Another Piece on Dating

The average female student will have a numerous amount of personal encounters throughout the day. Many of these meetings are nothing more than making small talk at a lunch table, brushing shoulders with someone in the hallway, or doing homework with an assigned partner during class. Over the years, one fact about teenage rendezvous remains the same: teenage dating is an uncomplicated and painless experience on a young woman’s emotional health.

The first step to dating a boy in today’s society is actually finding one who is worthy enough of a girl’s liking. Not just anyone will do. There are certain criteria that must be met. He must be rude, inconsiderate, have poor taste in clothes, and, if a girl is lucky enough, have a bank account to match Donald Trump’s. Then, she must then check on all of his friends to see if any of them are more date worthy than the original rude, inconsiderate, badly dressed, rich boy. It also doesn’t hurt if this boy engages in some sort of illegal activity such as drinking, or doing drugs etc. It doesn’t matter; it all just adds to the charm. Also, if boy happens to be a vampire who develops a very unhealthy obsession that borders if not crosses into stalkerdom (eg watching her while she sleeps, following her while she shops) this is also a plus.

If he is deemed suitable, she can then move onto the next phase in the first step of liking a boy: consulting her friends. This is the process by which the girl goes around to her entire social network: school, neighbors, the lady at the check out counter at the grocery store, anybody and everybody. After the boy is deemed worthy she can then begin the chase.

There is nothing more enjoyable to a girl than the chase of the boy. There are three main steps to this process. Step One: she must learn everything about the boy. This includes getting all of his school files and anything that the F.B.I. might have on him. She must also check out what kind of car he drives, and how he pays for his paraphernalia, legal or otherwise. Cash, check or credit? All of these things make a person who they really are. Once the boy has passed this test of character, he must then hang out only at the best places. Places where a coffee and a scone total over ten dollars and where ice cream is so expensive you have to use the Visa.

Once this is completed the girl can then move on to Step Two; hanging out where the boy hangs out to get noticed. How does this occur? First, the girl must wake up extra early on a Saturday; figure out what to wear by consulting her aforementioned friends. This should only take her three to four hours. Then she must shower, do her make up perfectly, and fix her hair. If all goes well, she is a beautiful, sleep deprived, maiden.

Once the girl arrives at the hot spot in town, with her posse she must proceed to talk very loudly about subjects that she knows the boy has an interest in, which she knows nothing about. When this task is successfully completed, she must then leave with all of her friends in tow, and naturally the boy will follow to strike up a conversation. This leads to Step Three: being asked out. This is the most important step because it seals the deal. The boy has to lean in and ask in a very arrogant manner, “Hey hottie, wanna hang out sometime?” To which the girls must repy, “Maybe.” This is the signal that the date has been set.

The date has been set, the clothes picked out, (this time it only took two hours), and all of the extraneous tasks taken care of. The girl is now looking forward to one of the more pleasant parts if the evening, the meeting between the boy and her parents. An amicable exchange will then ensue between the boy and the girl’s father. Surely no embarrassment will occur, and the mother of the girl will only offer the boy cookies and a carbonated beverage thirty seven million times as well. The car ride to the location of the date will be filled with silences that neither the boy nor the girl will mind. Noting excitedly that the other one has checked her hair twice and only picked his nose once, both the girl and the boy are wondering, “When will the second date happen?!”

Finally the destination of the date, generally the movies, the mall, or a local Coney Island, is here. The boy hastily parks his car, gets out and walks towards the door, leaving the girl to merrily open her own door, walk by herself into the movie, mall, or Coney Island. A cheery conversation follows between the boy and girl in which he is politely reminded that she is a princess and should be treated like one. She is then reminded that since women have equal rights they also have equal power, i.e. the power to open their own door and pull out their own chair. An awe-inspiring movie, starring some up and coming actor such as Hillary Duff or Lindsey Lohan is then watched, by the couple who discuss the plot and symbolism afterwards. They then head home where they engage in a simple and civilized embrace that lasts for only ten to fifteen minutes. Afterwards, the boy states that he will call the girl and the girl states that she will be waiting. He then rushes home to call her; she then does not sit by the phone and wait.

