A man appeared at the pearly gates to find St. Peter shaking his head dolefully. “Mr. O’Sullivan, I presume?” said St. Pete. “…The one who kicks his dog and rarely helps old women cross the street?”

Correctly identified, Mr. O’Sullivan turned an even ghostlier white than, being a ghost, he already was, and muttered, “The same, I’m afraid.”

“Well, Mr. O., compared to many, your sins are few. Unfortunately, there’s not much on file to offset them. Haven’t you done anything of merit?”

“Oh, yes. Yes I have,” said Mr. O’Sullivan. “Once, on a trip to Dublin, I came upon a gang of ruffians antagonizing a young lady, so I plucked up my courage and demanded that they unhand her.”

“Did they?”

“Nay,” said Mr. O., “they didn’t, so I approached the largest of them, smacked him hard on the neck, and cried, “Get ye gone from this dark alley immediately or you’ll have to answer to me!”

St. Peter was impressed. “Saving a girl from predators in a dark alley?–Excellent! Don’t know why we don’t have that on file…. When did it happen?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”