So there I am, smoking a roach on the bus stop bench across from this great little dive taco stand River Phoenix turned me on to — when it hits me: what if I’m not in Heaven after all, you know?
— But then, almost like a sign, this totally stacked chick appears out of nowhere and jams her tongue in my ear. Not only that, but she’s sporting full-on wood.
Which, man. Was I ever relieved. Thank you, Jesus!
It was Feldman, moobs and all, with a wig, no?
I’d have thought Corey would be on the task force assigned to digging out those six new circles in Hell in preparation for the day when certain gubmint officials kick the bucket.
Unless, y’know, he’s on a break now or sumpin.
This made me laugh, and I think we need laughs these days.
This story somehow fits into Corey Haim’s fucked up afterlife.
I wonder what kind of health insurance he’s got.
He’s got the state plan!
Oh, are you referring to Haim? That is the nice thing about the afterlife, overhead is really really low.
Racist!!! If you weren’t such an obvious racist, the principals of your little story would have been Richard Pryor and Michael Jackson! Raaacciiissttt!!!11
Thanks Jeff!
This series is creating an odd sympathy within me for the assorted Corey-types.
The Heaven as just more life on Earth angle, I guess.
Sounds like purgatory to me… has Corey found the OxyContin stash yet?
Don’t you like Martha Stewart, Leif Garrett, and Ana Nicole a lot better now, too?
I know I do.
Yeah, I do. It’s weird.
I’m just glad we never got Jacko’s Tale.
This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase high spirits.