One day I died and went straight to Heaven where I was met by St Peter at the Gates. “Ah … you’ve arrived!” he said looking at his electronic notepad, “it says here that you claimed to have a sense of humor when alive; let’s test that shall we? “Tell me a joke … make me laugh and I’ll let you in!” I was astounded at his attitude on such a solemn occasion; I stumbled to find the right thing to say. “Ah … not so funny now, are you?” continued the Saint. “But … ehm …” I mumbled sensing my throat getting drier with nervousness. “So, what will it be? A funny joke; or will you go straight down without a parachute?” chuckled St Peter through his thick beard. “You’ve just laughed … a little!" I pointed out sheepishly, but not without a modicum of forlorn hope, “surely that counts as a joke!” “That’s true,” replied St Peter, “you’ve always been ridiculous to look at anyway; so I’ll let you in.” I smiled, wiping the cold sweat from my brow.
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