By Null
“Hold still, goddammit!” he said, as he once again attempted to
snort the line of cocaine off the young Mexican boy’s erect penis. He gave the
young boy a swat on the ribs, which of course, resulted in the cocaine falling
to the carpet like a winter day’s festive dusting.
“He” was Mr. Lye, one of the most
respected right-wing Republican presidential candidates running for office this
year. As the empire slowly descended into greater turmoil, and the inevitable
crisis of capitalism began to flower, these cartoon characters, like Mr. Lye, were
the refuge from rationality in which people escaped.
“Fuck it, I’ll have to come back on
Thursday,” he looked mockingly at the young boy and continued, “Thursday, Thurs-day,
do you understand? Tell your stinking pimp daddy Pedro that I will buy you on
Thursday!” He spoke as if the boy was hard-of-hearing. “Get your fucking
clothes on you little wetback bastard.”
Through the back door, Pedro walked
in. Mr. Lye said to him, “Thursday, and keep your mouth shut. I could have you
both killed.”
As Mr. Lye burst out the door, he
knocked over the maid’s cleaning cart that stood outside the door. It crashed
to the floor and the contents of the cart were spread across the seedy old
carpet. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?” he said as he stormed down
the hall.
Of course, Mr. Lye didn’t care that
Maria, the maid whose cart he tipped over, had spent an hour preparing and
organizing the cart. Nor did he know, or would he have cared, that she wouldn’t
get paid for the time it took her to reorganize the cart, as the slogan of the
hotel manager was, “You only get the money if you’re scrubbin’ honey.” She was
paid by the room. As Pedro and the boy exited, they looked at Maria. They all
repressed the sensation that they were aliens living in “his” world.
Later that day, Mr. Lye appeared
before adoring crowds to announce his intended cure for the nation. The one
thing his elaborate description lacked was rationality and practical
application, and of course, none of it was true but only existed in his tiny
mind and in the fear-filled heads of the adoring crowd.
He spoke into the microphone, “We’ve
got to take care of this immigration problem. English is the language of the
land and the heritage of our entrepreneurial forefathers. We must take back
America. We must put this nation back into the hands of the God-fearing, hard-working
Christians who established law and justice in this land of opportunity.”
The crowd went wild.
He continued, “The free market will
solve the problems we face and establish a new America, free of terrorists and
radicals. This nation can once again be a place where every human life is
valued, from the corporate boardrooms to the mother’s womb! It will be a place
where the sanctity of marriage remains to be defined by the holy union between
a woman and a man, the way the Lord intended!”
To the left of the stage a young
woman screamed, “What about your own lesbian daughter?” The rebel rouser was
cut short by a billy-club to the head.
After hearing the question of the
young woman, he remembered, “Oh, right. I have to meet my lawyer this afternoon.
I have to fix that goddamn life insurance policy.”
Last year, his wife had persuaded him to spend
Christmas with his disowned lesbian daughter, whom he despised. He was once
proud of her, as she was a graduate from Harvard Law School. However, in an act
of insidious betrayal she worked for the ACLU. During that horrible Christmas
she got him blisteringly drunk and tricked him into signing some papers, the
result of which made Planned Parenthood the sole beneficiary of his life
insurance policy.
He waved his Bible in the air before
the adoring crowd, descended the stairs, and disappeared into a black
limousine.
Minutes later the limousine was
slowly moving through a residential neighborhood on its way to the Sweatshop
Sweets Inc. offices downtown. Along with his political pursuits, Mr. Lye was
also the CEO of one of the most successful multi-national corporations in the
United States. On occasion he asked his chauffeur to take the long route
through the neighborhoods as it gave him some time to relax between
appointments. Today would be a little different.
The limousine came to a screeching
halt in front of an old Catholic Church, propelling Mr. Lye against the back of
the driver’s seat.
“Edward, what the hell!” he said
pulling his body up from the floor of the limo.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just, there’s a
man in the street. He came out of nowhere.” Edward said, flustered.
Mr. Lye looked up to see a man
standing in the middle of the road. He was of slight build with long hair, a
beard, and dark olive-colored skin. He was wearing what appeared to be a toga
and was bathed in golden light. He looked like Jesus Christ, but with that skin
tone it wasn’t Mr.Lye’s favorite representation.
