An afterlife notion that rings a bell | OUR CORNER

I had a vision about the my job in the afterlife. I am not big on visions since I am very nearsighted, but forced yardwork causes these events for me.

I had a vision about the my job in the afterlife. I am not big on visions since I am very nearsighted, but forced yardwork causes these events for me.

I was diligently killing something in my yard when it happened. It was kind of a reincarnation job I should be perfectly suited for… a political bell ringer.

I am not saying I necessarily buy into or out of the concept of reincarnation. The biggest problem I see with reincarnation is coming back. Most days the prospect or returning here seems like some sort of twisted torture, although maybe I could get certain things answered. That might be happier, if it is possible for Mr. Happy to get happier.

Maybe I could find out why women do all those sparkly things to their fingernails and I never get to do anything like that without people chasing me with pitchforks. Maybe I could find out why women buy shoes with two straps for a large bucket of money and call it a hot deal.

God probably can’t answers to these questions.

I can see God asking Michael, “What are those?”

“Shoes, God.”

“You’re kidding. Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?”

My twisted yardwork vision goes like this: when I kick off it will be like the first few day I was in Navy boot camp. We were allowed to go to bed about midnight after doing nothing. Then some very loud guys got us up and gave us a stupid test for hours.

So in my vision I die and suddenly some grouchy guy in fake sandals wakes me up, gives me a essay test with a dull pencil and finally I am given a bell.

My job is like that of Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” only altered… of course. (I doubt I get to be an angel. I think I am too cheery.)

Every time some politician starts to do something dumb I will whack him with a bell. The poor political guy will glaze over for a minute, get a headache and mumble something like, “What was I saying?”

No one will remember and the guy stays out of trouble. Everybody holds hands and sings.

Ding dong!

There’s a job I might be suited for – bell whacker.

By the way, the job the a Navy gave me after their test was… running psychiatric wards.


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