In Heaven with Jesus’ Son
I was best friends with Jack, the Son of the Son of God.
Jack was the ruler of Slack Heaven, a beautiful afterlife at the edge of the world reserved exclusively for the chillest resurrected souls.
At the center of it all was the Slack Lodge—not the log cabin resort Jack and I lived in during my first life, but rather the heavenly version thereof. It stretched for miles along the shore of the Curtain of Light, a spacetime distortion field that separated one half of the infinite flat earth from the other. The sheer size of the place gave it an otherworldly quality, with one long Great Hall running its full length overlooking the Curtain, and a maze of winding wood-paneled corridors along the back. But, like any other afterlife, it was in the same physical world all of us were first born into—the only world, in which all the angels, devils, gods and monsters of mythology actually exist.
I had been living there since my third resurrection, which landed me in an idealized version of the body from my first life. I was young again, and healthier than I’d ever been. I no longer aged or got sick. I could feast whenever I wanted without gaining a pound. I could run from one end of the Great Hall to the other without getting winded. I could go days without showering and yet remain clean. I barely needed to sleep, but I slept soundly when I wanted to. I could be horny as a teenager if I paid a visit to the orgy wing, but I could go days without thinking of sex if I had better things to do. And I had never shat so regularly in all my previous lives. Truly, I was reaping the benefits of “knowing a guy.”
Most of Slack Heaven was self-sustaining. The Curtain provided an endless source of energy. The logs used to construct the buildings were alive and needed no maintenance. The food came from replicators, and what chores couldn’t be handled by robots were done by a servant species of diminutive furry humanoids known as caretaker bears. Nevertheless, there was still plenty for Jack to do. Running a heaven kept him busier than he’d ever been during my first life, when we were both just slackers hanging out and getting high in the globe. He personally greeted new arrivals every day. He decided where the living logs would grow next, and planned parties and other events to keep us all entertained. He also mediated disputes among residents, though everyone there was relatively averse to conflict, so usually issues could be resolved by smoking a peace pipe and hugging it out.
Despite his responsibilities, my relationship with Jack was stronger than ever. I had a suite right next to his at the very heart of the Slack Lodge, along an open corridor looking out over the Great Hall. Jack loved everyone in his heaven, but I was and would always be his first love. Not a day went by that we didn’t hang out. I comforted him when he was stressed out, advised him when he was unsure, and helped him brainstorm new ideas to make his heaven even better. And he’d take me out to parties in other afterlifes, usually in the realm of some idol that was fun to hang out with but maybe not the best to live under, like Loki, Dionysus or Trump.
It was because of the caretaker bears that I went from my fourth life to my seventeenth life in just a few minutes. From the first day I got there, I had nothing but pity for them. They were a hominid species, Homo cainis, that split from humanity right around the time of Homo habilis. They had big adorable eyes and permanently cheerful smiles, and their fur could be any color of the rainbow. They couldn’t talk, but they could understand instructions and were clearly conscious. They were kept servile by metal collars that Jack said were cursed. It just didn’t sit right with me. It seemed like literal enslavement, actually.
One day, I returned to my suite to find a green caretaker bear emptying my trash. It had the mark of a trash can on its belly, indicating that this was its assigned role.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to give it what little dignity I could.
It gave me a low bow, then looked at me with such earnestness, it made me believe no one had ever thanked it before. The light reflected off its eyes like it was anime. My heart broke for it.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I said. “Is this really how you want to live your life, or are you forced to do this?”
It purred and grabbed at its collar.
“Here, let me take a look,” I said, walking over to examine the collar. “I think I see a latch. Hold on, don’t move. There we go!”
I removed the collar, stepped back and prepared for its adorable gratitude.
It bared a mouth full of pointed teeth, revealed razor-sharp claws and leapt at my neck.
I felt intense pain, followed by the metaphysical nausea of the passage through death. I respawned standing a few feet away. It took me a moment to realize I was watching the caretaker bear bent over my previous body, gorging itself on my innards. I gasped. It looked up, saw me and leapt again.
Pain. Nausea. Respawn.
Pain. Nausea. Respawn.
