If I Throw A Quarter At Jesus Will I Go To Hell?

"I HAVE RETURNED!" The man hailed, raising his arms triumphantly towards the Heavens.
"I AM THE SON OF GOD!" he continued, "I HAVE COME TO RULE THE WORLD FOR ALL ETERNITY!"
Now I'm not even Christian, but I do have access to Wikipedia. Therefore even I know that Christ was supposed to be the final judge of the world, and lead all the Christians out of the world.
"IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME ANY MONEY!" The man just wouldn't stop "YOU WILL PERISH AND DIE!"
Perish. Kind of a big word for a guy like that. Too bad he said perish and die, which basically mean the same thing. That's where it becomes obvious that his linguistic skill is somewhat lacking. He also seems oblivious to the fact that his money jar is right next to his feet, and his feet are standing on top of a three story bank. However, not in spite of this but because of this, I toss a quarter up as high as I can towards the man. It sails over his head. I should have played right field.
Another man, standing next to me, is kind of freaking me out. He looks Russian, or at least he looks like he could be the next James Bond villain. I try not to look at him, but it's kind of difficult. He shoots me a glare and walks away. I see a tiny red dot on his shoes. Although my mind immediately concludes that it is probably just ketchup or something, my mind is also thinking about James Bond movies and therefore entertains the possibility that it might be blood. Maybe even another man's blood. My heart-rate increases to a rate higher than it's been since the last time I worked out. Which has been a while.
I walk on for a while, humming lyrics to the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack. A sudden commotion commands my attention. I look ahead to see a man I feel sure I've seen before being shoved against the car. The man has several tatoos, a brilliant gold necklace, and biceps to rival Vin Diesel's. I also can't help but notice that his pants actually sag down so far that the top of them is below the end of the boxers. I watch with interest as a cop handcuffs him, asks him a question, and then uncuffs him. I move closer. The man now signs a piece of paper the cop has given him. The cop proceeds to re-cuff him.
"Thanks for the autograph." The cop declares. "My kid will appreciate it. I'll make sure you have a safe ride to the jail." He guides the man into the back seat of a cop car, and shuts the door.
I suddenly realize that I consistantly prefer to use the word "cop" over "police."
My left elbow itches. I scratch it.