A Somewhat Less Than Honest, and in all respects a Perfectly Normal Man lived many years and came one night, in the midst of sleep, to the door of the Great Beyond. He glanced back at his sleeping body, nestled in the very bed where he was born, and turned again to look upon the Portals of Paradise. At the Guard Shack Gilt with Gold he encountered a Great Luminescent Being he did not personally recognize but knew to be none other than Saint Peter Himself.
The Good Saint With the Ever Tiring List invited the Man Out of Body to stop and chat, and the Man was certainly compelled to oblige, for the Fear of the Alternative Route on the Footpath to Forever shook him, and he figured that being Friends might be best, even if he wasn't soon to become a Resident of the Lodge With the All-White Laundry.
Saint Peter rolled a Rock of Gold onto the Gilded Guardshack floor and motioned the Curious Guy With No Gluteals to sit. Through the Light That is Never Encumbered by Baskets the Man saw the Slate That Cuts No Slack and desired mightily to sneak a peek at the Record of Deeds Done Slow, Done Fast, and Done Half Fast.
The Good and Gracious Saint, knowing the wishes of He Who Would Be Mortally Embarrassed To See and Know, allowed Mere Mortal to peer over His Peerless Shoulder. The Curious Sub-Carnalite reached around the Non-Circumventible Saint and pointed at a dirty line by his name.
"What?!" he cried. "I did that?"
Knowing that the Record Replete was indelible he stared in disbelief.
At the same moment, The Hotline To The Holy One rang on the Desk That Needs No Nightlight. Saint Pete, Inscriber of the Truth and Gateman First Class, looked up and away from the Slate That Saves or Slaughters. A Less Than Honest Finger of the Awestricken Astralite pushed hard across The Notebook of the Gods and he erased, to his horror, his name and not his deeds!
The Shock of a Lifetime came quickly to the Man Without a Moniker, who woke up sweating and frightened in his bed, and the Monstrous Memory of meeting the Man At The Immaculate Mowershed burst his old brittle heart and once again he was swept away by the Tide That Turns the Earth.
Having visited previously, the Man Who Should Feel at Least a Little Bit of Fear walked boldly to the Inspection Shed Run by a Saint. The Saint Who Needs No Introduction said, "Who are you?"
The Man Who Mangled His Fate replied, "It's me. I was just here."
"Yes?" Saint Peter looked down at him. "And what might your name be?"
The Man With Chalk on his Less Than Honest Finger gave his name and Saint Pete reviewed the Booklet of the Born Again.
"Don't have a listing for you. Sorry. Try the Heaven Down the Way."
As the Sockoed Psyche of the Soul Without a Sanctum tumbled heels over head towards the lower heavens, millions of residents of Hell's Heaven For the Rejected and Undecided struggled to see who could first haul in and convert The Inconvertible Without a Garage of Gold. Upon landing, and before being caught, he promptly stole a convertible chariot for a wild high-speed tour of the Streets of Fool's Gold.
In the chase that ensued there were several monuments knocked over, a few gates crashed, lots of Resplendent Residents frightened and many permanently bemused, and all in all, it was the most exciting and memorable day in Heaven in 2,000 years. Even God was amused, and The Otherwise Unknown and Heretofore Unnamed Man thereby made a name for himself that none but God may remember to this day.