Teenage and adolescent dating is so comprehensible that even a young child can dissect its very essence. There are three easy steps to dating a boy and only two or three sub steps for each main step. Dating is relaxing and enjoyable experience full of wonder and excitement no matter how many times a girl has been dating a boy. The art of finding a suitable boy, catching him and keeping him is so clear that in the process of writing this blog three of the author’s friends have managed to follow her clear and concise advice each having snatched rude, inconsiderate, badly dressed, rich boys of their very own. So go out now and get your very own boy today!

My Lack of Dating Life

Not long ago, I traveled to India – or was it Tibet? – to find a guru who could answer one of the Great Questions of Life. I climbed a mountain all the way to the top, and there, sitting crossed legged on the ledge, was a guru. A wise woman.

I went before her. “Do you mind if I asked you a question?” I said. She nodded, so I did. “Why is it that some women have no trouble finding boyfriends or guys to go out with, while others can’t to save their lives?”

She turned to me. “If I knew the answer,” she said, “do you think I’d be sitting up here on this stupid rock all by myself?”

All right – so I never went to Tibet or India. I’ve never even been out of Florida. But I’m telling the truth when I say that it’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma why some women have men in their lives all the time, and others don’t. I’ve heard a few explanations bandied about; It’s the women who go out and socialize who snap up the guys; it’s the really sexy Megan Fox-esque women who have all the guys flocking to them. My own sister had this to say…’if a guy does not so much as look at me – there’s only one explanation. He’s gay.”

Oh puh – lease. You’re not that hot, Paige. But none of those explanations are right. We all know women who fit the bold and the beautiful category that have gone months without seeing a guy. So what the hell is it, then?

I have absolutely no idea. No – actually I do, else I would not be typing this out, right?

Let’s take me, for example. I’m young, I’m attractive, and I am very single. A true fact that will both relieve and dismay my dad – it has been exactly one year and eight months since I last had sex. Relief, for obvious reasons. Dismay…because all fathers know that daughters are karmic punishment for their youthful transgressions.

Okay – forget the sex. I have not been on a serious date, or any kind of date for that matter, in such a long time that typing it will in all probability make me break down and cry. I really do not get it, at all. Why am I not date-able? And more importantly, what can I do to fix that? The solution, I feel, cannot be sold and bought over a shop counter, nor will it come in the form of implants as is obviously the case with Ashlee. It is more ethereal than that. It is…attitude.

“Attitude?” you ask. “What does that mean?” It means that I have to change the way I think and with that, my behavior. The theory that I am proposing right this minute is that the reason some women are asked out far more often than others is because they have self confidence around men. They are at ease around them.

Confidence is the key, I’m sure. Not the snooty, bitchy, I snap my fingers and jerk my head and SNAP! confidence. I’m talking about the kind of confidence exhibited by women who grew up with brothers around. It is exhibited in the way they act – the kind of naturalness and lack of phonyness that immediately puts men at ease.

I went on this date once. He was a nice guy – sweet and not really all that confident but you could tell that he was trying. And me? I was a complete mess. I became unnaturally loud and boisterous. I wasn’t listening to his jokes, just going through the motions of displaying delight. And all the while I was thinking in that tiny, whiny and desperate inner voice – “How am I doing? How am I doing?” I was acting all plastic and phony and I think it showed, because neither of us really enjoyed the date at all.

Speaking of which, there is something I would like to share with guys out there. Do not, in those post coital moments, ask your female partner… “Did you cum? Did you have an orgasm?” Because if the woman did not in fact have an orgasm, she would have to lie to make you feel good about yourself, and no one ever feels good about lying. And if she was honest and said “No – I did not cum,” you’ll be left all miserable and in doubt of your sexual prowess, even is the sex was good. An orgasm is not a necessary part of a good tumble in bed. And for those of you who claim not to have a problem in that department, as in “I always satisfy her.”….SUUUUUUUUUUUUURE. You think that, if it makes you feel better. What I’m trying to say here is…please don’t make us lie just to feed your insatiable ego.

Now – back to my lack of date-ability. Okay – maybe I have a slight confidence problem. That isn’t so bad, is it? I mean, there are worse things. One of those things is an overconfidence problem. There are some of us, and by that I may be talking about myself although I am not entirely sure, who think that we are not the problem; the guys are. We act all high and mighty atop a pedestal that guys get turned off, or at least discouraged. It’s like the universe revolves around us and we expect the men to conform to our expectations. Overconfidence, in that ‘I’m so hot and sexy and obviously am too good for you so be grateful that I am even sitting at the same table with you’ way does not help. Men are like small time bullies, in that they will pounce at the smallest sign of insecurity but will recoil in horror and run away with their tails between their legs at a show of strength. I think men prefer walking to Wal-Mart as opposed to climbing the dating equivalent of Mount Everest.

