Grandalf πΈπͺπ΅π© π’π― πThe Christians had prepared for this day, each in their own way. Catholics, Orthodox, Protestants, LDS, etc. all sanctimoniously praying to their version of their god, all believing only they had it right.
They stood in front of the Pearly Gates, some jumping from foot to foot, some shuffling back and forth, some clinging to their neighbour, some just looking at their feet. Those with some sort of official capacity in their church stood proudly, knowing they were assured of a place in Heaven.
Then the gates swung slowly, laboriously open, the light streaming out from between them, the sound of trumpets shattering the whispering silence.
The Guardian of the Gate, the Scribe of the Scroll of Life, stepped forth and looked at them all.
"So, to start with, some of you muthafukkas got the message garbled ..." he began.