Henry Ford died and went up to Heaven. Peter was there at the Pearly Gates.
“Name?”
“Ford. Henry Ford.”
“Occupation?”
“Inventor.”
Peter consults his clipboard.
“Right,” he says. “You’re in. Inventors are in 3C. Take the elevator. Third floor, turn right, third on the left.”
Ford finds the right door and goes in.
It’s an inventors paradise. In one corner, Edison is hobnobbing with Galileo. Archimedes is matching wits with Marconi in the center of the room. Anyone who ever invented anything is there.
Then a wild hairy looking guy wearing nothing but a fig-leaf comes up to him.
“You’re new here,” he says to Ford. “Who are you.”
“Ford. Henry Ford.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Ford. What did you invent?”
“I,” said Ford proudly, “invented the world’s first practical mass-production motor car. Who are you, and what did YOU invent?”
“I’m Adam,” said the wild man. “I invented woman.”
“Ah,” said Ford. “Pleased to meet you. You know, I’ve been wanting to tell the inventor of woman something for a long time. You put the inlet valve too close to the outlet valve.”
Adam considered this for a while.
“Could be,” he conceded. “But there’s still a hell of a lot more people riding my model than riding yours.”