i had just sat down
for dinner
when the phone rang.
“hello?”
“to which god do you pray?”
asked the voice
on the other side.
“i guess to the one
with the best offer,”
i replied.
“excuse me?”
“well, pearly gates and eternal life
are swell and all,
but that one with all
the virgins waiting on you
sounds very tempting.”
“o.k., but you do underst…”
“you know how they
could make that more
appealing?
take twelve or fourteen
of those virgins,
slap bikinis on ‘em,
put ‘em on the beach,
or in front of a tractor,
and make a calendar!
now that would get ‘em
more business!”
“excuse me?”
“and their pitchmen…
have you seen ‘em?
they’re either skinny, dirty
pink-o hippies with sandals and beards
or fat chinamen smiling like
they snuck out a fart in church!”
“sir, i must…”
“you know who they should get?
matt damon.
now there’s an american hero
for ya!
good lookin’ too.
i’d vote for him!”
“uh, thank you for your time, sir.”
we both hung up.
“who was it?” my wife asked,
dropping a pork chop bone
to her plate.
“oh, just someone doing a survey
about who we’d like to see
run for president next time.
do we have any more
mash potatoes?”