Related to this is something I have observed in myself, a kind of defensiveness (or offensiveness) that creeps into my conversations with men. Say I go out a few times with this guy, right? And he asks if I want to get together again on Friday. My answer would immediately be a coolly said, “Sure. If you want,” which makes him sound needy and shows, possibly that I am being condescending or worse, instead of “Yes!” which will, in effect, make him feel wanted.

So why, as I am sure David is asking, the reason for this blog? No, it’s not a spur of the moment thing. And yes, Andy, our conversation did have something to do with it. Now wipe that smug smile off your face.

Lastly, I would like to paraphrase Terry Pratchett on something that I kinda wish would happen to me. Taken from Thud!...the ‘Jerk’ syndrome.

“…sometimes a woman is so beautiful that any man with half a brain isn’t going to think of asking her our, okay? Because it’s obvious that she’s far too grand for the likes of him. So a guy who hasn’t got half a brain, a man to whom shame holds no shame, who is so used to women saying ‘no’ when he asks them out that he’s not afraid of being told off, asks her, because he figures, why not? And she, who by now thinks there’s something wrong with her, is so grateful she says okay.”

And then, in my dream world, they end up being perfect for each other, fall in love and live happily ever after.

P.S - Your dream to appear on my blog has now come true, Andy.

All Hail Youtube!

Art thys thyng workyng? Oooh - it does work. I have successfully embedded a video from Youtube unto my blog. Hail ME!

The reason for the sudden posting of the above video is because I have discovered the wonders of Japanese traditional music. Also because Maddy made a joke about samurai swords which of course led me (the person with no life whatsoever) on a Youtube quest.

If you find this song/music familiar, it's because it was in the Japanese Pearl Harbor planning thing in that crap movie Pearl Harbor, which was nothing compared to Tora! Tora! Tora! which remains my No.1 favorite war movie ever.

Incidentally, my life ambition is now to become a Sith Lord. Stupid guys at work have totally corrupted me, so much so that my display picture on Messenger is someone called Darth Nihilus (I chose him because that mask is so freaking cool). In case you do not know who Darth Nihilus is, fret not, for Wikipedia has enlightened me and so it shall enlighten you!

And Maddy has been kind enough to provide this for me to share with you.

The lyrics are here...

I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…Nothin’ special bout me Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…When I go to the clubs I wait in line Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…I got $600 in da bank Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…And my sexual performance is an average.

I work at customer service
for a phone company,
I make 12 bucks an hour
but that’s all I need.
I live in a small apartment
on a quiet street
I don’t go out too much
I like to watch TV
I cant afford a car
I use public transportation
I don’t mind
I read till I reach my destination
sometimes a newspaper, sometimes a book
the amount of money I save,
this shit is off the hook

And I’m not very good with the women
I’m a pretty shy person
and I’m average looking
last time I had sex was in 2003
and I’m ashamed to admit it
but it wasn’t free

I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…I get nervous in social situations Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…I get constipated once a month Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…And i make pretty good spaghetti sauce Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy..and I get scared when I go see da dentist.

I’m da “Pauly Shore” of everyday life
easily forgettable
and I’m not very liked
I have an “According to Jim” personality
I’m as entertaining as a fuckin’ STD

If you wanna mess with me
I think you probably can
because I’m not confident
and i am weak for a man
I’ll just roll up in a ball
while you kick me in da back, yeah
honestly I probably wont fight back
And I don’t have any friends
that would back me up
My friend Steve would
but he doesn’t look very tough.

Steve - “You want some of this bitch?”

If you rarely get laid
put your hands up
If you’re not well paid
put your hands up
If you got a pet cat
put your hands up
and if you got a bad back
put your hands up

Jon - “I hurt my back 2 summers ago moving a fridge and ever since then it just not da same …you know it… it gets pre…It gets pretty sore!”

I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…My parents are really nice people Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…I’m somewhat afraid of heights Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…I like da show greys anatomy Mutha Fucka.
I’m just a regular everyday normal guy…and I’m pretty good at making paper planes.

