Alright cumsluts CM here, the only blogger (that I know of at least) keeping you up to date with all the events happening here in heaven and definately the one with the most lethal top spin.
Actually, the thing is, having spent a few years here, I can tell you that the afterlife's pretty boring. There's only so many games of ping pong a man can have y'know? I was asking JC the other day if his Dad (or he himself, never quite sure how that whole Holy Trinity thing works myself) had any plans to brighten the place up a bit, maybe put some entertainment on a Friday night, get a foosball table for the corner. Said he'd see what he could do but he doubted it. Devil's got all the good bands y'see so music's pretty much out of the question unless you like Christian rock and that shit's weaker than Japanese tea. I tried suggesting a magician instead, some big showman like Houdini but he didn't seem into it. I guess when you're talking to a guy who routinely appears in tortilla chips and grilled cheese sandwiches around the world pulling a rabbit out of a top hat aint such big shit and Houdini's act's not what it used to be these days anyway. I saw the guy's new schtick the other day, he's still going with the Chinese Water Torture angle (despite me asking him to change it to a more culturally sensitive title) but with a twist. Fellar gets handcuffed and padlocked by the wrists and ankles as per usual and locked upside-down in a glass tank full of water. Only this time he's blindfolded. And the water is filled with piranhas. And the whole thing is rigged to blow with dynamite in ten minutes. There were quite a few people turned out to watch and he ratchets up the tension quite nicely by inviting everyone in the audience to try and hold their breathe with him. Thing is, there's no death in heaven. It's literally impossible to die. I know cos people have tried it on the shooting ranges (Yes, heaven has guns. The big man used to be against them but one day Charlton Heston just turned up with one in his hands). You can fire them but the bullets just... melt on contact. Try slitting your wrists and the cut heals in front of your eyes. One guy even tried the old trick of putting a pencil up one nostril and banging the butt end on a table in front of him. The pencil went up his nose but it came out somewhere else than his brain and let me tell you, God can have a pretty fucked-up sense of humour when he wants. Not only is it fucking impossible to die in heaven it isfucking impossible for any act of pain, suffering or violence to occur. For ever. Which rendered the danger in Houdini's act of death-defiance fairly toothless all things considered which, coincidentally, as were the piranhas. Anyway, turns out that the key he had swallowed had moved its way a little too far through his digestive transit and he couldn't retrieve it successfully. So of course after ten minutes everyone realises that he's not going to do it and he's just left hanging there looking dejected, unable to drown, while someone finds the spare key, which naturally takes another ten minutes. When they do pull him out he's looking all wet and forlorn and sheepish. Don't think he's spoken to anyone since. I suppose when you live your life constantly escaping death and not just in the ambling day-to-day way that we all do but actively cheating and gambling and shortening the odds with it each and everyday that your existence becomes fairly moot when your appendix ruptures and suddenly that absolute around which you anchored and defined your life and by extension your personality is suddenly taken away. Houdini created stronger contrasts between life and death with each escape he made. The larger and darker and more certain he was able to make death loom before him the larger and brighter and more certain he was able to make his life. "No, he is not dead, by all of your collective reckonings he most certainly should be, but he has cheated death once more and he is ALIVE and he is HERE and he is NOW and so are we all!" Every time Houdini made his Chinese Water Torture escape and stood in front of the curtain in his bathing costume, dripping water, heart racing and shoulders heaving before his audience he was born anew. Freshly baptized.

Like I said he hasn't really spoken to anyone since. He'll get over it though.

He'll have to.

Alright you fuckers? CM here, watching you from beyond the grave. Nah, just joking, I'm not watching all of you. I've got better things to do with my time. Trying to perfect my top-spin serve at the moment and its looking pretty sharp. I destroyed Lenin the other day in straight sets, he's fucking wank at ping-pong.

I do have a little look down at the old place every now and again though and it looks a fucking mess from up here let me tell you. What the fuck are you doing man? You're really doing a good job of fucking things up. Wouldn't have happened under Communism but I'm not bitter, the afterlife's too short eh? You've no idea how strange everything looks from a distance, the trouble with you live 'uns is you get caught up in all the little stuff. Your house, your neighbours, your job, your friends. Ever stop to look at it all the fucking context of the Universe. You live on a tiny planet in an insignificant galaxy of a Universe too enormous in terms of space and time to fully comprehend. You are nothing in the context of space, not even a speck on a dot on a spot on a gnat's fucking balls. You spend your entire lives pissing into the void, hoping to fill it with enough piss to float you across to the other side. But you can point your little todger into that chasm, alongside the past, present and future of all humanity, all with their little todgers out in a line, and you can piss and piss and piss until your balls run dry and it still won't make a blind bit of difference to the void. That's the thing about voids, very difficult to fill.

Oops, there's me going on one again. I used to get all worked up a bit like this when I was a student but that's all behind me now. I've got better things to do with my time now. Lenin wants a rematch.