We in this country aspire to wealth, contentment, and the pursuit of getting busy. But when we're asked to the prom by God himself, we'd better not say we need to wash our hair. God isn't taking rejection. God isn't seeing other people. You are going to the prom him. You can't even change your number. The master of the heavens will star 69 you with actual stars. Just get in the card, and hope he's at least willing to go Dutch.
Our protagonist is the mistress of all she surveys. A sweet black ride and a mansion. The mansion may not have anything resembling doors, but it's nice and big. This strip is notably heavy for biblical quotations...which usually have little to do with the subject at hand. But I guess the theme is that this distinguished older woman has done something wrong by having the audacity to be merry. Nothing is an affrontly to God more than being merry. Except perhaps being jolly. But this is a family comic, and Jack doesn't need to cross these lines of good taste just to make a point.
So this her date. The Grim Reaper. Is there no exemption for cougars? A heart attack seems a pretty odd way to go, come to think of it. I mean there she is, right there, with a glass of wine. It's supposed to be good for your heart! Maybe that was just a lie perpetuated by the liberal/commie/European media. However, the well-to-do woman refuses to go and not go in style, so she falls straight on her back. She must have fell hard enough to knock force into some trees, because where else would these leaves on a very nicely kept lawn come from?
The recently-passed MILF leaves behind a veritable septet of mourners. It's hard to tell what the husband looks like from here, but from what I can gather, he's dork city. Which means in life, she was gold-digging that. He wouldn't have gotten something if he was some kind of broke bro. But you can see the guy at the far end is of dissenting opinion over whether she was worth a damn. He's just there to dance on the grave. Or get something nice to eat. I would, too. Funerals have great food. Even better than the stuff they serve at weddings.
The recently passed MILF is being summoned by Gabriel's horn. She doesn't seem very happy she's dead, and who can blame her? You can't take it with you, and now that she's immaterial, her giant, doorless house is even more awesome and less of a catch 22 than ever. She really did seem especially young to go. What could possibly finish off a woman who's at least 44, and in pretty good health? You'd think at least some kind of external factor could be whipped up. Like poison from a husband ready to trade up. Come on Jack, if you're gonna give us a Dynasty-style setting, we want some good old-fashioned soap opera intrigue!
It's a date. I don't think that should make her any less scared. After all, when God sends Angels to be all "Wassup!" at the ladies, they end up pregnant. Heck, he didn't even call the thing with Mary a date. So whatever he has planned with the recently deceased must be pretty hardcore. I mean, "quite a number"? I hope she's bracing herself for the great big gang-bang in the sky. Plus, the angel looks a bit like Mario Lopez, so the specter of sleaze is going to hang over anyone's head. She's gonna be dancing with a different kind of stars, am I right folks?
While you know and I know, this is a Chick Tract, not a Hallmark special, so we know a trip to Heaven is a one-way course to nightmares undreamed...so far all she knows is that's simply being escorted to the Pearly Gates. It can go either way. But ultimately, you can't be nice for
mortality. The maybe you're too nice for the bottom half of your astral body to completely disappear. Unless that's he plan. "Excuse Mr. Arch-Slater, I think I left my legs back there. Let me go get them."
This Angel is no gentleman. He's just sitting down, and using his fancy-schmancy scroll taking up space she could be using to sit down. Not even looking her in the face. He likes to condemn people the same way the royals in Game of Thrones like to have sex. All aloof and demeaning-like.
I'm wondering about the crowd here. It doesn't seem to be in line-form. Just a loosely connected audience. Maybe they just like hovering around seeing the condemned gets theirs. Heaven really can't have a lot of spectacle most of the time, so the only thing to do is wait to get in on the daily schadenfreude.
"This was your life", nothing timeless like a reference to some show that I think was canceled before I was born. I actually only know it through Sesame Street parodies. If would be awesome of this had actual guests. "I was the Preacher you blew off. I was your English teacher you sucked off for an A. I was that Homosexual you were absolutely non-judgmental to."
You do kind of get the sense she was a creepy baby though, wasn't she? Like, she's looking at her stuffed bunny the same way a coroner is looking a cadaver about to be cut up. That's strike one on the celestial permanant record. I'd say the clown was next, but I kind of suspect the clown is the ringleader. But yes, everything gets reviewed. Even if you're a baby. I mean, otherwise, how are the Heavenly Hosts going to keep track of which infants were and were not baptized, in order to toss the guilty parties in a lake of fire?
