10 cent beer night
How often is 10 cent beer night held up there—do you ever bust out?
I always used to bust out on beer night, that is until I drove my ride into a big fucking oak tree this one time. Now I just kind of semi-bust out on beer night, and that’s only if I have a designated driver since my car tends to run into stuff when I’m cronked.
Is that why you don’t bust out?
You don’t have a designated God who can sit in for you while you get cronked?
I get that, but what’s Jesus doing? Isn’t he like your son or something? Shouldn’t you be passing down the whole God business to him anyway?
Can’t you just slip him the God keys one night a month? You should be able to do that every now and again without having to worry about the place going all to Hell.
What’s the matter, don’t you trust him?
According to Dr. Phil, you should probably think about giving Jesus a little more responsibility at some point. It would be good for both of you.
So if you’re not busting out, what are you and Jesus doing on beer night?
Do you and Jesus tend bar or do you work the door?
Both jobs are a great way of keeping an eye on everyone, but I’d probably opt for the doorman if I was you.
Doormen always decide who gets in and who doesn’t, which means you could screen all the assholes right from the start. But the best part is how you can demand some serious bucks from all the ugly people who have no chance of ever getting in anyway.
Some of those losers are so desperate to get in, they’ll flip you a hundo in nothing flat.
As I say, screen the jerk-offs from ever getting in and finish off the night with a couple of stacks from the losers. Sweet.
The bartender job?
This is one job I’d stay away from if I was you.
True, it’s a good way of keeping an eye on everyone. One small problem.
All the bartenders I know are some really sneaky motherfuckers.
They hang back for most of the night, furtively eyeballing all the hot chicks too drunk to stand, then when they find a stray, alone, no crew in sight, they swoop in for the kill, like a hyena or something.
I’m not saying that’s you. No way.
I know you’re not the type to get chicks wrecked so you can take them home and bang them. Besides, you have no business eyeballing any pootie-tang, young, old, or otherwise.
You’re God for Christ’s sakes!
There is another job you can do on beer night.
You can be the deejay, but you’d have to bump some decent tunes and not that Gospel shit you’re so fond of, otherwise, you’d have everyone running for the doors in a heartbeat.
Anyways, I’m looking forward to 10 cent beer night up there, but only if I don’t have to drive.
Uh, I’m curious—are there any big oak trees in Heaven?