I’ve written before about how ‘suicide bomber’ is one of the best jobs you could ever have. I mentioned how you only have to work one day, and often you don’t even have to make it into the office, you just need to catch your bus.

You may even get a moment to josh with the bus passenger sitting next to you. You know, lean over and say “Hey… pull my finger.”

But honestly, I think the best part of working as a suicide bomber is you would receive instant feedback on your performance from your organization’s top authority. Like one second you’re pushing the button, and a split-second later your deity’s representative is in front of you saying, “Okay, let’s talk about how you loaded the steel nails into your suicide vest, because you made a classic distribution error.”

Do you think dead CEOs who go to Hell have to wear supply chains? I suppose it depends on if The Devil likes a good metaphor or not.

Suicide bombers are promised great rewards in the afterlife, including dozens of virgins. My thought is, what if you’re a female suicide bomber? Would you really want to spend your afterlife ghosting dozens of virgin males who are constantly circling you like horseflies around a cowflop?

“Six Dozen Virgins” is a great name for an indie band, if anyone out there is looking.