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

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Another One Of Those F*king drunken calls from president w.

I am adding this comedy story to this site for the hell of it. Just because some people come here, and others go to the elves attic and the psycho killer... site, which while recently more or less have been consumed with the same poetry and shit as in here -- the others are meant to be funnier, less serious. More like I was on the radio show, though not quite as absurd. I cannot bring myself to write out even the better routines as stories in here, because I did not like all of the characters that much. I did like Moon Bongs gerbongs, and his cat cleaning service. I will eventually do little commercial paradies using his stoner voice...

anyways, this prose more rightly belongs to Johnny Pain than Jesus... In the Johnny Pain story, Bush has been bothering him for the last few years, basically bogging his weed... anyways.... they are compiled in the book of short stories, and this is probably going to be the last one... since Bush is leaving the white house.. this gives a good ending to the tale.

Bush called me in the middle of the night. Around three am. He was out of weed and had flown air force one in to mooch some weed off of me. This is why everyone around here calls him Bogging Bush (secretly we mean that he stole those elections, but there is no bringing this up to him with his penchant for having his 'posse' beat people to, like he loves to say, 'pissin and twitchin'.

Anyways, he was all liquored up. They broke the door down, came in and did a fucking sweep with m16's and shit. He knows I have no weapons and has been bumming weed off of me forever (as a liberal green, I am an odd choice, but he just happened to be in Chicago one time and hopped in my cab, with three guys with guns, and ordered me to score him some weed. He tried to pretend he was not the president, but we were followed by four suv's and I know what he looks like. Whatever. He told me his name was Jorge (the Spanish pronunciation of George), and thought it was such a good joke to pronounce the sound 'whore hey' that he did so, over and over, always chuckling afterwards... the secret service agents chuckled at first, then stopped as he went on... until he got all pissed and ordered them to laugh when he told the joke. He was serious, too. Said something about the 'little nukie' he was keeping in his briefcase and how God told him to come to Heaven anytime he wanted, and he was just waiting for an excuse.

I sort of overheard this and all this other stuff... turns out, the real reason we went into Iraq is because Saddam once stole one of Bush's mistresses, who happened to have been a llama specially trained in the sexual art's by some obscure monastery in India that has been around for thousands and thousands of years, though no one talks about it because all these rich guys are into it and they don't want anyone to know... but if you know the right code to get into their 'llama lover' sites, which Bush got drunk and gave me, you are either going to puke or find yourself down at zoo everyday, watching and lusting, watching and lusting... until you are caught for the second time masturbating... I'm just saying, this could happen. Well, that is enough about llama love.

All I had was some shag weed around so Bush had his secret service guys beat the shit out of my kitten, Dash. I thought this was a little harsh, of course, and told him as much. He was just drunk enough to get all blubbery about it, and next thing I knew he was flying in some vet/ for the cat.. then he got to thinking about all the cats dying down at the pound, and next thing I fucking know he has the place broken into by these guys in black helicopters... he lets all the cats free, then gets it in his head that the dogs should be free too... of course he let loose all these mean ass pitbulls and shit that immediately started killing all the cats. Then one of the dogs went for one of the guys in black and they all started shooting the dogs... then, for some reason, they started shooting the cats, too. I was screaming at them to stop and shit. Typical Bogging Bush shit.

Then he got the munchies, right in the middle of this bedlam, and pats his stomach and says, "Okay, got to get some vittles ... that weed made me need... tacos, and burgers, man. Shit, let's take over a McDonald's and cook weird shit ... like Big Mac's with Quarter ponders on em. Fuck, yeah."

I had been through this before, watching them scare the hell out of some high school kids, usually Bush had at least one beaten to, quote, "Make sure you kids know that you better fucking not even think about spitting on my presidential food." Bush had a thing about finding spit in his food, because he was such an asshole and he had never cooked his own food in his entire life and people were always, indeed, spitting on it.

He forced me to come. Then he starts showing me this notebook where he is working on 'a plan to stay presidenting.' I told him that I thought eight years was the limit?
"Yea," he told me,"It is for them pussies. I ain't moving. I like the place. Someone else can do the paperwork, hell... but I have grown fond of that house, and what the hell... I got me a private army all set up to sweep into Washington and pull a coup and shit. I make myself King, see, then they can have their little president, but I will be over him. And King is for life, man... I read that in a Time magazine. For life. I deserve it, man. I got the experience, I'm still young enough to chase interns... heee, heeee, heee...Mostly though, the dog likes the place. And I got my coloring room all set up how I like it, man... how the hell can they even ask me to move? They asking you to move because they got a new president? No. It ain't fucking fair That's why I'll get Blackwater to even things out. We're just taking out the congress and the senate, replacing them with the women from the View. That way, things will be fair and all. I'll be King, and them women can tell me what to do. That way, there's a mistake, I blame it on them. I got this all figured out, man. I can't believe that fucker Clinton didn't try this... oh, yea, he thought he could turn the president thing into a rock star thing, and catch up on all the tail he missed when he in the White House trying to keep it out of... well, he just put it in their mouths. I guess the cigar got a little bit... hee, hee, hee. I love that Monica Lewinsky. I did her and her mom and their maid."
"At gunpoint?"
"No woman has a headache at gunpoint, boy. I told you that before. Nah, I didn't do that. The wife... she'd cut one of my balls off, for sure. I can't keep secrets, not the way I drink. That's why she almost left me back when I was fooling around. I'd be bragging on snagging some poontang and then realize, shit, this is my wife... I shouldn't be doing this. But you know me, that never stopped me from doing anything. Yea, fooling around... hell, at my age, I prefer coloring. Or coke and Viagra and llamas. You ain't gonna see no llama getting interviewed on hard copy."
"No. Has anyone ever tried to write about the whole llama thing?"
"Oh, the Masons have an underground, nuke proof vault filled with millions of books on llama love. Anybody who is anyone gets the llama daily. You're a peasant, so you are let in on shit like that. Like time travel and aliens and crap. You just don't get to know, because we happen to like it that way. Always got something on you. You poor people might be smart, or good at... fixing ... oh, I don't know... fixin ... stuff, yea, stuff... but you would be killed, flat out disappear, along with your 100 closest relatives and friends, at least, if you were to even whisper about this conversation in your sleep. Everything is bugged, and especially you, because if you got kind bud, I am flying in for a few bongs ... can't smoke the stuff at the White House. Mom caught me. Shit, I told her it was tobacco, but she knew better. Spanked me for the first time in months, man, and no matter how old you are, that shit hurts. She puts on her leathers and gets out her whips man. I hate it.... shit, the welts."

"Fuck you smoked all my weed, Bogger."
I should not have said this. He made some hand motion to the secret service guys and they just tossed my ass out of the limo. I forget that he considers peasants without weed worthless weight.

Man, I sure hope they find some way to get him out of the white house without killing his dog. Maybe he wasn't serious?

Just as I was finishing this, he called me and said to forget everything he said last night, that being at the White House having people 'up in his business' all the time was too much, and he was leaving. "Man, I decided, last night, to just take over Mexico. I can smoke all the fucking weed I want down there, man. Buy the local law first, then just take over the country. They love me down there. Love me everywhere, they tell me. Cheney was just saying I am the most loved president in the world. Man, it's good to be the most blessed man on the planet. And that's from Pat Robertson, so you know it's true. You score anymore weed yet?"

"Don't be calling me like this without weed, man."

u are welcome to spread my poems by ANY MEANS NECESSARY.


There is some overlap... but they are all different.

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