Its fur was soon completely matted with my blood. I was respawning a few feet closer to the door with each life, but it was a fast little fucker. We finally made it out into the hall, a trail of my own bodies in our wake.
“HELP!” I shouted to the residents chilling out in the Great Hall. “HELbergurble...”
I died a few more times before it stopped. On my final resurrection, I threw my arms up defensively, expecting another attack, but none came. Jack stood there holding a bloody broken glass bong. Strewn across the floor were thirteen dead Johns and one dead caretaker bear.
“Dude, John, what the fuck?” Jack asked, panting. I was still reeling, completely disgusted by the sight of my mangled corpses. Jack’s anger quickly turned into concern.
“Hey, it’s going to be alright, it’s over now,” he said, putting my arm over his shoulder to support me.
A yellow caretaker bear hurried over. On its belly was a smiling face with X’s for eyes. I flinched.
“Clean this up,” Jack ordered. The caretaker bear grabbed the dead one by the foot and dragged it away.
“C’mon, let’s get you high,” Jack said.
He lead me into his suite and got me seated on his couch. He’d always had minimalist tastes, and even here in his own private heaven, his living room contained only some basic furniture and a display case of all his favorite bongs. He was never one to shy away from practicality, though, and every seat was exceptionally comfortable. He grabbed a fresh bong, filled it with some pre-cleaned weed from a small plate and handed it to me.
The process of smoking up in heaven was an entirely unnecessary but comforting ritual. There were high-tech inhalers that could get us precisely as high as we wanted with a single puff. But our heavenly bodies could handle even the biggest bong hits without coughing, and I didn’t think my amusement at taking such huge rips would ever wane.
“Learn your lesson?” Jack asked after I mellowed out.
“I guess no good deed goes unpunished,” I sighed.
“Hey, I get it,” Jack said. “The caretaker bears are fucking cute. Nobody likes to see them in captivity. But they’re monsters without their collars. Before we had that tech, an infestation of them could take out an entire realm. Refugees would go to a hell just to escape them. Trust me, it’s either tame them and put them to work or eradicate them. But hey, it’s not all bad for them. The curse makes them immortal—so long as they keep their collars on.”
“I don’t suppose they resurrect?” I asked.
“Nope,” Jack said, “that’s just for humans and dolphins.”
“Poor little guy,” I sighed.
Other than that unpleasant incident, though, heaven was pretty much heaven. There were always new souls to meet, new ways to be entertained and even new drugs to try. Years must have passed, though it was difficult to gauge time there. Jack had a dial in his room called an aetherostat that literally controlled the position of the sun in the sky. He liked to keep it set at that moment just before sunset when the day’s work is over and the night is still all potential.
There was only one reason I couldn’t consider this all perfect bliss.
I missed my husband.
Bob and I had spent decades together, most of my third life, and our souls had intertwined to such an extent that God’s Law guaranteed he would resurrect in the same heaven as me. But he was certainly taking his sweet-ass time to die! I had trouble falling asleep without him next to me, and I missed kissing him when I woke up. I missed saying “I love you” constantly without it being weird. I missed his wicked sense of humor. Like one time, Jack took me to a party where Fred Rogers tripped and fell into a kiddie pool full of chocolate pudding, and no one even giggled—but Bob would have absolutely laughed his ass off. I also never realized what a poor memory I had until Bob wasn’t there to remind me of things I’d forgotten. Spending time with Jack again was wonderful, but without Bob there, I was missing a piece of myself.
So when Jack came to me one day and said, “He’s on his way,” I knew exactly who he meant.
Looking directly at a resurrection was not a pleasant experience. The human brain couldn’t quite deal with what it was seeing—the resurrected didn’t so much pop into existence as existence popped into them. The one time I’d snuck a peek at it happening, I puked my guts out. So Jack and I kept our backs turned as we waited by the porch swing where new arrivals appeared.
“Leif?” I heard Bob ask from behind me.
“Bob!” I shouted joyously, turning to face him.
There was running and hugging and kissing and more hugging and lots of tears—we were both big criers. I eventually regained my composure and was able to make the long-awaited introduction.