“Well, just go around him or run
over the bastard for all I care. It’s just some street urchin,” Mr. Lye said,
fear audible in his voice.
Edward’s head moved down in the
direction of the accelerator pedal. He moved his leg franticly.
“It won’t go! It won’t.” he said.
“Go, go, go!” Mr. Lye shouted.
Suddenly the figure who stood before
them appeared at the driver-side window, the golden light was gone.
“Open the fuckin’ door,” the figure
said calmly—the voice seemed to be inside the car.
“Don’t open the window,” Mr. Lye
said, his voice low and serious.
The figure outside the car reached
into his white robe and pulled out a thick black handgun and tapped the window
with the barrel.
“Oh, god. He’s a terrorist. Look at
him,” Mr. Lye screamed.
The window rolled down, seemingly of
its own accord.
“I was born in the Middle East you
son of a bitch; what did you expect me to look like?” the figure said leaning
into the window.
“What do you want? Give him what he
wants!” Mr. Lye said motioning to Edward.
“Just get out of the car,” the
figure said pointing his gun at the politician.
Mr. Lye got out of the car and stood
before the figure.
“Turn on the radio,” the figure said
motioning to Edward.
Edward turned the knob and the
Doobie Brother’s “Jesus Is Just Alright” blasted out of the speakers.
“God, I hate that song,” the figure
shouted, “find the news.”
A sterile voice came from the
speakers. “A figure resembling Jesus Christ appeared in the downtown business district
around ten in the morning and began smashing windows. Reports from witnesses
say that he was screaming and ranting about greed, global destruction, and
capitalism. The madman somehow eluded police and later appeared at the state
hospital where he somehow acquired keys and let several patients free.
Astonishingly this, ‘Jesus’ character, again eluded police. The police chief
released a statement that everyone should be on the lookout for a man in white
robs with long dark hair and beard. All witnesses have confirmed that he is
barefoot and is armed. The officials do not know how he continues to elude
police as he was not seen with a vehicle. Officials do not know his mode of
travel. It is unlikely he is on foot.”
The radio went silent.
“I am Christ, Jesus, the Son of God,
what have you done?” the figure said, mere inches from Mr. Lye’s face. He then
motioned with his gun toward Edward, “Go Away.”
The limousine disappeared down the
deserted road and faded into the distance.
“Listen whatever you want. I have
money.” Mr. Lye said. He cowered before the lankly, skinny prophet.
“I don’t want your fucking money;
you are not what you own,” Jesus said, “Here,” Jesus handed him a small piece
of folded paper.
“What is this?’ Mr. Lye said,
“What is this?’ Mr. Lye said,
“Just put it in your pocket, you are
going to need it later.”’
Mr. Lye simply slipped the piece of
paper in his pocket, as he figured he had more pressing issues at the moment.
“Now move.” Jesus motioned
with his gun toward the golden gothic façade of the church. With the gun in Mr.
Lye’s back they walked toward the church and entered.
The church was dark and beautiful
inside. It contained the large stained-glass windows and colorful statues
commonly associated with Catholic cathedrals. The light was muted as candles
and incense burned near the alter filling the nave with a soft rainbow of
light. As the door closed behind Jesus and Mr. Lye, a hushed boom echoed through
the church. There were only two other people in the church. One was a woman in
the third pew praying and the other was a young man sitting several rows behind
her.
“Okay, where’s the priest? Father,
father, come out wherever you are,” Jesus yelled. The sound echoed through the
church. The young man and woman immediately spun around, shocked by the
disturbance. Jesus grabbed Mr. Lye’s arm and pulled him down to the front and
sat him in the first pew. Seeing the gun, the woman shrieked and the young man
sat up straight.
The woman began sliding down the
pew, as if to escape. Jesus held his handgun in the air and said, “Don’t move,
Mary.”
“How do you know my…,” Mary said
under her breath, startled and shocked with fear.
Just then the priest, Father Luvkids,
walked out from behind a curtain. Seeing the man before him with the gun in the
air he let out a, “Good Lord!”
