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Heaven has roommates, did you know that? Yeah, I didn't think so either. I always pictured heaven as this place where you get your own cloud, your own personal heaven. But nope, turns out it's more like a celestial dormitory. So, you walk into your heavenly abode, and there's this guy floating on the cloud next to yours, playing the harp off-key. And you're thinking, "Is there a noise complaint department in heaven?" You try to make small talk, but he's stuck in this loop of talking about his greatest hits from his past life.
And don't even get me started on the cloud furniture. I mean, it's all soft and fluffy, but have you ever tried to sit on a cloud? It's like sitting on a marshmallow that keeps moving. I'm telling you, the celestial interior decorator needs a reality check.
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You know, they say the afterlife is all sunshine and rainbows, right? But have you ever thought about the gates of heaven being like the most exclusive nightclub in town? I mean, picture this – you die, and there you are, standing in front of the gates of heaven. Suddenly, St. Peter is the bouncer, and he's giving you the once-over. St. Peter's like, "Name please?" And you're standing there thinking, "Wait, do I need a reservation for eternal bliss?" Are there VIP passes? Are they checking Yelp reviews on how good you were in life? I can imagine St. Peter scrolling through a celestial tablet, checking your Facebook posts to make sure you didn't share too many cat memes.
And then comes the entrance exam. He asks you questions like, "Did you ever return a borrowed lawnmower?" And you're there, sweating bullets, going, "Uh, does it count if I can't remember where I borrowed it from?" It's like the SATs, but instead of determining your college future, it decides your celestial fate.
I can already see someone in heaven bragging, "I got a perfect score on the entrance exam!" And another guy's like, "Well, I failed, but at least I returned that lawnmower." It's like the ultimate measure of goodness – forget about Nobel Prizes; it's all about returning borrowed stuff.
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Heaven has an all-you-can-eat buffet, but here's the catch – there's no calorie count. You'd think that in the afterlife, you could indulge without consequences. But no, there's this eternal fear of heavenly love handles. And the food choices – it's like they took every cuisine from every corner of the world and put it in one place. You've got heavenly sushi next to celestial tacos, and then there's ambrosia salad because apparently, even in the afterlife, someone thinks we need more Jell-O.
And let's not forget about the heavenly weight watchers support group. You're sitting there, munching on celestial kale chips, while an angel whispers, "You know, if you eat too many heavenly donuts, you might end up in the other place.
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So, you finally make it through the gates of heaven. You're thinking, "Great, I made it!" But then, reality sets in. Heaven is like this massive, sprawling place, and there's no Google Maps. You're wandering around like, "Uh, where's the heavenly Starbucks? I need my eternal latte fix." And the angels – they're not much help. You ask them for directions, and they're like, "Just follow the clouds." Follow the clouds? Have you seen clouds lately? They're all fluffy and indistinguishable. I'd probably end up in angel HR for getting lost.
And then there's the issue of the harps. Apparently, everyone in heaven plays the harp. It's like the official instrument of the afterlife. But here's the thing – do they offer harp lessons? Imagine being stuck in heaven, trying to figure out how to play "Stairway to Heaven" on a harp. That's gotta be the real test of your eternity.
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