I was driving through the fiercest global-warming-spawned blizzard ever, returning to my favorite gun-free zone, when an avalanche (like the one that killed Michael Jackson) buried me. I suspected that I would die soon (or soon enough) if Christ didn't intercede chop chop! I remembered several Bible verses and the Russian adage: “pray to God but row to shore.” I thought of my mother, Mather (Pa.), Jerry Mathers and the logic behind injecting pigeon **** to remove tattoos. Suddenly and unexpectedly out of nowhere demons pulled my car (with me in it) to safety. “Hey, where's Jesus?” I asked. “He'll be here in five minutes,” they answered. “Five minutes?” I guffawed & pshawed. “He may as well not bother!”