“At your service Father, no pun
intended. Listen, I want you to lock the doors. You have keys?” Jesus said.
Father Luvkids nodded but said, “We never lock the…”
“Lock the fucking doors. You wait all your life to follow my
commands and then I speak directly to you and you stand there like fucking
furniture. Lock the doors, motherfucker,” Jesus said smiling. The priest walked
to the doors and locked them, the whole time Jesus had his arm extended with
the priest’s body as his focal point, so the priest wouldn’t attempt to leave.
Jesus motioned for the father to sit in the front pew next to Mr. Lye. Jesus
then told the young man and woman to move up to the front pew across the aisle.
The four of them sat and stared at the man before them. It was now apparent
that the woman, Mary, was pregnant.
“So, John, it is interesting to see you here considering you are
an atheist,” Jesus said motioning with his gun to the young man.
“How do you know who, what…, I’m just doing some research for a
paper on…” John said.
“Catholicism and idolatry,” Jesus said, “I know, you are thinking
about tying in Barth
and the idea of
the body as text in there somewhere. You are a senior at the University and
quite bright, I must say. You’re an atheist, so there is at least one sensible
person in this room.”
Motioning toward the woman, Jesus said, “You, of course, are Mary.
Beautiful name. I must say.” The woman’s face was hidden under cascading red
hair as she wept. “You have been a devout Catholic your whole life but right
now you simply don’t want to die.”
Father Luvkids, interrupted, he spoke with his head down, “Please,
sir, let her go. Can you not see she is with child?”
“Enough out of you! You fucking Catholic priests! You only care
about children when they are in the womb,” Jesus slowly walked toward the
cowering priest; “once they are out of the womb you could give two shits. Well,
fuck priests who fuck children! Sure, I know you, Father Luvkids, you haven’t
personally molested any of these children but you know of a few who did, don’t
you? Kept your little mouth shut to protect the institution. The institution,
mind you, glorious as it is, burning witches and bloodthirsty crusades, swords
thrashed through babies’ skulls—in my name!” Jesus leaned in close to the
priest and whispered, “Well, fuck your institution.”
The priest began to whimper like Mary, to whom Jesus now
redirected his focus saying, “Fear not Mary, you and your child will indeed
die. However, it will not be today and it will not be by my hand. Still, Mary,
you must remember that whenever you come into this church and put money in the
dish, you are paying the pensions of child molesters all over this world. Not
figuratively, but literally. The safest place for a child molester is in the
sanctity of the church, as the greatest shroud of egoism, bigotry, and horror
lies in Christianity.”
Then motioning toward Mr. Lye, Jesus said, “Case in point, I am
sure you all know the famous and incomparable Mr. Lye, who started his day by
snorting cocaine off a young Mexican boy’s erect penis. You march around at
your Pro-Life rallies while you simultaneously support the United States in its
indiscriminate killing of brown babies throughout the world and you cut the
programs that would take care for the unwanted children after they are born.
But I guess you need somebody to shine your shoes and flip your burgers. Don’t you?
Besides, if men carried babies in their tummies it would never even be an
issue. There is no way you would ever let a woman tell you what you can and
can’t do. And of course if men bled, tampons would arrive free in the mail
every month.”
“Blasphemy.” Father Luvkids said.
“Father, will you shut up? That doesn’t even make any sense,”
Jesus said, laughing.
At this point the room became hysterical. Father Luvkids, Mr. Lye,
Mary, and John were all certain that this was, indeed, a raving madman who was
hell-bent on, not only verbally assaulting them for hours, but probably killing
them as well. Even John, who was known for remaining calm in crisis situations,
began to panic.
The tension in the church was unbearable. In the momentary silence,
sirens could be heard approaching in the distance. There would be a shoot-out.
They would all be dead soon. The whimpering and panting began to grate on the Son
of God.
“Calm down!” Jesus shouted. The room filled with soft light and
his hostages appeared calm, which supplied them with a new courage, most
evident in Father Luvkids. Bracing for a bullet in his head, he simply said,
“You are not the Son of God.”
Jesus said, “What do you want? Is this what you want?” He then
held his hand flat against the end of the handgun and pulled the trigger.
