Jesus left the AM/PM and started down the highway, only to realize he'd neglected to pick up a straw for his 64 oz soda. He was in the middle of the desert on his way to Tuscon Arizona, and there was nowhere to make a u-turn, legal or otherwise. He decided to do the manly thing and remove the lid and chug it down like vagina juice. He accidentally poured it all out over his face, beard and lap.
Jesus continued to Tuscon all wet, and sticky, and parched and aroused by the thought of vagina juice. He saw a sign that read, "Rest Stop, 1 Mile." "But if I don't get this heart to St. Andrew's by 10 PM," he said as he patted the cooler strapped safely into the passenger seat, "then little Stacy will die!"
He let his human urges go and raced on. Further down the road, an emergency alert came on the radio forecasting a giant horrible storm that would close all the roads to Tuscon. "Damn it Dad, you asshole! You're not gonna get this one!"
Meanwhile, in Heaven, God was at the controls of the weather machine, laughing like a villain. "Stacy's mine, boy!" He grinned and pushed the monsoon lever to full.
This battle over Stacy had started three years ago when Jesus and God made a drunken bet before finishing off the last of Moses' manischewitz. By the time God woke up the next day, Jesus was well on his way to stop the series of tragedies that God would devise. So far, God had managed to give Alex Trebek herpes, unleash a series of tornadoes in the Midwest, and killed world renowned thespian Paul Walker. But Jesus only needed one to win the bet.
The monsoon hit full blast and Jesus' car was forced off the road into a ditch. "No!" he shouted as the cooler came open and the heart flew through the windshield and landed in the mud, getting it all dirty. Jesus banged his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. It was over, it looked like he'd be walking God's dog for a week.
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