There was a boy who lived at some point––I don’t remember his name. This boy was born in a medium-sized white house, and he had a medium-sized bedroom, and for the first four years of his life his bed was shaped like a car. This figure learned to speak and walk and read and write and say “healthy” instead of “healfy.” And he kissed a girl when he turned thirteen. And he went to school and got all B’s and even an A in science and art, and his parents told them how proud they were of him. And he went to college in Oregon––so far from home!––and he learned alright. And he wore a ludicrous big hat and got some official-looking papers when he graduated. There are a lot of specific schools in Oregon, lined one against the other and all looking boring and brick from the outside and polished and stressful on the inside. This young man studied in science, because he didn’t care much about anything else. And he bought a house, with his own money from working at a resturaunt. The house was small and had one bathroom and the showerhead was broken, so he took baths. And when he brought his girlfriend over she asked him why he didn’t fix the showerhead, why he didn’t fix the showerhead again and again until he hired some plumber with a lot of his own money. And he figured he liked this girl alright so at one point he got a diamond ring and they had a wedding, and he even cried a bit when she walked down the isle. And they had a baby even though they hadn’t meant to, so he got a pretty nice house with two bathrooms and a lot of extra bedrooms. And they paid off the debt. By this time he was working in a labratory and studied zebra fish, which are not as interesting as they sound, and he fed them and then killed them to study their guts. He wrote clumsily-worded papers on what exactly was happening with those zebra fish guts. And he and his wife had a couple more kids and this guy got older––older!––until his knees hurt when he jogged and having a birthday wasn’t so exciting as it was made out to be. And at some point he lost his wedding ring, so he got a new one. And they moved into a bigger house because bigger houses are better, and they watched the kids graduate––one, two, three!––and go off to become financers and illustrators and firemen and whatever else was in fashion these days. Around this time he decided he didn’t like his wife all that much, so they split their money and didn’t see each other anymore, and the man got a dog to keep him company instead. And this guy got old, so old that he got sick, and he paid the hospital bills from the money he got from writing those papers on zebra fish guts. And he survived. And he played cards with his other old friends. And he got sick, and he wasn’t so lucky this time, and the money was running out anyways. So he died.
And he got into Heaven because he wasn’t such a bad guy after all––thanks, Jesus––and all the other newly dead guys slapped him on the back and gave him high-fives and best-bro fist-bumps. And they said, “Hey, that was some awesome living you did there!” and “Great job with that life by the way, man!”