Before the captives could react to the deafening echo of the shot, he pointed
to his feet and shot a bullet into each one.
“Is that what you want?” he said.
John jumped over the pew and hid behind it yelling, “This guy is
fucking nuts!”
Mary screamed, Mr. Lye simply shivered, burying his head in his
hands, and the priest was on his knees praying. Jesus stood with his arms to
the sky in the Jesus Christ pose, as if transfixed by the pain. Splatters of
blood freckled his white robes and he stood in a growing pool of blood
drenching the carpet beneath his feet.
Like the priest, Mary began to pray in a hurried panic. Calm had
once again left the room.
“Fools! To whom do you pray? I am right here. I am the Son of God,
Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus Christ! Speak to me! You were cast out of the Garden
of Eden. There have been no prayers answered. Ever. It is all self-delusion.
When your grandmother survives her surgery you praise God, but when your
neighbor is raped why do you not also attribute that to God? It is you
Christians, who speak of the omnipresent, the omnipotent! Don’t tell me it is
the devil who creates evil in the world! Who the fuck created the devil? God
did! Is he omnipotent, is he all-powerful or not?” Jesus yelled.
As if on cue, the room calmed again. They looked at Jesus and his
hand and feet no longer bled. The wounds were gone but the pool of blood on the
carpet and on his robe remained.
“You are some sort of devil, demon, the Anti-Christ!” Father
Luvkids said.
“No, my friend, you do the work of the devil,” Jesus said, “are
you confused by my countenance? I am not white and blue-eyed like the devil
himself. Where is the Jesus of love, the Jesus of forgiveness, you ask? I am
the Jesus of the Temple; I am here to overturn tables!” His eyes glowed with
fire and rage.
He then slowly waved his
hand across the air and each of the hostages witnessed visions, the most
personal visions projected upon Jesus’s robes. Mary witnessed the last kiss of
her dying husband when he was still well and felt the caress of her dead
father’s hand. Father Luvkids felt again the exalted worry and hope for
humanity that he once associated with his faith, it was a feeling long forgotten.
Mr. Lye remembered his mother’s tender arms wrapped around him as a child,
before she passed away in his youth, before his abusive father destroyed all
the love in his heart. John felt the presence of his brother, whom he hadn’t
seen since he ran away from home when they were still in high school.
“Here, that which you see before you is the love, the compassion
you feel in your hearts. A feeling some of you may have forgotten,” Jesus said.
It was evident to all. This really was Jesus, they could feel it.
The siren went quite outside. “We are surrounded. Soon they will
come to claim their prize,” Jesus said.
John finally spoke up, “I am sorry, what the hell is going on? I
feel like I am insane. I am an atheist and I have gone crazy.”
“No, John. You are not mad. I am an atheist, of sorts. God is dead.
The game is up. There has been a change of plans. Christianity means nothing.
Life is absurd and frightening. People need something to cling to. Well, fuck
them. They can’t have it. All you find in this building is cowardice. These
Christians, they put it all ‘In God’s Hands.’ It is not in God’s hands, it is
in their hands! Look at me, I’m a fucking mess! People use religion to evade
responsibility, it makes nothing but cowards. You were given a brain, a will,
and a heart to love. And you pissed it all way. The whole of the human race has.
You do not deserve heaven, as you have made this world a hell. My father left a
loaded gun in a house full of babes, you are correct to reject him, it is an
expression against the absurd, it sets the course to meaning.”
“But the Church gives, it does good things.” Father Luvkids said.
“But the Church gives, it does good things.” Father Luvkids said.
“Stop your diluted grumbling,” Jesus
said.
Jesus was pissed again. Father Livid
seemed to have that effect on him.
“Why do Christians give?” Jesus
said, “Because God tells them to. They don’t do it because it is right, because
they should help their fellow man and woman; no, they do it to get into heaven.
It is selfish egoism masquerading as benevolence. Humankind should understand
how to conduct itself with or without God, the result should be the same. We
should give because we depend on each other. Beside, philanthropy is simply
rich bastards giving back a little of what they stole in the first place. Philanthropy
simply aides the institutions that create poverty.”
