Today's update was supposed to be about Jesus, the end-all, be-all guide to how he and camels impact our daily lives. Scholars would read it and pass it on for years to come, with me going down in the annals of historical and biographical greatness for having penned such a superb piece of work. Ipso facto, my legacy would be established. Fate, however, had something else in mind. The "expert" that I had hired to ghostwrite the article for me decided to drink a whole bottle of Absinthe and play in traffic instead of showing up to our meeting. Damn, I guess I am going to have to wing it.
I feel like we're close enough that I can be honest with you. I don't know that much about Jesus, but who really does? Ok, so the guy has had a few books written about him and he's starred in a few movies but that doesn't exactly constitute a wealth of knowledge. Plus you can't believe everything you watch or read. Still, I know enough to be dangerous, like running with scissors or playing with electric devices while in the bathtub.
Sometime around the 0th year, Mary was having a party with all her friends, celebrating her virgin-like attributes and the fact that the Bethlehem Giants had just won the pennant for the second year in a row. They really did wonders with off-season trading. After some keg stands and a few shots of Iranian Spider Rum, Jesus appears from a cloud of smoke in the middle of the room like some kind of cheap magician at a child's birthday party. At first, everyone assumed that was simply the PCP playing tricks on them and rightfully so. Mary was stoned out of her gourd. Panic began to set in with the partygoers after it was observed that this figment of their imagination started drinking all the beer. Understandably, they became upset at this and called the police who subsequently hauled Jesus away for trespassing. Not a great to start to our savior's career.
With no friends to call and no money with which to make bail, Jesus did his 30-day bid in the Bethlehem Pen, all the while attempting to explain to anyone who would listen about how he was the son of God and had come here to save them all. Upon his release, he was met at the gate by three wise men who showered him with with gifts of gold, silver, and bronze, nicely provided by the Olympic committee. Vowing his revenge on Mary and her harem of poor people, Jesus went into hiding and did a porn film or two to help supplement his income. Hey, times were pretty rough back then. You wouldn't know because you weren't there. Eventually he was able to secure some real work, minor roles in peanut butter commercials and the like.
As with most young actors who get a taste of success, Jesus started getting a taste for cocaine and became addicted the fast paced lifestyle of the Bethlehem elite. Most of the upper crust never took him seriously, what with his constant babbling about returning to his hometown of Heaven and all the miracles he'd performed. Most recognized him for what he was: a flunky who used store bought magic tricks to impress homeless kids. Plus, he never took off that damn thorn crown and he would bleed all over the rug. Realizing he wasn't getting the attention he deserved, Jesus had a few friends nail him to a cross where he hung out for a few days hawking his autobiography entitled, "The Bible."
He died on that cross but not really for the reasons people think, like blood loss and extraneous, torturous pain. No, the autopsy revealed that he had OD'd on heroin. It wasn't his fault -- he wasn't injecting himself. Miracles or no miracles, when your hands are nailed to a cross, it's rather hard to shoot yourself with a hypodermic needle in your foot. Many rumors and accusations surfaced but all turned out to be just that. The real story is that Jesus wasn't giving fair royalty rights to his agent and publisher, someone whom knew this "bible" thing was going to be a huge seller. Wanting his cut, he simply took the opportunity to forge a will and off the only person who knew otherwise. It always boils down to money.
And so Jesus died like he lived, alone and penniless, his heroin scabs covering up his once proud gang tattoos that he got from some shady guy in prison, exchanged for a carton of cigarettes. He loved cartoons and good whiskey, biding his time for the day that he could get revenge on Mary. In the end though, she got hers without his intervention. Having racked up a huge chunk of money to both pushers and bookies -- betting on the Giants to win a third pennant -- she found herself working off her debt in a small sweatshop sewing badges for the Boy Scouts of Israel. So, this is how we remember him. Not for being a savior or poet, but being a washed up actor who didn't shave and had trouble controlling his bladder. I think that's how he'd want us to remember him, too. He was always quirky like that.
I feel like we're close enough that I can be honest with you. I don't know that much about Jesus, but who really does? Ok, so the guy has had a few books written about him and he's starred in a few movies but that doesn't exactly constitute a wealth of knowledge. Plus you can't believe everything you watch or read. Still, I know enough to be dangerous, like running with scissors or playing with electric devices while in the bathtub.
Sometime around the 0th year, Mary was having a party with all her friends, celebrating her virgin-like attributes and the fact that the Bethlehem Giants had just won the pennant for the second year in a row. They really did wonders with off-season trading. After some keg stands and a few shots of Iranian Spider Rum, Jesus appears from a cloud of smoke in the middle of the room like some kind of cheap magician at a child's birthday party. At first, everyone assumed that was simply the PCP playing tricks on them and rightfully so. Mary was stoned out of her gourd. Panic began to set in with the partygoers after it was observed that this figment of their imagination started drinking all the beer. Understandably, they became upset at this and called the police who subsequently hauled Jesus away for trespassing. Not a great to start to our savior's career.
With no friends to call and no money with which to make bail, Jesus did his 30-day bid in the Bethlehem Pen, all the while attempting to explain to anyone who would listen about how he was the son of God and had come here to save them all. Upon his release, he was met at the gate by three wise men who showered him with with gifts of gold, silver, and bronze, nicely provided by the Olympic committee. Vowing his revenge on Mary and her harem of poor people, Jesus went into hiding and did a porn film or two to help supplement his income. Hey, times were pretty rough back then. You wouldn't know because you weren't there. Eventually he was able to secure some real work, minor roles in peanut butter commercials and the like.
As with most young actors who get a taste of success, Jesus started getting a taste for cocaine and became addicted the fast paced lifestyle of the Bethlehem elite. Most of the upper crust never took him seriously, what with his constant babbling about returning to his hometown of Heaven and all the miracles he'd performed. Most recognized him for what he was: a flunky who used store bought magic tricks to impress homeless kids. Plus, he never took off that damn thorn crown and he would bleed all over the rug. Realizing he wasn't getting the attention he deserved, Jesus had a few friends nail him to a cross where he hung out for a few days hawking his autobiography entitled, "The Bible."
He died on that cross but not really for the reasons people think, like blood loss and extraneous, torturous pain. No, the autopsy revealed that he had OD'd on heroin. It wasn't his fault -- he wasn't injecting himself. Miracles or no miracles, when your hands are nailed to a cross, it's rather hard to shoot yourself with a hypodermic needle in your foot. Many rumors and accusations surfaced but all turned out to be just that. The real story is that Jesus wasn't giving fair royalty rights to his agent and publisher, someone whom knew this "bible" thing was going to be a huge seller. Wanting his cut, he simply took the opportunity to forge a will and off the only person who knew otherwise. It always boils down to money.
And so Jesus died like he lived, alone and penniless, his heroin scabs covering up his once proud gang tattoos that he got from some shady guy in prison, exchanged for a carton of cigarettes. He loved cartoons and good whiskey, biding his time for the day that he could get revenge on Mary. In the end though, she got hers without his intervention. Having racked up a huge chunk of money to both pushers and bookies -- betting on the Giants to win a third pennant -- she found herself working off her debt in a small sweatshop sewing badges for the Boy Scouts of Israel. So, this is how we remember him. Not for being a savior or poet, but being a washed up actor who didn't shave and had trouble controlling his bladder. I think that's how he'd want us to remember him, too. He was always quirky like that.
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