LogFAQs > #930408876

C) Somewhere you've wronged. Pensacola, Florida.

Gabriel gave you a pretty comprehensive rundown of your failures as an angel, but not too many specific examples. Really the only lead you have is the man whose weiner you turned into a vacuum. Maybe you can find this tortured soul on earth and ease his suffering by convincing him his penis is exit only. Well, unless he doesn't want it to be. He can do what he wants with it, but it's important he knows that he's in control of its comings and goings.

"Kathy, have you ever gone down to Earth to scope out a potential prayer?" you ask.
"Yeah, all the time," Kathy answers.
"How long do you usually spend down there?" you follow up.
Kathy shrugs. "Depends on the prayer. Sometimes it's only a few days, but usually it's longer. Once I spent almost three years on Earth trying to figure out if someone needed divine intervention or just traditional love and support."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Three years?" you slink down in your chair. Your shirt starts to ride up as you slide down, but you catch yourself before flashing Kathy again. "No wonder you've been here for three hundred years, you spent three years on Earth to grant a single prayer! What are you a masochist?"
"I actually didn't end up granting the prayer," Kathy admits. "The determination Mr. Hendrickson needed to build that birdhouse was inside him all along."
"It was for a fucking BIRDHOUSE?!" you shout.
Kathy shakes her head. "You don't get it. The birdhouse wasn't just a birdhouse, y'know?"
"Well shit, Kathy, I figured the birdhouse was a metaphor," you exhale exasperated. "Everything's a metaphor for something. Hell, if you wanted to spend years digging into a metaphor, why didn't you answer one of dozens of prayers from people trying to understand Inception?"
"I died in 1753," Kathy replies. "My knowledge of television and film is very limited. I've been trying to get into it at home but the screen gives me a headache. Maybe if Inception comes out on book, I can answer prayers regarding it."
"What do you mean screens give you headaches? You look at one for eight hours a day!"
"Exactly," Kathy nods. "Imagine going home after doing this for eight hours and doing it some more?"
"The movie's only two and a half hours long. Can't you just wear sunglasses?" you respond. "Or just not have a headache? I mean, we're in heaven. If you have a headache it kinda feels like you're choosing to have the headache."
"Look, when I was alive I churned by own butter and milked my own cows. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the rotary printing press," Kathy puts her hands on her knees as if she's exhausted just thinking about it. "I'm a self-sufficient woman. I'll cure my own headaches. Women got the right to vote over 150 years after I died. Now that I can, let's just say I'm stuffing the ballot box with slips of paper that say, 'I do not know who Joseph Gordon-Levitt is'."

You rise from your chair. "Well, I guess if a woman who died before the American Revolution can integrate into modern society for three years, there's no reason I can't."
"How do you know you'll be sent to modern society?" Kathy asks. "How do you know when you'll be granting prayers?"
Panic creeps over your face. Florida is already so horrible. You can't imagine how much worse it was in the past... or how much worse it could become in the future.
Seeing the sweat start to pool beneath your hairline, Kathy laughs. "Nah I'm just fucking with you."
You sigh in relief as you wipe your brow. Although, you do have one more question for Kathy. "If I die on Earth, do I die in real life?"
---

You don't have to put my thighs in the microwave.