with a finger as she thought."Giss a leg up!" she called to the doorman.
"No problem love." The doorman obliged her. Mary pulled out a marker pen and wrote 'except genuine original bonafide birds, no trannies', below the words 'no whites' on the sign.
"I agree with that, I hate the nasty, tinny sound of the transistor radio, it disturbs the peace," agreed the Reverend.
"I guessing you're one them vicars that don't get out in the community much," I said.
"What?" He turned and questioned me.
"The sign says no transvestites, folk that have had the removal men visit below while the construction workers were up top. Or do you need King James to translate everything for you?"
"It's just not fair," John began sobbing again. Mary was a sucker for tears, she went and sat next him on the kerb.
"What's wrong now?" She tapped him on the head as if he were a little boy.
"It's not fair, it's racist. Just to exclude people on the colour of their skin," he sobbed.
"You lot did kind of bugger it up for yourselves. All that warmongering, enslaving and sending little children down the mines."
"Who's you lot?" he eyed her accusingly. Mary looked both left and right before whispering in his ear.
"White people."
"You can't just generalise like that!"
"Look John, you're alright mate. We don't mean people like you. It's those others. But we have to draw the line somewhere," She sucked in air between her teeth."Rules is rules." Just then, there seemed to be some kind altercation outside the gates. Two more doormen appeared and cast a man into the street.
"Can I at least go back in inside to get my other glove?" he asked.
"No," replied the first doorman. The man tried to walk back in through the gates but it appeared as if some kind of heavenly wind pushed him back. Try as hard as he might, every step the man took forward actually took him backwards. Eventually he gave up, walking off into the mist.
"It shouldn't matter!" he shouted back as he passed the chap who'd been hanging around since my arrival.
"What shouldn't matter?" asked the Reverend.
"If you're black or white," I explained.
The last thing to disappear from view were his white socks.
"Do keep up," said Mary to John.
"I'll try," replied the Reverend.
"See, rules is rules," sighed Mary."There you go, I actually quite liked that chap. You see the rules are clear. You can't get gain entry in accordance with the regulations and once inside you want to be different or special. Rules is rules. No white folk! You can't gain entry as a black man and then change your mind." She went to get up to go inside. Reverend John pulled her back.
"But you've got our women inside there."
"Not all of them," she replied."The good and evil rules still take precedent."
"But how come our women are allowed in and we're not?" he asked. I joined the pair of them on the kerb. I had to hear this. I closed my eyes and relaxed.
"I've got a headache," I announced."I'll just be here taking a moment. I won't say a word." I let them get on with it.
"Ah! Here's the thing," Mary started."We've got a new hero. Forget Florence Nightingale, Joan of Arc, even the Suffragettes. It's all about St. Sally McBeal. She even kicked Lady Di off the top spot. Took my boss to arbitration, kicked his butt!"
"Really?" The Rev was shocked.
"Big time!"
"Can that be done?"
"Obviously! Since the bit, oops, woman did in fact, do it. Ahem! Sorry about that but I was a saint when a sainthood actually meant something. Now, Mr Bennetton approves anything, he just doles them out like choccy biscuits."
"Who's Mr Bennetton?"
"God, stupid!"
"Oh, that's his name. I never knew that. Anyway, you haven't answered my question."
"Ah well! Yes! 29th February 2000 was a massive day in court! Nobody thought she had a chance."
"2000 wasn't a leap year, there was no February 29th ."
"See, that's the thing, it was. We just didn't tell you lot. Like there was anybody around to know what actually happened the millennium before that. We could have gotten away with blue murder. We shut it all down, down there, earth. Up here in heaven, business as usual."
"I see,"
"Where was I? Yes, trial. God didn't even bother to turn up! He mumbled about omnipresence or something, I wasn't really listening. My boy, Jesus, conducted the defence," She leaned to him and whispered in his ear again."I smelled alcohol on his breath. It's that water into wine thing. Better than duty free. Specially now he's mastered how to make the fortified stuff."
"What happened?" The Reverend's impatience was showing.
