I Just Can't Believe It

by Evil Eggplant

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Guardian angels go on strike! I repeat: Guardian angels go on strike!" That's what the newsboy called out for about half an hour. No one really cared though, for everyone saw this particular annoyance coming a long time ago. You see, it is common knowledge in Heaven that guardian angels are the lowest forms of angelic life. It doesn't bother me that much, though. I'm used to being spit on, kicked, punched, and shoved aside like an unwanted dog. Oh I'm sorry, I forgot to intorduce myself. I am the guardian angel Sam. Well, since I'm the only guardian angel that's not yelling at the guy in charge, because I have other plans, I guess I'll tell you why the guardian angels went on strike, and how the deceased become guardian angels. It all happens like this, see. When you die you go to a large white room with 3 men dressed in all black walking around, and when they see you they will walk up to you and tell you to pick a number between one and five million. If you pick a particularly unlucky number you go to Hell. On the other hand, of you pick one of the right numbers you go to Heaven, and if you pick a mediocre number you go to Purgatory. I picked the number six hundred and eighty-nine and POOF I appeared in another white room that bore a striking resemblance to the last one I was in. But this one contained a bearded man who was dressed in a white robe. Well this man, who I later learned was Moses, would hand you a lottery ticket and a penny. "Each one's a winner!" Moses would say as he put the items in your hand. Well, when I scratched my ticket clean with the penny, I saw that my card contained three pictures of a broken halo with a smiley face behind it. Feeling confused, I asked Moses what the symbols on the ticket meant. Moses just looked at me, smiled, and said, "Boy, if I were you I would jump head-first into the pits of Hell or file for reincarnation, because the job you're going to have is infinitely worse than anything you can possibly imagine." After making this rather foreboding comment he walked behind the desk, pulled out a walkie-talkie, turned it on and said, "Hey Boss, we got another one of them. Who will he be assigned to?" That's when I first heard the voice of God, and I would just like to say it's rather high-pitched like some preadolescent child, which I now know he is. You see, way back when God became depressed due to the pressure of being grown up, to alleviate that depression, he turned himself into a child. So God told Moses to send me to America to watch over one James Thomas Deemer. Rather ironic, no? Me, Sam, who in life had hated children, had to watch over a little schmuck called James. Oh well, who ever said that Heaven was fair? Well, what really bothered me was that I had to spend thirteen years of my unlife watching over some kid when I should have been in Heaven doing whatever makes me happy. The people I really feel bad for are the demons who at this very moment are roasting in Hell or tempting some stupid mortal, and all because some poor sap was unlucky. Well, at least they are a little better off than I. The thing that really bothers me is that the really evil, cruel, and sadistic people always seem to get really lucky when it comes to the afterlife number-pick and lotto... How do I know this, you ask? Well, I shall tell you. I know this because I saw Adolf Hitler in Heaven and he was an Archangel. Of all the positions he could have gotten, he got the position of Archangel, a bloody Archangel!! As time went on I slowly grew into my role as guardian and protector, but I know what you're thinking: "That isn't so bad. Why did you go on strike?" I'll tell you why. Heavenly life consisted of the normal angels (and occasionally the Archangels) insulting and degrading us, and the worst part of it was that there was nothing the guardian angels could do about it. You see, when you are assigned a position in Heaven there are three categories you can fall under: the Archangels, the most powerful of angels; the normal Angels, the middlemen; and you can fall under the guardian angel category, by far the weakest and most scorned. To make matters worse, for some strange reason in the '80s, Heaven got a whole truckload of sadomasochists in, and since this was Heaven they got to do whatever made them happy. Not that I'm bitter, mind you, but being whipped, cut and beat by a bunch of loons tends to make me a tad irate. Now I know what you're going to say, they should be in Hell not Heaven. Well once again all I say is it's the luck of the draw. Things got worse from there on in. You see, besides the sadomasochists, we had to worry about God, who picked up the habit of beating us too (kids are so impressionable), so if anything Heaven reminds me of High School. So now I just sit on the back of James's chair making him write this as I wait for reply from the Bureau of Reincarnation or Purgatory.