[ WP ] God has been locked out/denied access to Heaven . Elaborate on the events leading to , and stemming from it .

The Cafeteria of Heaven was buzzing with activities, much as it always was and always had been since it opened. Joan of Arc was engaged in a drinking match with Mother Teresa, Einstein was making wooby eyes at Elizabeth Taylor from across the room, and the air was occasionally punctured by the “ twang ” of a cherub ’ s bow as another arrow found its way to the buttocks of an unsuspecting victim. 
 
 At the very center of the room was the table unofficially and eternally reserved for the most popular, the most well-known: the Ecstatics. The Ones who could inspire rapturous joy in your very being if they even looked in your direction, or could smote the ever-loving shit out of you if they wanted. Although two of the other deities were still in the lunch line, the head of the clique was already seated at the table, along with the newcomer. 
 
 God had seen better days. The ordinarily luscious grey hair had become tangled and looked very thirsty. The eyes, normally pondering the mysteries of the universe, were fixated on a lunch tray. He was muttering something under His breath, lost in thought. 
 
 Finally emerging from the line, the Holy Ghost and Buddha approached the table and set their trays down. 
 
 “ God? ” Buddha spoke squeakily, “ We have to talk to you. ” 
 
 “ Is butter a carb? ” God asked, missing the question entirely. 
 
 Lucifer, perched at God ’ s right, smiled and said “ Yes. ” 
 
 “ God, ” Buddha spoke again, taking a seat and hoping to regain control of the conversation, “ You ’ re wearing a toga…it ’ s Monday. ” 
 
 “ So? ” The warm brown eyes narrowed in confusion. 
 
 “ So that ’ s against the rules and you can ’ t sit with us, ” the Holy Ghost spoke with an air of smug assurance. 
 
 This statement was met with a scoff and emphatically rolled eyes. 
 
 “ Whatever, those rules aren ’ t real. ” 
 
 The Holy Ghost started in its seat, astounded that something so long-standing and fundamental was being dismissed so casually. No. No, this absolutely would not stand. 
 
 “ They were real that day I wore a poncho! ” 
 
 “ Because that poncho was disgusting! ” 
 
 “ YOU CAN ’ T SIT WITH US! ” The words flew from Buddha ’ s mouth. 
 
 A few members of nearby tables went silent and elbowed their neighbors with frantic shushing, realizing that something monumental was happening before their eyes. Even Leonardo da Vinci and Andy Warhol managed to stop sucking face long enough to witness the exchange. With a steady blush rising in His cheek, God stared down at His lunch tray, suddenly unable to meet the eye of any of His friends. 
 
 “ This toga is all that fits me right now. ” 
 
 A quick glance around the table offered a disheartening view. Buddha and the Holy Ghost refused to make eye contact, the former staring at the ceiling and the latter engrossed in its recently French-tipped nails. 
 
 Desperate for even an iota of support, God looked to His right. Lucifer ’ s arms were folded, his silence speaking volumes of its own. So this was how it was going to be, was it? The sting quickly settled in His heart, and He gathered up His tray. Although He might be down, He was not out. 
 
 “ Fine. You can float home, bitches! ” 
 
 In God ’ s mind, His exit was flawless. The right amount of stomp in His step, eyes narrowed just so, all to the sound of Twisted Sister ’ s “ We ’ re Not Gon na Take It ” playing in His head. 
 
 Sadly, this perfect exit was ruined, like many other things in life, by the unexpected presence of a chubbo. Just as God was about to look back over His shoulders and give His ex-best-friends a truly scorching stink eye, a blubbering mass of gold and hair gel smacked into Him. Food went flying everywhere, especially embarrassing because God had loaded up His tray with spaghetti. Sauce spattered and stained His toga, a meatball landing right on top of His foot. 
 
 “ Watch where you ’ re going, fat-ass! ” Elvis yelled, spewing peanut-butter-and-banana shrapnel everywhere. 
 
 The room burst into laughter. This was too much. Sure, scuffles between friends were difficult, but they were expected. Being laughed at by everyone, this was too much. Tears stung at the corners of His eyes, blurring the vision of Elvis ’ truly monumental form waddling away from Him. The laughs and jeers echoed in His ears, quickly overwhelming Him, and He stormed out with what little dignity He had left.
