One Easter, I was having breakfast with a small crowd of guys in a restaurant. The only thing we had in common was that we all liked girls. The youngest one of us, who was very good at getting girls, had explained this alone hadn’t made him happier. He had, in the past, nevertheless been suicidal.
He and his friend overwhelmed the conversation, talking about people who weren’t there and no one else knew. I told them a few times to talk about something else, but they kept coming back around to people nobody knew.
“If you don’t like it then you talk about something,” they told me.
“All right,” I said. “This is Easter. Easter is the anniversary of what event?”
“The crucifixion,” the youngest one of us said.
“Right. And do you know what happened to Christ after he died?”
“I don’t know. He went to heaven?”
“No, he didn’t. He went to hell. He spent three days in hell, and then he came back to check in with his followers.”
“You know what he did in hell?” Continue reading