I don't blame her for not wanting to see what she did next. Not because of the shame of munching carpet but...look at the guy at the far left. I mean, that guy with the peace shirt is most certainly a douche. Soul patch, hoodie, smirk. How the hell did he jackpot himself into a four-way. I imagine it was a combination of drugs and negging on the music tastes until making out in front of him was the only way to show they were "wise beyond their years." It also reveals she walked out on her family. I'm a little surprised, because her current husband looked kind of dumpy, but the dad here is strapping. There may be an accounting for souls, but no accounting for taste.
A whole slew of sins, and heir corresponding dates. One of them was on Valentine's Day, so you know this lady is into some nasty crap. Also, she partied real hard on New Year's Eve, as her rap sheet gives both December 31st AND January 1st. It must have been something so bad even she regretted it, because she doesn't do anything else for three more weeks. Unfortunately, Urban Dictionary does not give any more salacious definition for "backbiting" than simple "slandering", although if it was something depraved, you know she would have done it.What's wonderful about it is her "Why didn't anyone warn me about this" shrug. Lady, your soul is about to be broiled, pretend you're in the middle of something important, not asking if there's a better way in a cleaning product commercial.
Our protagonist's Churchgoing ways were thrown off-balance by her Godless professor. If only courses like European History, Astrophysics or Architectural Design accepted "I'm saved! Hallelujah! I'm Saved!" as an aswer. Lucky for future generations, the Texas Schoolboard is working on that.
Now, the priest or whatever is standing at a podium, isn't he? So where is she that she can stand up next to it. Was she invited to come up and speak, and it just all went wrong. Her not being religous and all? Or was she passing by one of those usual hobos on the street or praise the word of God...except this guy brought a podium with him. It really is your own fault then, lady, for being a non-believer. That guy brought a podium. That's the extra mile. He gave up an entire month of crack to save up for that podium, and you weren't moved at all?
If you've read a few of these, you know how it goes. Book of life. Name does not appear. I do have to say, this is rubbing her nose in it. I mean, God's omniscient, right? He's seen her orgies and her weird doll-games. So he should very well know whether her name is in the book of life or not. It's the most disingenuous, staged thing ever. Like when your parents play stupid to remind you you're grounded in the tone of a really cheesy game show.
God in so many words, screams "Get the fuck outta here! I don't know why I was bothering even talking to you in the first place." He can't even be nice about it, like "I'm sorry, but at this time, Heaven is not accepting any more applications. Good luck in your future of everlasting torment". I just really have a hard time believing he ever feels bad about his flock being damned to Hell.
So she gets tossed into Hell, with the heft only the upper body-strength a Seraphic A.C. Slater could provide. I got to say though, it isn't all bad. Mark Twain once said "Hell for the company", and I think Heaven would just not provide a very lively social scene for our positively cosmopolitan Miss. I mean, are there any dull-witted by study cabana boys found beyond the pearly gates? I think not.
Oh, yay! Instead of the usual downer ending, we're switching to alternate reality time. It's going to be like Sliding Doors. Only the lifestyle or the righteous-famous is going to be a much shorter narrative. Probably because even Jack...or maybe especially Jack, knows that people who don't do anything wrong and sinful are much, much more boring as stories.
I love how Jack just randomly introduces characters. I'm guessing he's one of those dudes that wakes you up on Saturday morning. Maybe the family minister. I'm a little surprised it's not some guy handing out a comic. Even though we have no explanation of who he is, or no other
panels featuring him in the entire comic, he's the one factor that differentiates her from being a strumpet of the Devil, or a model member of the Bible-bumping Stepford community.
Our heroine wades knee-deep in redemption. She kneels on the floor and transcribes her holy text (Just like a Muslim!), reads her daughter stories that apparently shock and confound even her and...randomly carries around black pots of things? I mean, I don't know if that's a waste basket or a portable charcoal grill or something, but whatever it is, you can be assured it's for the
Lord. Is it me though, or is the sin of pride still breaking through the shell of piety? I mean, when she's being talked up as a fine Christian in earshot, you can see that smug, self-satisfied smile. Also, I like to pretend that blond woman is Anne Coulter, just because she'd be the kind of moral authority made for Chick tract.
Be you a skank or a Sabbath Day keeper, sooner or later you dance with the Reaper. Her life may have been more righetous, but I'll be damned if that heart attack doesn't look more painful. For someone who's all ready to be born away on snowy wings, she's fighting the living crap out of this one. Maybe "crap" is the operative term. I wouldn't disbelieve a bowel movement is complicating matters.
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