So St. Peter was instructed by God to only let in people, who, apart from having lived honorable lives, had also suffered a terribly traumatic last moment, and needed consolation for that.
The next day, St. Peter went to his place at the front gates of Heaven, and three men were there, waiting for him. He beckoned the first man to approach and relay the story of his death.
“I was an average kind of guy. Worked the office, lived in a New York apartment on the 4th floor with my wife, and served God well my whole life. On the day of my death, I became sick, and left work to come home early. When I came in, I saw my wife lying in bed, sleeping, which I of course found odd, since she left for work that morning, and usually doesn’t get off until much later. Naturally I grew suspicious that she might have been unfaithful, so I started searching through the house. The closet, underneath the bed, behind every door and shower curtain…
I couldn’t find the guy, so I went out on the balcony to draw some deep breaths and calm down.. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge after all. I had just decided to go in and wake her up and ask why she was home, when I looked down, and saw the fucker! He was hanging there from the edge of the balcony, hoping I wouldn’t see him, looking up at me with his pleading eyes. I stepped on his hands, and his grip fell loose, plummeting down into a large bush. He survived the fall however, so in my blind rage, I went in, ripped the fridge out of the socket, and tossed it straight at the guy, crushing him flat.
The excersion and rage gave me an aneurysm shortly after, and well.. here I am.”
St. Peter scratches his head for a minute after hearing the man’s tale, but since he just openly admitted to killing a man in a fit of anger, the clouds open up beneath the man’s feet, and he plummets down into hell.
The next man comes forward and starts talking.
“I was an average kind of guy. Devoted to God of course, was unemployed a lot of the time, but could just afford a nice New York apartment on the 5th floor. On the day of my death I had slept in until noon I guess, and stepped out on the balcony to do some gymnastics in the sun.
While I was doing jumping jacks I accidentally lost balance, and tumbled out over the ledge. I felt my life flash before my eyes, but as luck would have it, I managed to grab hold of the balcony us beneath mine! I held on there for maybe ten minutes until my downstairs neighbour came out. I looked up at him with pleading and relief, but before I could speak a word or ask for help, he stomped down on my fingers, and I let go with a scream, certain this time, that I was done for. But no! After falling for what felt like an eternity spanning only a few seconds, I landed in a large bush. I broke some bones for sure, but I was alive!
That was.. until the same psychopath came out and threw a fridge in my face.. and here I am.”
St. Peter stood for a minute, digesting the story and connecting some dots, before welcoming the guy into heaven.
The last man now stepped forward, and St. Peter asked him to tell his tale.
“O-o-kk-k-kay… er.. You.. Yeah, you’re gonna have to, uh.. have to bear with me here, a-alright? Step in my shoes for a sec, yeah?
… So.. okay, picture this: you’re butt naked, hiding in a fridge.”
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