Pub Small Talk

It was one of those lazy Sunday afternoons when you would only find just one shitty pub opened, in a hidden corner, on the vast premises of Heaven.

All the other ones –  Avalon, Ginger Bar, Pirin 75, Smokey Montains, The Hub – were closed.

So it was no fun, really!

God and St. Peter were drowning in a sea of boredom, playing darts in this shitty, tacky pub  – the same pub where they had once “forgot” to pay before leaving and then blamed it on the neon fuchsia color of the sofa’s around them. They were in “The Purgatory” pub. But this is probably no mystery to you by now since I have already mentioned our folks were “playing darts”, which we all know, is the sadistic version of a purgatorial fire. But God had a new project in mind. A cloning project.

“Hey, Pete, listen, I am so bored I feel like throwing myself off a cloud, really. I need to do something. Some manual work. So I am going to fool around a little in my lab. I am going to take a little piece of myself and make another guy. So theoretically, he’s going to be like me, but practically, you guessed, he will be nothing like me! I’m not stupid, d’oooh! I don’t want competition, I just wanna have fun a little. Check this out! This guy is going to need something called food. So this will mean running around, hunting, chasing, bottom line, stress, a lot of stress.

“My God, how many times, will he need food?”

“Every day”

“Every day?!! Running around and searching for food every day?”

“Yup! Wait, there’s more! I am going to give him some illnesses: smallpox, arthritis, gingivitis, you name it, the sky is the limit.”

“But then how is he going to search for food?..!

“He won’t be able! That’s the whole fun! Ha, ha, because we’ll be watching the whole thing every day, ha, ha! Wait, there’s more: with every day that goes by, his body will become something called old and older, that is like when you’re Porsche gets rusty, you know and you need to throw it away after a while.

“So we’re going to throw him away later?!”

“We’ll just going to bury him, tidy up the place and decorate with a tombstone! I work clean, don’t worry!”

“But, oh, my God, this is kind of sadistic!”

“Is it? Then, what do you suggest, make him exactly like me and force him to play darts every day?

“No, that would be way too sadistic!

“Exactly! So we stick to plan A”.