Steve - “I could do this all day! I could do this all day! I could do this all day!”

Join me in hailing Youtube as the God for Bored People!!!

PS...Maddy Buckley is like the most AWESOME person ever!!! She's pretty, and hotter than me, and like all round coolest chick! She's da MAN!!!

Work

Work. The W-word, the most dreaded work in my dictionary. I hate working, but after much soul searching and much pressure from good ol' Dad, I decided, by myself, to find a temporary job.

Long story short, I got a job at a computer store despite the fact that I know nothing about computers. I suspect that the owner only hired me because I am, and I say this with no trace of immodesty, perfect eye candy for the customers who frequent his, in his words..."humble establishment."

This is somewhat insulting for me to say, considering the fact that I am not the most interesting person out there, but my fellow coworkers are nerds. Geeks. And proud of it. On my first day, they proudly proclaimed that they would make it their sacred duty to ensure that I would be...nerdified.

I say this not as an insult, but as a term of endearment. I have nothing against nerds and geeks. In fact, I watched the Call of Duty Modern Warfare E3 Demo Trailer thingy on Youtube earlier today and was impressed at the graphics and the clarity and whatever. I also watched a Star Wars game trailer. And as you probably know, I am a Spore addict. I have tried multiple times to make an Andalite on Spore.

My first day was nothing special. Actually, it was. I have discovered that people, when confronted by facts such as RAM and nVidia graphic card version xXx and dual core processor and whatever, will immediately pretend to know what I am talking about.

See - if you confess your technological illiteracy, you will get two things. First, a vastly superior smile from the salesperson...OR...the sort of smile that moves quickly towards drowning swimmers and has a fin on top. Secondly, an explanation such as below...

"Another thing you have to know is the L1 and L2 cache, or on-chip memory. Processors come with a small array of RAM (random access memory, we'll discuss system RAM a little later) built in. The L2 cache resides on the CPU outside of the microprocessor, the L1 cache is incorporated within the microprocessor. A CPU can access the L1 cache faster than any other memory in your computer. Next in line is the L2 cache. To access the main system memory, the CPU has to go through the motherboard, and even further away are the sound and video memory. L1 cache is not generally promoted as a feature of the chip but the specs are readily available. The L2 cache varies greatly from chip to chip, usually from 128 kilobytes (1 KB = 1024 bytes, 1 byte = 8 bits, a bit can hold a boolean value (0 or 1), thus a byte can hold a value from 0 to 255) to 2 megabytes (1 MB = 1024 KB). The L2 cache serves as a half way point between the L1 cache and the main system RAM. Larger L2 caches mean more information can be placed very close to the CPU for use, and the CPU can execute commands much faster. Get it?"

Who in their right mind would want to subject themselves to something like that?

My Favorite Non Pratchett Quotes

"The male is a domestic animal which, if treated with firmness, can be trained to do most things."

-Jilly Cooper

“Music… washes away the dust of everyday life from the soul.”

– Unknown

“We have to laugh, scream and smile to survive.”

–Anonymous

“What lies before us, and what lies behind us is tiny compared to what lies inside us.”

–Emerson

“Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again.”

–Pablo Casals

“Love is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.”

–Aristotle

“Laughter… is the music of the soul.”

–Anonymous

“Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.”

-Anonymus

“Follow the Voice of your spirit remember to dream listen to the wisdom of your soul hear your heartbeat and dance.”

–Anonymous

“You are today where your thoughts brought you… you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you.”

– James Allen

“Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart as love does.”

–Anonymous

“Shoot for the moon… so even if you miss, you land among the stars.”

-Unknown

“I don’t know if I’m getting over you or just getting used to the pain.”

-Anonymous

"Dumb blonde jokes don't affect me because I know I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not blonde."

-A Blonde

A Window

There are times when I feel like my life is just one big dream. And then I wonder just whose dream it is and whether that person was enjoying it – there are some people who just enjoy watching the suffering of others.

Anyways – this is a blog, right? And the basic point for the existence of blogs is for you to tell people about your day, basically. Of course, there are those who write about deep stuff with philosophical or political connotations in their blogs. And since I am incapable of writing something of that caliber, I shall simply have to settle for writing something less than extraordinary. Something…ordinary.

And also because I have realized (with the help of Rear End Admiral David Williams) that I have not blogged recently. So today, I shall tell you about a window. I wrote this for my college admissions essay (about leadership)…so enjoy.

