Boy George and Holy Wilford.

I had a dream the other night where I killed an abortion protestor. It was OK, because I was just doing the Lord’s work. If I didn’t kill the abortion protestors, they would eventually kill abortion doctors. Thus, I saved lives by stopping murderers from murdering... by being a murderer.

Oh sure, I was dragged into dream court, but it didn’t matter to me. I told the Judge that the only verdict that mattered to me was God’s verdict. He had spoken to me and I did his bidding. Nonetheless, the jury found me guilty and sent me to dream prison. There, I was immediately killed by my fellow inmates because my shrill proselytizing annoyed them.

Then, with great anticipation, I arrived at Heaven’s Gate and was met by the Lord Himself. Imagine my shock when the Almighty Father read me the riot act for killing people. Here I was expecting to be rewarded and praised but it turns out that whole, “Thou shalt not kill, violence begets violence, vengeance is mine and mine alone” stuff, applied to me, too. God looked me in the face and said I was a raging moron for even thinking He had spoken to me, let alone hired me as a hit man. When God said He wished people would quit thinking they were getting messages from Him, I felt really, really, stupid.

Then God, who looked a lot like Wilford Brimley, personally escorted me to the gates of Hell. Taking me inside, the Devil, who looked a lot like Larry King, laughed as he showed me where the rest of the religious kook-killers sat. Culture Club was playing and I began to panic. That’s when I woke up. Thank Wilford!