If your brain hurts from trying to cope with the notion that there are fewer people in heaven than there are in Starbucks on a Sunday morning, try coping with this instead: if fewer than one one-bazillionth of a percent of all the people who have ever lived were good enough to get into heaven, you’re probably fucked. You’re going to spend the rest of eternity, however long that is, with your stinking family, most of whom will think at first that you must have gone to heaven because that’s where they are. Wait until you see how ornery they get when they notice the lack of air conditioning.