The window belonged to my sixth grade class. I attended a Catholic grammar school where all students were required to attend summer school, and unfortunately, the building lacked air-conditioning. It got extremely hot, but fortunately, I inhabited one of the coveted “window seats”. Not only the source of a refreshing breeze, the window also provided my joy during the boring summer school days. While the rest of the class recited vocabulary words, I was far away. Some days I would be outside playing jump rope with the kids who were out of school. Other days I would be standing outside the school, eating an ice-cream cone and laughing at the students who were stuck in classrooms.

That image appealed to me most as I sat in the classroom one day, letting the window work its magic on me. The teacher stood behind her podium, giving the class a talk about business management. Melancholy sighs, the rustle of paper fans in use, and an occasional snore filled the room. Still, the teacher talked on and on. Suddenly a burst of laughter and cheers from outside filled the room. Recess time! That one precious time when we got to breathe fresh air and leave the confines of our desks. The sight of the other children playing right outside my window, the teasing of the slight breeze, and the unbearable conditions of the class had a powerful effect on me.

When the teacher saw a couple of us staring out the window, she said, “Anyone who wants to leave can leave.” Those words sounded like music, although her tone implied that she really meant, “Stop staring out the window because you’re not leaving this class.” What happened next shocked everyone, including myself. Me, the nice, quiet, obedient girl got up and ran into the coatroom, shaking the entire time. I pressed myself against the wall, trying to get a grip on what I’d just done. Seconds later, two other girls joined me. The three of us began giggling nervously and whispering, “I can’t believe we did that.” Other students quickly joined us, and soon fifteen of us filled the coatroom. Realizing we had to leave, we filed out of the coatroom, clutching our jump ropes, walking through the class where the teacher glared at us. Once outside, I still felt nervous, but I’d never felt so good. I had actually led this rebellion! What a thrill! It was my first taste of leadership, of setting my own example. This experience instilled in me the meaning of being a leader; one that has been refined over the years, but still remains with me today. Whenever I am asked to define leadership, I think of my sixth grade window and how it felt to laugh at the students stuck in class.

An Atheist Goes to Heaven

The eminent Dr. Richard Redherring passed away this morning after a tragic car accident.
Dr. Redherring distinguished himself in his early twenties by finally putting an end to theistic delusions and doing away with superstitious irrationality. Notable accomplishments include development of the aWave, a low level energy field that disrupted the religious experience in the human brain, air-tight proofs denying the existence of any sort of spiritual realm, and massively successful crusades against theism, mankind’s most harmful strain of mind-virus.
He is survived by his wife, Harriet, 41, and three adopted children, Jean, 7, Claude, 13, and Mike, 15. He was 36.

Richard was confused. Well, confuse may not be the most appropriate word given the context. Vexed with a side of confusion, perhaps. Disappointedly enraged may be another more appropriate phrase. Regardless, he wasn’t prepared or satisfied with his current situation. Being dead, that is. Dead and still hanging around.

Richard had felt that he lived a good, honest, atheistic life. He had done all in his power to rid the world of religious persecution and oppression. Heck, he HAD rid the world of religion. Like an avenging angel, pardon the terminology, he had torn asunder mankind’s greatest ill. So why wasn’t he dead? He should be gone. TKO’d. Ceasing to be.

Instead he was floating around a sunlit field filled to the brim with wildflowers. Really pretty wildflowers at that. The kind of wildflowers he used to pick at his grandmum’s house on cool Sunday afternoons. The bastards.

Through sheer force of will Richard lowered himself to the ground. Floating without means was patently impossible, so he wouldn’t hear of it. Once down, he took closer stock of his surroundings.

Yep, definitely a great, big, apparently unending field. Eerie cloudless blue sky, hazy horizon, aggravating wildflowers-- No matter which direction he turned everything was still very much the same. Closer examination of the wildflowers yielded similar results. They were all very pretty, all practically perfect, but all more or less the same.

“Dandy,” he muttered, and picked an arbitrary direction and started walking. No use standing around like a lump of clay when one should be dead, after all.

Richard walked.

After walking for a little while, Richard walked some more.

Afterwards, Richard continued to walk.

The field and flowers seemed the same no matter where he was. Always perfect, always unending, always as boring as his grandmum‘s old lectures about the great bearded man in the sky.

