Misdirection

“Dude! Look! Up in the sky!”

“It’s a bird!”

“It’s a plane!”

“Well, kinda.”

“Don’t tell me you were expectin’ Superman?”

“No, dude, ’cause I didn’t place an order. But I could really go for a bowl of chowder right now.”

“Anythin’ to help you clam up, dude. But b’fore y’do that, I gotta ask ya somethin’.”

“Dude?”

“Which way’s heaven?”

“I dunno, dude! What makes y’think either of us has a snowball’s chance o’ gettin’ there, anyways? B’sides. Last I knew, God wasn’t givin’ out his snailmail.”

“Lemme put it to ya this way. When Michelangelo drew his pictures of angels an’, um, stuff in the Sistine Chapel, did he do ’em on the ceiling or the floor?”

“No way he’d draw stuff on the floor, dude. Dude could get stepped on.”

“Riiiight. An’ where did Jesus send the blessed in that picture? Up or down?”

“Up. They didn’t wanna get stepped on neither.”

“So heaven is up, or at least that’s where people think it is. ‘Spirits in the sky’ an’ all that, eh?”

“Guess so.”

“Then how come people go ridin’ up into the sky in a HEL-icopter?”

“Ever see the rotors come off a one o’ those things, dude?”

“Um, no …”

“Everybody inside goes straight to the devil’s house. Injection method.”

“Oh …”