"Right, Ah, Well. St. McBeal claimed, all the crap that you lot did to cheese God off was nothing to do with us women. We were looking after the kids and cooking at the time. Men wouldn't let us join the army, we weren't allowed to war. The buggers wouldn't even let us vote! More importantly we weren't allowed into golf clubs or to go fishing."
"What do golf and fishing have to do with it?"
"I'll come to that. Don't make me lose my thread. Where was I? Kids, cooking, army, yes. Right! Jesus argued, citing Adam versus Eve, the date escapes me. God ruled in favour of Adam. In summary he said. A woman's place was in the home and the man was to be the provider. For the purposes of wrath, vengeance and law. The family were both individually and collectively liable. All this was covered by previous legislation contained within 'the sins of the father.'"
"I can see that," agreed the Reverend.
"That's what we thought, we believed Sally, as she was known then, had been well and truly scuppered. But I must show the girl respect. She set Jesus up and slam dunked the mother."
"I thought you were his mother?"
"I am. Where were we?"
"How did she win the case?"
"God wasn't in charge anymore, it was Moses sitting. Moses is a stickler for the law. The man's got no flexibility. To him, it's all black and white, no grey areas. It's like the laws are etched in stone."
"So?"
"Sally had bailiffs bring in box upon box filled with birth certificates. We're talking truckloads! She demanded they all be put into evidence."
"Why?"
"They were the birth certificates of all children fathered during alleged fishing trips and rounds of golf."
"Jesus!"
"You may well say that! She'd stitched him up, totally. Once in evidence the records are in the public domain."
"So?"
"What would happen if people knew Prince Charles had no right to the throne or Michael Douglas is Katherine's father and her husband? Too risky! Ally quoted commandments seven and ten. Moses had to rule, appeal upheld."
"Six and ten," mumbled John.
"Oh right, forgot you were a Catholic. Anyway, they had to let all the women back into heaven. Well, not all of them. Boudeccia, Winnie Mandela, Sarah Palin and a couple of others didn't make it."
"What's wrong with Sarah Palin?" The Reverend nudged me. It was a good thing too because I was dropping off to sleep.
"I'm not the gossipy type. All I can tell you is Matthew Hopkins testimony sunk her good and proper. Besides, she's a ginger, she deserved it."
"Sarah Palin's not ginger!" I objected.
"Palin's a fire-crotch!" laughed Mary."That's why she's so keen on having a Hollywood image."
"Hollywood image?" questioned the Reverend. "She's not an actress, she's a politician," To save him embarrassment, I whispered into his ear.
"Do you understand now?"
"Are you trying to say, she's actually bald?" he spat.
"Something like that. You don't get out much do you?"
"I refuse to accept that, she's from Alaska, it's cold. Sorry, you've totally lost me. What's a bikini got to do with anything?"
"I'm a Brazilian girl myself, but who cares!" Mary had a grin of satisfaction on her face. She started to dance."Do you hear the music and noise inside." (Whoomp! There it is!Booms in the background.)"The trial was over eight years ago and they're still partying now."
"Sod 'em," cursed the reverend.
"Yeah right, Sodom and Gomorrah. A bit before my time, but I heard they were some wicked raves." Mary continued to boogie."You lot have rebuilt them since. What do you call them now. That's it, Vegas and Hollywood." She started to wind her hips. I'll tell you I was stunned! For a virgin? That woman knew how to bump and grind. I was getting kinda horny just watching.
"You go girlfriend!" I cheered her on."Where you learn your wiggle from? You sure know how to shake that thang!" I don't what language you speak, English or American, that fanny was giratin' and a wigglin' on both sides of the Atlantic.
"This is heaven, it's full of black people. There's any number of those guys know how to rig the cable so we can get MTV base for free." She rolled her eyes upward and put a finger to her lips.
"I didn't know the virgin Mary was Brazilian." John said to me. I informed him he'd wasted the best part of his life.
"How would you know anyway? It's a DIY job. The only people who know, are me and my gynaecologist," Mary replied, lighting a cigarette."I'm going to smoke this and then I'm going back inside."
"Mary! Mother of Jesus!" The Reverend cried."What are you doing?"
"What?" she looked at her cigarette."Not you as well. I'm the one stuck being a virgin. Can't I have at least one vice!" Mary stood up, arms folded surveying the fog. John remained on the kerb, his knees pulled into his chest.
