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

The Terrrible Plight OF Disposable Butt Monkeys

The plight of disposable Butt monkeys should be a call to arms for anyone who likes animals. Why I am the only one who seems to be objecting to this trend? Could larger forces be at work? Surely, but that is not my concern. What is my concern is my solemn vow to help you elf shits make sound purchases on anal related products.

Unless you have been living in a cave on pcp for the last two years, you have heard of or seen or read about the highly successful commercials with one of those rich old looking actor dudes from law and order asking a group of gorgeous looking rich people, "Isn't it time someone else wiped your ass?"

The scene then switches to a friendly, perfumed, luxuriouslyconditioned but monkey, shown switching through the various pastel colors that they come in, sliding up and down on a fake plastic butt, and then drowning itself in the bidet and flushing itself down with it's last breath. The voice over sounds cognac smooth and cigar rough, has the weight of years and grandparents. "The latest trend among the trendy wealthy following trends? Using specially trained disposable but monkeys, so they can have their pampered bums safely wiped without having to touch their own shit, like a peasent. These monkeys clean your rectum until it actually shines. And lord knows, in your hectic, fast paced day, you can use the smile you'll get when your but monkey's flush themselves down and drown in an altogether comical manner."

The camera then shows a boardroom with all the employees sitting around a table introducing each other. One of the employees has shit all over his hand and everyone is disgusted as they shake with him and get feces all over themselves. Finally, this shitty hands guy tries to get the boss to slap palms, but the boss, who is portrayed as a bright leader, refuses the shitty hand and says, " If you are still wiping your own ass, don't shake my hand.... in fact, get the hell out of here, you are fired." Then all the other employees pull boxes of but monkeys out of their pockets and start laughing ... and the boss, who has remained serious during the whole commercial, takes out his own box of but monkeys and joins in the laughter, too. This is very effective advertising, there is no denying that.

I mean, I am criticizing them now, but when I first saw the commercial, I too wanted to order some but monkeys. I was impressed with all the colors they came in, and they are cute. Like everyone, I know that the present method of wiping off our bums with dry paper is hardly sufficient, and as a result, diseases are spread... I too hope that one-day science will come up with something like but monkeys, but this is not the one. No, this is not the savior all our asses are practically calling for, though I have to admit, the commercial certainly makes them look like they are, and the special holiday edition but monkeys in Santa and elf outfits are pretty damn cool looking, I know, I know...Now, you will probably call me a crazy protestor for taking this stance. I 'm not, though. I mean, if I came across monkey meat at the supermarket, I’d take it home and deep-fry a few of their hands, or however you eat them.... The but monkey craze, however, involves a lot more jading of the mind than I have. I mean, it's one thing to buy a dead, nicely packaged monkey paw... but once you've seen them all alive and acting all friendly, how can you then deal with the thought that their life has been reduced, through conditioning, to the point that these simians think their whole existence should be spent being the perfect employee, even if it does involve having one short, shitty life?

Okay, maybe I am going out on a limb here for coming out against but monkeys. I know the trend is too big for me to ever have any effect on ... and, you know, I might just be missing something? They do have one that is a shade of red that would great in our bathroom. And they do save the trees, like the commercial said, so they are like half eco-friendly, and half evil. . . I guess they come out of the box all friendly and smelling of nice colognes that are supposed to be, according to the commercial, 'Stronger than your most powerful blast of gas.’ You know what? I guess I should try one before I write anything else. I am always doing that you know, having an opinion on things that are based on how I think and what I know, rather than any actual experience. I think I'm going to get the one done up like Rudolph, with the nose painted all red and the little plush, absorbent horns?

NOTE FROM J, PAIN.... I laughed over this one as I wrote. Yes, laughed maniacally I did, then I hopped around the apartment naked, trying to pee on the startled, running and dodging cats, and the next thing that I knew I was running through the halls of our apt building with my freed weeny a wagging, screaming at the top of my lungs, 'Chaw! Chaw! Chaw!' over and over again. My Barton Fink-ish moment of celebrating the successful birth of the butt monkey's died when M. decided that she had to once more get out that damn tranquilizer gun... While I was immobile though still awake and able to feel pain, she put a bar of lavender soap in one of my few tube socks and beat my stomach and thighs relentleesly... I feared I was going to die, believed I had only one chance of getting better, so when my lips could move again, I began mouthing, "Boo boo kisses, boo boo kisses?" Like Kit Carson used to tell the tin horns after regaling them with a tale of being chased by hundreds of Indians that ended with him stranded in a tree, ". . . and then . . . I died."

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