Jesus slowly turned around to face the
priest. “You see, Father Luvkids, you lost your desire to understand the world
long ago. Your quest has not been spiritual for many years. You are simply a
cog in the wheel of this religious institution that is based around money and
power. It is true of all organized and institutional religions,” Jesus paused
and slowly swung his finger in and out of the flame from one of the candles. “You
see, I am Buddha, Mohammad, Vishnu, and Christ. I am all these things. I am the
expression of love and humble selflessness that lies in the heart of humanity.
I am humankind’s own expression of itself. I am its hope and its helplessness.
But you turn this expression into power. A real spiritual quest will lead one
away from God and toward personal responsibility,” he then moved his entire
hand over the flame and held it there, “If you love God, burn a church.”
Father Luvkids just starred at the
floor as his world crumbled around him.
Jesus stared hard at the flame and
his hand; the flesh began to burn. He was transfixed.
Initially, in an effort to distract him
and make him stop, Mary said, “Oh, um,” as if yearning for him to engage her.
Jesus slowly moved his hand and turned toward her.
“But what about the scriptures, how do we know how to live if...,”
she said.
“Rubbish, monks get tired you know,
how many times can you copy the same thing down? Flaming swords and all that
bullshit. My story was rewritten so many times. That is not the word of God,”
he said motioning toward the pulpit upon which a bible lay open. “Sure, some of
the revolutionary teachings are in there, but they are buried under piles of
riddles and meaninglessness. Testament, testis, testicles, the balls of man. I
am afraid it is the word of man. I’m so sick of fairies, elves, and Harry
fucking Potter! You dissolve into your fantasies and electronics while your people
die all around you. This consumerism has made you all idiots. The universities
speak of the cultural importance of fashion shows while people starve in droves.
It is but the blabbering tongues of the privileged. This whole ideology and its
complacent populace deserve to be set alight!”
A flame burst from his mouth.
“But you are real; you are here; is
this revelation? Are you here to weed-out the…”
“Stop with your nonsense. How could
you love a God who would create such a hell! But yes, Mary, revelations are
true. It has been going on for a long time now.” Jesus’s voice began to rise
and he was once again filled with anger.
“The rivers will run red and…” Jesus said.
“Yes, Yes,” Mary said as she fell to
her knees beside him. “The rivers, the air, it has been going on for some time,
we are slowly killing ourselves.”
At hearing Mary’s words, Jesus’s
eyes filled with tears. Yet, like a coil, his anger slowly began to unravel. He
said, “You drink water out of plastic bottles. You drink water out of plastic
bottles! There is an island made of plastic in the middle of the ocean twice
the size of Texas. The cities are filled with concrete and the world is a big
fucking dump for all your plastic shit! Consume, consume, and consume all the
resources on the planet under the guise that God declared it thus. Fuck the idea
of Heaven because it turns your world into a cesspool! Why honor this life when
you have another? If you want to know how to live then look at this wonderful
and rare life around you. Learn from the biodiversity that depends on each
other to live. You are surrounded with examples. You don’t need stories about
magic. You don’t need me.”
“We live in a world of make
believe,” John shouted.
“Indeed, you live in a world in
which you are unable to be kind to one another. No matter how much you wish it
to be so. You live in a world of things, of material” Jesus said, as he walked
over to the podium and began throwing things around, bibles, chalices, candlesticks,
“This is the world you live in and yet you want more, is this not mystifying
enough?”
“You sound like a Marxist,” John
said.
Jesus laughed loud for several
seconds, “Kid, I was the first revolutionary. I was the first communist, socialist,
I am the Internationale! Imagine, Jesus a materialist. You derive meaning from
your work, from your ability to survive as a community, from your common
solidarity. It is your alienation and loneliness in this dark universe that
binds you together, it is not I. Religion has done nothing but separate. You
are bound together now, however you cannot see. Your very clothes reek of
slavery.”
At this statement, small goblets of
blood began to form on the captives clothes until they became drenched in
blood. John vomited into the second pew while Mary’s face was stricken with
horror. The priest stared at Jesus and Mr. Lye sat still, unmoved. Jesus bent
down and put his hand on Mary’s shoulder.
