Corey Haim’s “Notes from the afterlife,” 17
And here I thought Heaven was kinda sad and wannabe sordid.
I mean, Bro. That robe. And your coloring. I was never a doctor — and Lord knows I’m not studying medicine up here, save for the little bit of chemistry I’ve been dabbling in after watching a “Breaking Bad” marathon and then scoring that Bunsen Burner off of River Phoenix in exchange for some sandals and a tube of lip balm– but from the looks of things, I guess maybe I’ll be seeing you soon. Which would be cool. And of course tragic at the same time. Because of your fans and all.
Not to sound gay, but I miss you, dude.
Oh. If you wind up stroking out on X and find yourself heading this way, leave the hookers. Surprisingly, Heaven is, like, filled with them, both pros and amateurs — and I know more than a few who will take a mason jar full of Drambuie and a lude in lieu of cash to stick a pinky in your ass while giving you a handy.
Which is nice, if you can get past how bored they sometimes seem to look.