The ongoing story of Jesus waking up in Chicago, in the body of an agnostic writer,
who is nothing like the Son of God the right-wing Christians watching him expected.

You are welcome to share my work with a link bank... keep getting asked this...

Last time I was here, I told them I would not lead a revolution, that I was there to spread heresy. The crowds thinned. The day they killed me, I marched alone... This time I have returned to find Romes Soldiers Sleeping, content they have killed off the Troublesome Jew. I was surprised how bloody the Indiana boy became as my sword fell again and again ....

In the years since this story began in 2007, my secret fame has spread out from the halls of power that kept me secret all these years, as they waited for the Christ to finally wake up...

I try to imagine their anticipation.

Remember a dream I had in my twenties about running thru Chicago screaming that Christ was coming back, and man oh man was I happy... a cloud came through the middle of the skyscrapers above me, in the thin strip of blue above Dowtown State street, and I expected to see Christ... instead, just a bunch of musicians painted up like Ziggy stardust.

I surprised my keepers. They thought they had me figured out from the Bible. If that book could have told you everything, there would be no need at all for me.

Jesus: "I have become Known across this planet as a dangerous man with a growing force of hidden followers who value my orders more than life itself. A prophet of war. Once and future King in a court of shadows. Life and death in my hands every damn day. I ROAR, your most mighty shit themselves and run. I make myself a known threat, so I can try to negotiate what otherwise requires bullets and blood. I am here to free the enslaved in body and mind. I cannot be defeated. When the Will of God and The WILL OF THE PEOPLE ARE ONE, NO FORCE ON EARTH CAN STOP US!"


We come into this life expecting too much and leave expecting too little

Monday, April 11, 2005

hansters are too, killers... so there.


I am thinking of taking in students and becoming a home schooling teacher. I will do this not out of any concern for kids or anything, of course, it’s all part of my plan to become supreme commander, which is written out in no less than twenty seven spiral notebooks of 350 sheets of lined paper apiece. Changes will be swift and deadly on that day….

You know me, I don’t care who I kill, but some folks do deserve it more than others and my sense of justice demands that they be shot first. For example, Massa jackoffyourson. There are thousands of people who would show up to shoot him, if someone with balls would pass a law that you could kill child fucking freaks. This is exactly the kind of creative solution I will bring to bear on societies problems from the lofty seat of supreme commanderdom.

I already have an army…. well, I have some presently unruly and slightly traitorous hamsters, but they are coming along. They …. Ummm….already eat on command. And they take after their supreme commander in many, many ways… I am proud to say that they have picked up some of Johnny Pain’s smooth moves too, because these little fuzz faced fucks are humping any damn thing that’s close. I may have even taught them too well. I can’t even stick my hand in the cage without one of them trying to violate me.

I was sure I knew what I was doing, too, but these damn hamsters won’t follow most of my rules. I don’t where I went wrong? I started out by decimating them (killing every tenth soldier to instill discipline – an oldie but a goody, when it comes to military training). I only could afford seven of them, though, so I had to pretend like I was in the other room killing a hamster… let me tell you, buster, I am pretty sure that I could see the fear in their eyes when I came back into the room…

I have yet to identify a special little Rambo to be one of my generals. You would think something as important as the number two spot in a scheme for world domination would be more interesting than pellets of grass, but no… I read them all my notes and they just sit there and act like they are not even listening.

Still, you just better watch it, like I told M., because these babies got Murder written all over them.

When I told her this, she asked me if that was why I shaved them, to write on their skin? She doesn’t understand anything about aerodynamics (that hair would have slowed them down, dammit, and I won’t have it!). But that is a good idea about writing Murder all over the Hamsters… might blow their cover, though? Hmmm… I can already tell there will be notes scribbled about this quandary… lots and lots of scribbled notes….

I am trying to face the possibility that the hamsters may only turn out to be good practice for my humans. I don’t really need them. When I told M. about this she just laughed like I was joking and responded in her usual nay-sayer way, “Oh, big surprise, you couldn’t train hamsters to kill. You think I would let you have them if you could… wait a minute, you’re not taking this shit seriously, right?”

Due to the somewhat disgusted look on her face when she said this, there was no way in hell I was going to tell her about how serious I am, or how many notes I’m taking, or how the hamsters will lead the kids…. No, I just said, “It’s just a joke.”

“Don’t make me beat you down.”

“They are hamsters, for dogs sake…. “

“Will you quit saying for dogs sake?”

“With my last breath.”


“Nothing. You know, I am teaching the hamsters to act all lovey-dovey. You saw them with the blow up doll?.”

“Until they can get close enough to rip open jugulars, that was the plan, right? You are a really pathetic liar. I better not come home and find you spent the whole day messing with those hamsters. The cats are going to get them if you aren’t more careful… By the way, why did you call my mom and ask her to sew some tiny green jackets?”

“Wasn’t me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I would remember something like that.”


“What does that mean?”

“You forget stuff, that is one of the side effects of your beloved herb. Tell me that you are not going to waste time with those hamsters today. Say it.”

“Well, I could spend the day thinking about penguins spinning around real fast screaming, ‘Oh, the shits with you!!”

“You know what, you could, couldn’t you?”

She seemed surprised by this for some fucked up reason that I can’t fathom?

“I can’t stop these penguins…” I made it out like it was a joke, but I really can’t.

“If you have to mess around with the hamsters, clean the cage, but don’t take them to the beach anymore… they are not concerned about their tans, no matter how convinced you are, silly.”

Everything is a joke to her, I swear. Would you want shaved, pale as hell assed hamsters around? I didn’t think so. The tans really help.

“I have to go to work. Be good today.”

“I can’t face a day without hamsters.”

“Stop it.”

After she left, I of course got right to work, pulling out the little cardboard minefields that I made and placing the plump hamsters in various strategic positions…

I didn’t even have a chance to tell her about training little kids into a deadly fighting force, who the hamsters will lead out into battle for both justice and whimsy.… M. will probably find some reason to nit-pick at that plan, too.

Consider me taking on students from this day forward, call and I’ll see if I can use you … if a woman answers though, just hang up real quick and call back later.

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