"I can't believe God barred white people," he sighed.
"He did, and you could see it coming. Be warned. Even now, Mr Bennetton is not appeased. He still speaks of wrath, vengeance and all that fire and brimstone stuff."
"Why? I've been a good servant to him."
"The thing is," she peered at John over her half-moon glasses."The coo, he took the first one personally, he took it very hard."
"Coo? What coo?" the Rev was bemused.
"In the eighties, you lot tried to replace him."
"We did no such thing."
"Did you or did you not try to use Charlton Heston as his body double for said purpose of convincing people Mr Bennetton was white?"
"No, well maybe. I can see how it may have looked that way but ask him to look at the benefits."
"What benefits?" She gave him another over-the-glasses look.
"Well, until I was twelve. I actually believed God was Charlton Heston. My mum would ogle the TV every time he appeared. Actually come to think of it. That's why she made me enter my profession."
"Then you should know the consequences of worshipping false idols."
" But isn't he all about forgiveness?"
"Yes but he says he has a full belly but an empty bladder. I quote 'Mary, I have no more urine for them to extract'."
"I see," the Reverend appeared concerned.
"He knows about the latest challenge to his title. The other one who claims he is a god and has omnipresence."
"Who?"
"That William bloody Gates character. Mr Bennetton will send him crashing, mark my words." She waved a finger. The Reverend swallowed hard.
"So it's Armageddon then?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. You people just got him mad. Now he sees things that just ain't there." She exhaled cigarette smoke, blowing rings whilst thinking."The Lever brothers, Proctor and Gamble. He cast a plague on their family's for all eternity."
"Plague?" Not for the first time the Reverend was confused.
"Yes, you know, AIDS, cancer, things like that for the men. The women were cursed with dandruff and split ends."
"Why? What did they do?"
"That washing powder slogan. He took it totally the wrong way."
"What slogan?"
"If the whites are right, the rest is too? He didn't like it's implications." The Reverend sat speechless."I don't know who he despises more," Mary continued."White people or kids. Maybe he really hates white kids. That must be it."
"I can't believe that. What about; suffer the little children to come unto me?"
"That'd be the Kings James translation, bad punctuation, wrong context. He meant, the little buggers will suffer if they come near him."
"Rubbish!" retorted John.
"Think about it! How many biological children does God have?"
"One."
"Exactly, and that was only because I got creative with a turkey baster. I wanted Jerusalem housing project to re-house me. What? Would you want me to live in a stable all of my life?" Reverend Smith had no answer. A period of silence ensued."Right!" she announced eventually. I'm going back in, she threw her cigarette butt into the fog."You'd better get off downstairs. When these doormen get annoyed they can become quite unpleasant. It's that way," she pointed into the fog.
"This isn't right," The reverend spoke out."God created all men equal!"
"Yeah right!" I scoffed."You white boys still believe that one, dream on."
"I wouldn't know," grinned Mary."I'm a virgin remember." She winked at me before turning toward the gates.
"And you Chris need to keep your head down and stay out of trouble. There's a few people got it in for you." I was amazed she actually knew my name.
"Why?"
"Everybody hates Chris! Remember. Try to keep up!"
"Mary!" a man shouted."Can you pop in for a second."
"Pop in?" she echoed, before slapping the man on his arm."You promised not to bring that up! Ever! I was young I needed the work."
"Can you pop in inside, they need you. That's all I was trying to say. It's our secret, I promise."
"Oh," she said,"bugger!" her face reddened before she skipped away. The man called to John Smith.
"Woah! Reverend Smith. Hold up, one sec," he shouted from the gate before turning to another."Mr Moses sir, we'll talk about this later," he said to his colleague. His colleague returned inside and the first man joined us. I wasn't sure if I was in Heaven, Hollywood or suffering from shock. Okay so it was foggy but the man he called Mr Moses, looked and sounded like Morgan Freeman. The guy that came out, dead ringer for Bruce Willis.
"Did you just come out of there?" John Smith was bemused.
"Sure I did."
"But you're white."
"I knew that."
