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.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
JESUS AND THE LIBERTY BELL
Jesus was the grand marshal of the Chicago St. Patrick’s Day parade. He was chosen because he knew St. Patrick and had personally given him a wedgy. Little did the people of Chicago know that Jesus had only taken the job as part of a long and complicated plan to steal the Liberty Bell.
The plan worked like this: get everybody drunk and teleport them to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh or wherever the fuck they hide that thing, and use them to distract the guards while he climbed up on the bell and had some drunk meat-heads climb under it. And then he’d ride it to freedom.
But the people of Philadelphia, yes it’s definitely in Philadelphia, take their bell guarding duties seriously. They didn't fall for the people of Chicago’s distraction. The guards fell upon the meat-heads like Rosie O’Donell on a ham sandwich that’s been slathered in mayonnaise and deep-fried in animal fat. Jesus jumped right in and started beating the meat-heads, claiming that protecting the bell had been his plan all along.
He was given many awards for bravery, and courage and personal hygiene. The president held a big ceremony at the White House and the Liberty Bell was flown in by helicopter and given a machine gun.
Jesus partied down at this shindig and got all drunk and put on his adult diapers. And when it came time to have his picture taken with the bell, he threw several baby chickens and one adult chicken into the crowd, as a distraction, grabbed the bell, machine gun and all, and flew off.
The plan worked like this: get everybody drunk and teleport them to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh or wherever the fuck they hide that thing, and use them to distract the guards while he climbed up on the bell and had some drunk meat-heads climb under it. And then he’d ride it to freedom.
But the people of Philadelphia, yes it’s definitely in Philadelphia, take their bell guarding duties seriously. They didn't fall for the people of Chicago’s distraction. The guards fell upon the meat-heads like Rosie O’Donell on a ham sandwich that’s been slathered in mayonnaise and deep-fried in animal fat. Jesus jumped right in and started beating the meat-heads, claiming that protecting the bell had been his plan all along.
He was given many awards for bravery, and courage and personal hygiene. The president held a big ceremony at the White House and the Liberty Bell was flown in by helicopter and given a machine gun.
Jesus partied down at this shindig and got all drunk and put on his adult diapers. And when it came time to have his picture taken with the bell, he threw several baby chickens and one adult chicken into the crowd, as a distraction, grabbed the bell, machine gun and all, and flew off.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
JESUS' ELEVEN
Jesus was living in post-apocalyptic Kentucky in 2016. He had been trying to farm, but a group of radioactive zombie teenagers kept trying to crack his head open and eat his brains and beard. Jesus had troubles enough, what with the vagina shortage, but this was too much. So Jesus packed up his shit and headed to post-apocalyptic Las Vegas.
As soon as Jesus arrived in post-apocalyptic Las Vegas, he began planning a post-apocalyptic casino heist. First, he'd need to recruit a team of top notch thieves. "Eleven sounds like a good number," He told his pet koala bear, Harry.
Jesus lassoed nine radioactive dudes and lowered them down the elevator shaft heading to the vault at the Plaza. The rope was about eighty feet too short, and the zombies all fell to a messy end, leaving Jesus and Harry a nice squishy landing pad.
"You first," Jesus said.
Harry gave him a look out the corner of his eye that said, "Are you nuts?" Jesus "encouraged" Harry with a sharp kick which sent Harry into the shaft.
"Did you make it?" Jesus called down.
There was a grunt that sounded like a cross between a cat and a monkey, and had a snide tone to it.
"Good enough for me," Jesus laughed as he jumped down.
They made their way to the vault door. They stared at it for a minute before Harry kicked it down. There must have been one or two hundred million in there. "Gimme the bag," Jesus said.
Harry looked at him and shrugged.
"I told you to bring the bag!" Jesus yelled.
The two yelled and screamed at each other for several minutes. "Oh well," Jesus said, "at least we've got all this zombie meat to eat."
Harry agreed, so they sat down and started eating.
As soon as Jesus arrived in post-apocalyptic Las Vegas, he began planning a post-apocalyptic casino heist. First, he'd need to recruit a team of top notch thieves. "Eleven sounds like a good number," He told his pet koala bear, Harry.
Jesus lassoed nine radioactive dudes and lowered them down the elevator shaft heading to the vault at the Plaza. The rope was about eighty feet too short, and the zombies all fell to a messy end, leaving Jesus and Harry a nice squishy landing pad.
"You first," Jesus said.
Harry gave him a look out the corner of his eye that said, "Are you nuts?" Jesus "encouraged" Harry with a sharp kick which sent Harry into the shaft.
"Did you make it?" Jesus called down.
There was a grunt that sounded like a cross between a cat and a monkey, and had a snide tone to it.
"Good enough for me," Jesus laughed as he jumped down.
They made their way to the vault door. They stared at it for a minute before Harry kicked it down. There must have been one or two hundred million in there. "Gimme the bag," Jesus said.
Harry looked at him and shrugged.
"I told you to bring the bag!" Jesus yelled.
The two yelled and screamed at each other for several minutes. "Oh well," Jesus said, "at least we've got all this zombie meat to eat."
Harry agreed, so they sat down and started eating.
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