A rather mild-mannered fellow presents himself at the Pearly Gates, but St. Peter, flipping through the stuff on his clipboard, can't find a record of him.

"Where did you say you died?" the Lord's angel asks.

"It was in Colorado, sir," answers the man.

"I don't see you here. Have you done some heroic or worthy thing that would entitle you to immediate access to Heaven?" St. Peter asks.

The man replies, "Well, sir, I was traveling through southern Colorado when I came upon a gang of evil bikers threatening a woman who appeared to be helpless. I stopped and intervened."

"Say, that's pretty swell!" says St. Peter. "What exactly did you do?"

The man states, "Sir, I could see that three of the bikers were holding the young lady so that the biggest of the gang, the one with all the tattoos, could have his way with her. I strode over to that big fellow and instructed him to stop immediately, and to make my point, I slapped him across both of his cheeks, and kicked his motorcycle over into the dirt."

"Capital!" declares the angel. "But I have no record of this, and that's what I don't understand. When did this happen?"

Glancing at his watch, the man replies, "Oh, about a minute and a half ago."