"And you're a man?"
"100% percent red-blooded American!" The man handed John his card. The Reverend studied the card briefly.
"Okay Mr Winkle. If you're a white man. How did you get into heaven?"
"Oh right, it's a really long story but the bullet points. God decided to legislate for this whole white exclusion thing during the American Civil war. He was getting ticked off about us wiping out the Native American Indians then enslaving and relocating half the Africans on west coast."
"Meaning?"
"Even God isn't above due process. If he wants to do make the Caucasian exclusion bill stick. He has to go through consultancy and serve mandatory notices. Or he risks being embarrassed when it goes in front of the ARB."
"What's the ARB?" I asked.
"Apolistic Review Board." he replied.
"And?" The Reverend was eager for Winkle to continue.
"I was asleep for the global serving of notice. Apparently it manifested itself as a total eclipse. I was out for the count. Who knew? I was therefore, exempt." Winkle beamed.
"I don't understand this!" John scratched his head.
"It's not important right now. Shall I tell you what is?"
"What is?"
"Tabernacle, good word, remember that."
"Who are you again?"
"R.V. Winkle, attorney-at-law. It says it right there on the card."
"Tabernacle?"
"Yes, Tabernacle. It means, tent."
"I knew that."
"Right." I agreed
"And there's the 18-30 stuff," enthused Winkle.
"18-30 is a holiday company." John hook his head."They do those awful orgy type holiday things. Surely you mean 12-30. Where was Jesus between the ages 12 and 30?"
"I remember those holidays," I reminisced fondly."We used to call it love fest"
"Love fest?" echoed the Reverend."I've never heard that one before."
"Reverend we're in heaven, I feel uncomfortable using certain words. Keep up, dammit." Thunder cracked in the distance.
"Oops, sorry."
"Whatever! Trust me, the 18 to 30, love fest stuff is just as relevant. Turns out, young master J was out gallivanting with his cousin Nick."
"Nick?" queried the Reverend.
"Yeah Nick, Nick was a bit of a devil, an all round bad influence."
"Your point?"
"Gallivanting, 18-30, tent. Are you getting this?"
"No."
"Okay son," Mr Winkle pulled out a birth certificate. "After Sally won the appeal. Judas found this and sold me a copy."
"I don't get it?" The Reverend was struggling.
"There was an incident in a tent with a young woman while they were gallivanting. The man can't send his own relations downstairs it's unethical."
"Are you saying, I'm related to God?" asked John.
"Possibly."
"So what does this mean?"
"It means, son, we're going to a ball game! Arbitration here we come!"
"Excuse me Mr Winkle," I called."Do you know who he is?" I pointed over to the loiterer." Why is he just standing around? Is he a tramp?"
"Tramp? ... Oh you mean like a pan-handler. No, we don't have them up here."
"Well who is he then?"
"Erm, he's like a lost soul."
"What do you mean?"
"Are you English dammit!" (thunder rolled in the background.) "Why do you need everything explained to you? Why can't you be more like us? Just say, I don't get it, and move on."
"Doesn't he need an exorcist or something?" asked John.
"No he doesn't. Okay, he's been here 15 years. He got hit by a DHL truck, he and the driver were killed instantly."
"Where's the driver?" I asked.
"Inside," replied Winkle
"What about him?" asked the Reverend.
"There's no paperwork, nobody up here will sign for him. Anyway, forget him. Were all going to arbitration."
"Yeah! And you're going down!" a voice boomed behind them.
"Is that Mr T?" I asked the doorman. The doorman shrugged his shoulders.
"No it's Mr J," said Winkle. "Jesus, how you doing? How's the family?" Winkle shook his hand."Mr J, meet John Smith."
"He ain't no kin to me, he's going down." Jesus ignored the Reverend. The woman Jesus was with was a blonde, and she was stunning. The woman had melons like - melons.
"Mary my dear, how are you?" Winkle intended to kiss her hand but Jesus stepped between them.
"Mags baby, go back inside. I don't what you hanging round here with these white boys." Mary walked back through the gates, her switch over emphasised. Winkle looked on.
"There's just something about that woman."
"Who?" asked John.