As can be imagined, this went on for quite some time. Richard had no idea how much time had actually passed, but it felt like a goodly amount. Not long enough to quell his frustration and bewilderment, but long enough to feel goodly. While many men would have shouted their frustration to the heavens, atheism be damned, Richard was never the type to engage in tomfoolery. Or really anything exciting and emotional for that matter.

A lot more time passed and Richard finally snapped. “Oh, bugger, where am I?” he quietly asked himself.

“Heaven” boomed a thunderous reply. "Well, no - I tell a lie. But this is pretty much what Heaven is gonna be like."

Richard jumped and managed to trip over his legs and faceplant into the ground. It didn’t hurt. Pushing himself off the ground he looked around, furtively. Still field. Still flowers. Still nothing. Right, must have been his imagination. He climbed back to his knees and brushed himself off.

Or he would have, had he not come face to face with an enormous figure leaning down to look him in the eye.

“Gyaaaaaaaargh!” he cried, as he stumbled back and fell, once again, without pain. Scrambling back up he turned and ran as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Not daring to glance behind him he kept running as long and as fast as possible…

Which turned out to be quite fast and for a rather long time. He kept running and only stopped when he risked a look and saw the figure was gone, replaced by an unending tide of wildflowers. Curiously, he wasn’t out of breath or tired in the slightest. Nor had he run like that since his college days. He filed it away under “What the hell is going on,” in his mind. He still bent over and clutched his side, forcing himself to breathe hard. Out of spite.

When he deemed that enough breathing had passed to warrant a good and proper physical recovery from such an exertion he lifted his head to look around again.

And once more came face to face with an enormous figure leaning down to look him straight in the eye.

Gyaaaaaaaaa--!” he cried, as he stumbled back and fell once again. Or tried to. No, really, he did his best to make contact with the ground, but it just wasn’t happening. He was floating again and couldn’t do anything about it.

“I can fly, you know,” the figure said, conversationally. Boomingly. Way too loudly.

“Grgh,” Richard replied, graciously.

“And teleport,” it continued.

“Ohgrh?” Richard inquired.

“Quite.”

“Argh.”

“I suppose you’re wondering where you are and why you‘re here,” it stated, still way, way too loudly for conversational English, or whatever dialect of This-Can’t-Be-Happening they were speaking. “Well, you’re a personality downloaded to a computer so your mind could survive after death. You‘re in a computer construct called ‘not-exactly-but-close-to-Heaven.’”

“Really?” Richard asked, shocked, but much more at ease.

“No. You’re dead” the figure boomed.

“Oh,” Richard said, downcast. “I guess that means…?”

“More or less, yes,” came the answer.

“And this is…?”

“Yep.”

“And you are?”

“Oh, well, just call me Hans. Or Hank. Or Hal. Whatever you prefer, I don’t put much stock in names.” Hans/Hank/Hal said. “Or Triple H. I like that, too. Not Stone Cold Steve Austin though.”

“All right, Mr. H, so, ah, I’m dead, right?”

“Right,” Triple H said.

“And this is… something like Heaven?”

“More or less.”

“And you’re god? Er, God. Whatever.”

Triple H let out a great and explosive laugh that rattled Richard’s teeth. “Oh, my no. Not at all. If I was The Big Guy your head would have exploded and we’d be mopping up this plane for years. I’m an underling. A caretaker, if you will.” Triple H pondered this for a moment. “I guess I’m an angel.”

“Right… Right.” Richard said, taking a closer look at him. He certainly fit the profile of an angel. Tall, androgynous, wings, flowing white robe. All that theistic crap. Well, not crap. Ok, that theistic notcrap. Where does an atheist turn when he’s overwhelmed? “So, uh, you get out much?” Richard asked, making conversation.

“Oh, you know, for famines, plagues, slaughtering the unbelievers… I’m always game for those. Great opportunities to catch up with old friends,” Triple H boomed, nonchalantly.

Richard nodded his head for lack of anything else to do.

“Richard, I’m kidding.”

“Right.”

Triple H coughed, unceremoniously, and pulled out a scroll from his robe. “Enough with the pleasantries, I suppose? Right then. Richard M. Redherring of Manchester, England, son of Samuel, son of Arthur, son of Clydesdale, son of the son of the son of the son of, etc etc, the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God -- This is you, right?” Triple H stopped to affirm.

