Forgive me, Father. My last confession was
too long ago. My sins are too numerous to mention.
However, if you could find it in your heart,
please talk to God and tell him not to give away
my place in Heaven. I don’t know when I’m coming,
but it would comfort me to know that I am wanted.

Every Friday I sat with classmates listening
as you said hell was simply a phone call away.
All I needed to do was deposit dimes in the lap
of the devil and my space would be reserved.

Please tell the devil that while I have occasionally
enjoyed the lavish comforts, I prefer the rent control
afterlife offered by heaven. I don’t really mind
the long staircase and the insufferably lengthy wait
at the gates, but my milky white skin hates the heat.

I know God can get pretty pissed off at times.
Remember New Orleans? or that tsunami?
or that Old Testament-style wrath and fury? I doubt
I’ll ever forgive him for Republicans.
God, why did you choose to make me fat?
Are you fat? Do you have to deal with
an ex-wife? Do you ever find yourself
hating your job? Why has my football team
never won a Super Bowl? I pray all the time.

Father, I wanted you to know that I paid
my $15.95 for my spot in heaven. I have framed
my heavenly issued certificate of reservation
registered in the Book of Light. I thought the
first class ticket to Heaven was a nice touch.
The Official Heaven Identification Card
and the Heaven 101 mini informational guide
will help me get used to the new surroundings.

My favorite, however, is the all-access VIP pass.
I’m looking forward to partying with the elite
in the Land of Milk and Honey, as well as kicking it
in the Thug Mansion. That is so fierce.

To be honest, eternal happiness sounds
a hundred times better than eternal damnation.
Knowing my sins are forgiven is a comfort.