"Mary," he replied. "There's something about Mary, try to keep up!"
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Jesus sure is sensitive about his woman," said Winkle. "Mr J's turned kinda grumpy. Kids don't like him no more since he sent Santa Claus down."
"He did what!" gasped the Reverend.
"Yup! Sent Santa downstairs for all eternity."
"No!"
"The man disrespected my woman at my own birthday party." growled Jesus. "He does it every year! He shouldn't be saying that stuff. I warned him but he said it three times." Jesus wrapped his fur coat a little tighter. Winkle laughed. John Smith just looked bemused."Him and that ugly, green, sweet corn eating mother-man. They can just rot!" Jesus puffed.
"I'm not quite following?" John was confused.
"Santa Claus, Green Giant, ho-ho-ho." I whispered into the Reverend's ear. "Try to keep up." He let out a titter of a laugh.
"And as for you!" Jesus pointed a threatening finger at the Reverend."You going down! I'm taking you all down, one time. Even you!" He pointed at me.
"Why me?" I objected.
"Coz every body hates Chris!" Jesus, Winkle and the doorman all said in unison. I even think the Reverend John Smith joined in.
"We'll see Mr J, you get your people. We're talking about the Vatican's favourite son here. We'll get our people. See who's laughing on Judgement day." Winkle replied smugly.
"Can't we get St McBeal on our team?" asked the Reverend.
"Doubt it," sighed Winkle."She's all loved up with Tiger Woods,"
"How did he get up here?" I asked.
"Last week, Phil Mickleson sliced a three wood. Damn that lump on Tiger's head looked nasty! Personally, I'm with the conspiracy theorists on that one. How else where they gonna get him off the top spot?"
"So it's a definite no on the St. McBeal issue?" John wanted to get back to the point.
"You lot don't know do you?" Jesus laughed.
"Know what?" Winkle sounded nervous.
"We want to settle this one time. My dad's summoned the Pope, he's now your co-defendant." Jesus' laughter increased to a roar.
"That's a good thing, right?" asked John.
"Not really." Winkle winced "We don't really have visitors up here. You're here to stay, or you get transferred downstairs. It's not like you can get a return ticket. This is heaven for Christ's sake, it ain't no holiday resort."
"Meaning?" questioned John. Jesus looked at his watch and laughed.
"In seventeen minutes the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel's coming down."
"Is Michaelangelo up or down?" I inquired.
"Down, why?" Jesus snapped.
"That ceiling took him bloody ages. When he finds out, he's gonna freak." I replied. For some reason the Reverend laughed. I don't know if Jesus thought John was laughing at him, but Jesus just went crazy. It was like he was possessed. He attacked the Reverend.
"Shuddup fool! You crazy fool!" He shouted in a deep gruff voice." The Reverend jumped up to defend himself. A scuffle broke out. Winkle grabbed the Reverend and that's when pardon the expression. - All hell broke loose.
"Mr J, there's no need to fly off the handle."
"Fly!" screamed Jesus."I ain't flying nowhere. You ain't getting me on no god-damned plane!" Thunder rumbled overhead."You crazy fool!" He became extremely animated, pointing and gesticulating at the Reverend. The doorman ran over and restrained him."Come on bring it! Fool!" Jesus continued. The Reverend gave Jesus a cold hard stare. I heard some bells ring and a fanfare started. In retrospect it must have been when heaven's door's opened. The people flooded out.
"Don't even think about it," warned Winkle. "This guy is a wrecking machine. He'll kill you I'll tell ya!" More doormen came running out.
"Come on people, make a hole!" they shouted, wrestling people out of the way.
"Fool! Why you ducking me, Huh?" Jesus was livid. People started spilling out of heaven to see what all raucous was about. It was chaos. Nobody noticed the loitering guy sneak inside. "You're going down!" screamed Jesus with doormen holding him back. The Reverend spotted his wife by the gate. He reached out to her.
"Adrienne!" he called.
"You're going down! Fool!"
"Adrienne!" the Reverend cried.
"Shut up you crazy fool!"
"Adrienne!" He screamed one last time as the doorman ushered her back inside.
"You're going down. You crazy fool!"
"I ain't going down."