The world started to become very strange, very strange indeed. The dark, cramped room changed into a bright haven and the dull, metallic roar of the M1 was changed into a heavenly choir singing the theme tune to "The Archers", funny enough. I was bloody dead!
An angelic figure came before me (Which is a good trick if you can do it!-alright I'll stop the innuendos!) and looked at me pitifully. Then its face (it were genderless, I think. Probably not the best of ideas to look under its robes) changed o a red colour and shouted, "Jesus Christ! Not him!" Out of the illuminous whiteness burst through a figure on a Harley Davidson bike and said, "You called." The angelic figure was stumbling its words and managed to construct this sentence, "Oh dear, erm...Not you, your highness. I'm afraid I was blaspheming. Oops. I'm so sorry."
That's when I realised the bloke on the bike was Jesus. Out of disbelieve I blurted out, "Chirst Almighty!" Jesus turned towards me and said, "How do you do? Oh dear, it's you. Gabe, his time hasn't come yet." That's nice to know, I suppose. "Go on, hop it!" commanded Jesus. "Oh by the way, I rather liked the joke about Lucifier and the alarm clock. Very witty."
Then suddenly the eutopian world in which I just visited collapsed with the sound of "Pop!". No, not an angel shouting, "Pop!", the onamatepia "Pop!".
My eyes opened and the only words I could mention at that moment were: "Jesus on a bike!"