It was a quiet day in Heaven, and St. Peter sat by the Pearly Gates
feeling thoroughly bored. He looked up, and suddenly caught sight of
three figures trudging towards him through the thick clouds. The
first one came up to him, and St. Peter could see his blue lips and
"What happened to you?" asked the saint.
"Well, I got home to my flat early and found my wife in bed, naked and
looking very guilty. I caught sight of a pair of hands grasping the
rails around our balcony. I was so angry that I rushed out and
pounded on the fingers until he let go and crashed into some bushes
below. I then pushed our wardrobe over the balcony, and it landed on
top of him . . . . . . then I had a heart attack and died."
St. Peter saw that this had been a crime of passion, and let him
through. By then, the second man had reached him, wearing only a pair
of shorts and covered with cuts and bruises.
"I've no sympathy for you!" said Peter. "That's what happens when you
go to bed with another man's wife!"
"What?? No - you've got it all wrong!" replied the man. "It was a
sunny day, so I was doing some exercises on my balcony. Suddenly I
slipped and fell over the railings. I just managed to grab and hang
on to the balcony of the flat below, and then some maniac stomped on
my hands and I fell into the shrubbery below. When he saw I was still
alive, he dropped a wardrobe on me!"
St. Peter apologised to him, and let him through.
The third man, wearing a smart suit and with a stethoscope round his
neck, arrived at the Gates.
"And how did you get here?" asked St. Peter, now thoroughly confused.
"I really don't know . . . " said the man. "I was making a house call
on a lady in a block of flats who was in bed with a bad case of 'flu.
While I was examining her, someone unlocked the front door. She
panicked, told me her husband was bad tempered and very jealous, and
before I could say anything, she'd bundled me into a wardrobe . . . . ."