Jesus was passing out candy to trick-or-treaters one fine July night (in Heaven, everyday is Halloween and Christmas and Martin Luther King Jr. Day.) He had just sat down, when the doorbell rang for the forty-third time that night.
So he got up, set up his trusty candy-delivering slingshot and opened the door. But it wasn’t trick-or-treaters, it was Billy Dee Williams singing Martin Luther King Day carols. (Sung to the tune of "Deck the Halls") "He’s the king of civil rights, why, He’s the one who said he had a dream. Shared a bathroom with a white guy. Now you all know black guys have big cocks. Don we now our gay apparel. Falala Lalala La La La!" So Jesus took the candy out of his slingshot and replaced it with chicken and waffles, the traditional Martin Luther King Day treat, and launched it at Billy Dee. Billy Dee caught the food in his sack and back flipped to the house next door.
"Billy Dee Williams," Jesus said to himself, "I didn’t even know he was dead."
So Jesus shut the door, took a deep breath and lurched back to his chair. He took a sip from his baby bottle, and the doorbell rang for the forty-fourth time. He got up angrily and rushed to the door with his trusty fireplace poker in hand. He opened the door, ready to club the shit out of Billy Dee, but this time, it was a leprechaun. "I’m here to file a grievance," he said with an Irish brogue. "Why isn’t everyday St. Patrick’s day in Heaven?"
"Because God hates the Irish!" Jesus said and slammed the door.
