The day I went to heaven was possibly one

The day I went to heaven was possibly one of the best days of my life (life?). God was pretty swell, and not having to piss was good, but the best thing was

the day I met Harvey, a demon in disguise. He wore a fedora to cover his horns, and some chicken feathers duct-taped to his back. Not a very convincing angel, but

I had never seen one before. What the heck did I know? To me, he was an angel. He held my hand and pointed at the burlesque house across the street. I didn't know

what I would find inside, but why worry? If you can't trust an angel, who can you trust? And with that, I walked towards the house, in all it's burlesque glory. I knocked on the

door while humming the song "Knocking On Heaven's Door" which seem rather appropriate. The door flung open and standing there was the ugliest woman I have ever seen in my life.

"The fates see death in your face!" the crone wheezed. I tried to point to the "No Solicitors" sign but she pushed me back into the hallway. "You shall see!" she croaked.

Instantly, my penis turned to black, fibrous ash and fell out of my pant-legs -- both at the same time. In a panic, I returned to my office and drank scotch whisky on the job.

The edge off, I returned to the sanitarium. Looking at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror I repeated, "I will not be controlled by my nightmares." On the sink's edge I spied the

razor blade, and suddenly it all came rushing back to me. The meth, the cats, the Ferrari, Linda ... oh god. What had I done? I staggered backwards, dropping the bottle.