A man dies and goes to heaven

...and when he gets to the pearly gates, St. Peter says "Come, good sir, tell me how you died, so I may deem whether you deserve to enter eternal paradise."

The man replies "Alright, I'm not proud of it, but here goes. I lived in Washington, D.C. I had a beautiful wife, and lived on the seventh floor of a swanky high-rise apartment building. One day I get off of work early; just after lunch. I come home, and as I approach my appartment door, I hear sounds of frantic movement. When I open the door, I see my wife standing in the living room in a state of partial undress. Now, I've got something of a temper. When I see her like this, all I can think is that she's cheating on me. I fly into a rage, storming around the apartment, screaming "where is he, where are you hiding him?" She's trying to tell me to calm down, that there's no one else in the apartment. I march onto the balcony and see that there's a very tall African-American fellow hanging off the railing, holding on by just his fingertips. Well, I'm so enraged, I grab a hammer and start smashing his fingers until he falls seven stories straight down to the pavement. But I'm not satisfied yet. I run back inside, unplug the refrigerator, and push it over the balcony onto the poor guy. And the effort of pushing that fridge was so great that I had a heart attack and died."

St. Peter has listened to the whole story with a shocked look on his face. Its not the craziest story he's heard, but its pretty damn unusual. He looks at the man and says, "Hm, ok. I'll uh... I'll have to confer with the Big Guy on this one, why don't you have a seat over there until I get this sorted out." The guy goes over and waits.

The next man in line is a very tall African-American fellow. And his story goes like this:

"Now, I used to live in Washington, D.C. I had an apartment on the eigth floor of a swanky high-rise apartment building. Yesterday, I was able to come home from work around lunchtime. I'm not usually home this early, so all the floors were still slippery from the maid cleaning that day. I grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and walk out towards the balcony. I lose my footing though, hit the railing. and go right over. I managed to catch myself on the railing of the balcony below mine though, and am thanking my lucky stars when some lunatic runs out with a hammer and starts smashing my fingers until I fall to the pavement. Somehow I survived this though, and when I look up, all I see is a big white rectangle growing bigger and bigger until *bam*, and I end up here."

St. Peter, with a rather large case of deja vu, tells the man to go on in to heaven.

Now the next guy in line is Bill Clinton. And he tells St. Peter, "So, check this out. I'm hiding in this fridge..."


Thanks for reading the monstrous wall of text, it usually goes better when told in person.