“Bob,” I said, “I’d like you to meet Jack.”
“Oh my gods,” Bob gasped, placing a hand on his chest, “he’s even hotter than you said he was!”
I blushed. Jack laughed.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Bob,” Jack said, shaking his hand. “Welcome to my heaven!”
Jack gestured out to the Curtain of Light, lapping waves of color stretching out into an infinite ocean of luminescence. Bob walked towards it, mouth agape with the same look of wonder that everyone had the first time they saw it. He placed his hands on his head in awe, but then looked up in puzzlement, grabbing two big handfuls of long blond locks.
“I have hair!” he exclaimed. He looked at his hands. “I’m young!”
“That’s not all,” I said with a smile, pointing at his reflection in the windows of the Lodge.
“I’m hot!” he gasped, turning back and forth to get a look at his restored twunk body. “I’m hot! Oh my gods, Leif, I’m ho-o-o-o-o-t!!!”
He jumped up and down, crying and shaking his hands limply. Then he smiled wide, took a deep breath, put a hand on his hip, sashayed forward and began to cheer.
“I’m sexy! I’m cute! I’m popular to boot! I’m bitchin’! Great hair! The boys all love to stare!“
He grunted as he broke into frenetic choreography. A crowd began to gather and watch.
“Weren’t you always?” I asked with a smirk.
He slapped my chest playfully with the back of his hand.
“I was old for so long, I forgot I’d been young!”
“Well, now your stats are maxed!” I said.
I knew Bob had reincarnated hundreds of times, reborn from scratch in a whole new body each time. But full-on resurrection was pretty rare, reserved for those with a particularly strong devotion to whatever idol chose them. And idealized resurrection into a genuine Rapture™ model body was even rarer.
“And I’m talking all your stats!” I said, glancing down.
Bob pulled forward the waistband of his heavenly white linen pants to take a look.
“Sweet Mother of Frigg!” he shouted.
“Only the best for my recruits,” Jack laughed.
“What kind of god are you?” Bob asked, realizing Jack was no ordinary idol.
Jack looked to me, unsure of what to say.
I’d never told Bob the full story of me and Jack. At the time, I thought Jack had been wiped from existence, so it hadn’t really mattered. All Bob knew was that I loved Jack, he’d taken me on adventures in Atlantis, and it was a very painful memory.
“Jack’s kind of, um, the Son of Jesus,” I explained.
“You’re Christian?“ Bob gasped.
“Not Christian,” Jack explained, “just a Christ!”
“I’m in a Christian heaven,” Bob said in disbelief. “I just lost so many bets!”
Suddenly he wobbled and looked faint. He stumbled back to the porch swing, one hand in the air and the other on his forehead. His eyes were clenched shut. The crowd gasped.
“Are you ok?” I asked, rushing to his side. “You don’t have to worry, you don’t have to be Christian to be here, Jack really doesn’t care!”
“No, I...” Bob said, “I remember...everything! All of my lives! Back to Rome! Even back to Sumer! All ninety-eight of them!”
I smiled. “I thought you said there were hundreds.”
He gave me a look.
“Let he who has not exaggerated on his dating profile cast the first stone!”
I couldn’t help myself, I gave him another big hug.
“Oh my god, Bob,” I said, “I missed you so much!”
“Oh, I missed you, too!” Bob said, squeezing me back.
We looked in each other’s eyes.
“I love you, Leif,” he said.
“I love you, too!” I said.
“Awwwwwww,” said the crowd as we kissed.
Jack conspicuously cleared his throat.
“Should I give you the tour now, or...?”
“Mmmm,” Bob said, running a finger down my chest, “any chance we could start with the bedroom?”
I smirked and raised an eyebrow at Jack.
“Go on, Leif,“ Jack laughed, “I’ll meet you guys later by the waterslide. C’mon folks, let’s give these men their privacy!” He waved away the crowd.
“How young were we when we met?” Bob asked me devilishly.
“Not this young,” I said, “that’s for sure. C’mon, there’s lots to show you!”
I took his hand, and didn’t let go.
Now it was heaven.
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