“Uh, yes. Quite. Doctor Richard M. Redherring.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Doctor Richard M. Redherring, the man who invented the aWave, put an end to the ‘god delusion’ and finally set humanity on the right track to truth?”

“Uh, hem, haw… Yeah. I suppose.” Richard was doing his very best to be modest. He didn’t want to brag too much to Triple H about how he had disproved the existence of angels and any possible god or afterlife.

“Great! We’re in business, then. The Big Guy has a few questions He wanted me to ask you.” Triple H rolled the scroll back up, tucked it away, and proceeded to sit down on an invisible chair that seemed to float menacingly high above Richard. He pulled out a clipboard and a quill.

“Oh, yes, of course, happy to oblige him. Er, well, Him,” Richard strained out. “Anything I can do to help.” This notcrap was killing him. Again. Or something.

“Okie dokie, first of all, do you believe in God?” boomed the first question in what promised to be the most mind-bashingly fun time of Richard’s life. Notlife. Whatever.

“No. Well, yes. I mean, there is no evidence to say that…” Richard stopped and looked around. “Well, yes, I suppose.”

“Mmmhmm,” Triple H murmured, scribbling in some notes. “Good, good. Did you ever think that He did NOT exist?”

Through Richard’s mind flashed news story after news story covering the advent of the aWave and the speeches he had given as the Hero Atheist after successful crusades against theistic belief. “Well, I suppose there may have been a time… A few times in my life where I happened to… Advocate such beliefs, yes.”

Triple H frowned a little as his quill scratched up and down the clipboard. “I see, I see. And did you happen to pull the rug out from under every belief system on the planet with your invention of the ‘aWave’?”

Richard took some deep breaths and carefully responded “I might have… had something to do with that. I seem to remember this ‘aWave’ you speak of.” 1600 diagrams and 40 prototypes paraded past his vision. Great flashing bulbs and the shaking of hands. Richard Dawkins smiling from ear to ear, pumping his fist up and down. Adoration of the masses.

“Just a small role, I’m sure,” Triple H consoled, the quill moving furiously up and down. This activity went on a few moments longer than before. “During this time in your life, short I’m sure, did it ever occur to you that their might just be, oh I don’t know, some kind of reason… some kind of greater meaning to why so much of humanity was hardwired into believing in God?”

“Well, I mean, there are so many-- I mean, at the time I’m sure I felt that there were just so many beliefs and religions that it must be some kind of general defect… or something. Evolution gone awry.” At evolution Triple H’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Indeed,” he said, taking very few notes this time. “Right, then, last question. Why are you here?”

The question pushed Richard, already pretty unstable at this point, off balance. “What?” he asked, stupidly.

“Why are you here? Heaven?” Triple H expounded.

“Uhm. I suppose it’s because I led a good, honest life. I was… True to myself and my convictions? Did good where I saw a helping hand was needed. That’s gotta count for something, right?” Richard squirmed in his invisible chair. The angel looked at him levelly.

“You are aware that your invention tore away comfort and security from billions of people worldwide, right?” Triple H asked him, coolly.

“Well, yes, that is, some sacrifices had to be… I mean, all for the sake of truth. Well, empirical evidence. You know, where the compass hand was pointing and…” Richard trailed off in the face of the massive and imposing angel that happened to be sitting with him in an infinite field of flowers while he should be very, very dead.

“So why do you think you’re here?” Triple H asked, again.

“Because God wants me here?” Richard said, frustrated.

“Exactly!” beamed the angel. “Now you’ve got it.”

“Great,” Richard enthused.

Triple H stepped to the ground and started walking. Richard hopped after him, jogging to keep pace with the angel’s great strides.

“H-hey, where are you going?” Richard asked, nervously.

“We’re going to put you back down on Earth, Doctor Richard M. Redherring. It just so happens your aWave generators have met with unexplainable disasters and theistic belief is at an all time high.” He coughed. "God does that sometimes."

“You’re putting me back? But, I’m dead. Aren’t I supposed to be judged? Thrown into a lake of fire? Something?”

The angel stopped. “Well, hey, if that’s what you want--”

“No, no!” Richard placated, “Quite all right. Let’s do what you want to do.”

“Oh. Ok. Good. We’re going to have you get born somewhere in Rome. You’re going to make a great pope.”