"Aw Shit!",...a run-run from 2017.

"Aw Shit!",...a run-run from 2017. 

I just saw a post on a comrade's page. It was about how ungrateful some are when you help them. They even give you shit. Thing is you don't stop helping them, and others.

Helping doing what's right, and good is not for a reward. The Nuns, at least to me, implied there's rewards in our divine bank accounts for every Mitzvah/good deed we do.

It 'really' doesn't work that way.

One has a vision of a vast celestial bank of "Good Deeds" attended by angelic investment specialists racking up tons of holy interest for every time you don't trip a blind person or not say the "N" word. These are 'not' rewarded...you're supposed to 'not' do these things.

Anyway "good" in it's many meanings is just what you do or try to.

Amen,...pretty much.

This a reply from my dear radio pal Tom Wisker:

Imagine Heaven's Administrative Annex, with tens of thousands of angel-accountants sitting in Celestial Cubicles, with harp Muzak playing as they work their abacuses and make quill-pen entries in huge, leather-bound ledgers.

My take on the whole thing:

Right I go the Amalgamated Heavenly Paradise Bank Ltd. asking to make a small withdrawal. I wander into the place ask directions then five angel cops slam me against the wall do a cavity search take blood samples then scan my brain with some space alien thing. They drag me semi-conscious to a steel walled room with one light bulb hanging from it's rusted ceiling. An angel in a Nazi-like black uniform, with a gold dollar sign on his peaked cap enters.

He looks at me with contempt, and sits at the desk in front of where I bleeding, and dazed am kneeling. He's given my file by an attendant who is dressed as Peter Pan. (???)

He begins, "I understand you want to make a withdrawal". I mumble my mouth full of broken teeth. He continues. "This is most irregular." ...he sniffs turning the pages of my file. I try to say, "...all I wanted was..." "Silence!" the angelic Inspector General barked!!

Two bully boy angel cops enter the Inspector nods in my direction.

I come to a week later in the bank's surgery. There's a Demon nurse drinking the blood samples standing over me. "Am I in Hell?" I ask.

"No you're still on Heaven's banking level. We fill in as temps." "The banking, and violent authority culture here agrees with us." "Can I eat your liver?"

Just then some angel intern comes over shoos away the demon looks at my charts, and sez, "...well another withdrawal case." "You can't normally withdraw if you're still mortal,...you know that right?"

To which I say "...what?' ...then fart.

"Aw crap a code brown,...ya not gonna shit ya self are ya,...no?" "Code blue!" "...another walk in" "Look pal there a system. You got a heartbeat so no dice. Eh you got a note from da Lawd or one of his team,...no? Sorry pal you gotta go home. I'll call dispatch to send you back to whatever shithole you came from. Let's see,...eh,...wow the U.S.A. in the early 21st?!" "Boy are you in for it"

Me, "...what?"

I was then sent to Hell by mistake. Man what a swell place. Parties great music cool cars folks from all history booze dope boys or whatever the whole swell deal!. Everybody cool is there too. My secret boyfriend from summer camp sees me smiles, and is coming over. He's still 13, and now so am I.

I asks if I can stay, but some demon cop sez something about the "Mortal's Prohibition Act", and  sprayed me with Heroin gas. I come to in front of my keyboard with the implanted notion that this whole thing is just a stupid post I'm working on.

Shit!

(To be continued.)