He said, “Do you know, Mary, from where these
clothes come? Do you know the labor and the human cost?”
Before her, Mary saw visions of barbed
wire, stolen passports, and young girls working. Their fingers bloodied. Young
girls raped, and then sold into the sex trade when their hands became too
large.
“Do not objectify!” Jesus screamed and beside each person was a
child, a child they each knew personally with its throat freshly slit. They all
recoiled and the bodies were gone.
“This is the slavery upon which your
privilege depends. All of you!” Jesus whipped around and caught the eye of
everyone in the room, “As it is with your food, your toys, gadgets, your
jewelry, all of it. Shame your pride.” He walked up to Mr. Lye and ripped the
copper American flag pin violently from his bloodied suit jacket. “These
trinkets of deceit! How you harbor your magic drenched in the blood and on the
backs of others’ labor. No christian has entered this church. Never!” Jesus
pointed up to the American flag that hung to the left of the giant crucifixion
replica. Both of fixtures crashed against the floor of the church. Jesus walked
over and picked up the flag and held it in his hand. He began to squeeze it, and
blood ran down his arm and dripped from his elbow. The flag was soon drenched
in blood.
“Like Rome, this empire was and
continues to be built upon mounds of dead bodies,” he said. His face became
darker and more sinister. His expression was terrifying. Behind him a grotesque
scene of slaughter slowly became visible and dead bloodied bodies began to fill
the church. The stench was unbearable.
“Mr. Lye,” Jesus said staring at the
man in the front pew, “I understand why you are the way you are. I know your
father was awful to you but you must forgive him so that you may be free of
that pain instead of replicating it in the world. Come talk to me about abusive
fathers when your father nails you to a board. And never evoke my name again.
Your speeches about the atrocities of 9/11 disgust me. Look around you, Mr.
Lye. Violence begets violence begets violence. You Americans had it coming. It
is amazing it didn’t happen sooner. There is very little difference between the
fanatically religious zealots and this American fundamentalism of yours. You
are all so alike you can no longer recognize yourself. Do you worship power, do
you worship money, do you worship the free market? The shock and surprise of
9/11 is the proof of your ignorant empire. Since you have no memory, let me ask
if you remember another 9/11, in Chile, 1973. Americans are terrorists! You
confused and diluted fuckers! God was never on your side. Torture!!” Jesus
screamed this last word and bent over as if he were writhing in pain. He
continued screaming, “Were there no prayers in Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka,
Somalia, Yugoslavia, Russia, America, Chile?” The American flag burst into
flames, as did his white robes and the mounds of bloodied bodies. A violet wind
whipped the flames through the air. The church was a cacophony of pain, death,
and fear. Blood was everywhere. The blood of Christ.
Outside, the cops, FBI, and Swat
units had the building surrounded. “What the fuck is going on in there? We have
got to go in, one way or another. Christ, he’s probably already killed the
hostages,” one commander said to another. Behind the police vehicles one could
see Edward, on the far side of the parking lot, chain smoking.
Back in the church all was calm
again and there were no signs of the horror that existed only moments before,
except that Jesus now stood naked, his flesh burnt, and oozing blood. The four
captives sat up in the pews. Unsure if they could handle another episode like
that one, seared into their memories.
Jesus spoke, “Economics determine
your social relationships. You are a part of something bigger than yourselves,
but all that you seek exists here, not somewhere else.”
“But why did you come here? Why did
you kidnap Mr. Lye?” John said.
“I don’t know; I don’t have it all worked out anymore.”
“The miracle…doesn’t that mean there is something more?”
“It’s just quantum trickery. Focus on what is in front of you,”
Jesus slouched forward, weakening.
“But, then why did you have the gun?”
Absent mindedly, Jesus smiled and looked at the gun still in his
hand, as if he had forgotten it. He said, “I guess it was just a romantic
notion really, considering how much you all love gratuitous violence and penis
replacements.”
The four gathered around the dying man. “Can’t you heal yourself?’
Mary said.
“My time is up. The game is up. Fight the institutions. Goddammit,
be an enemy of the state. Brotherhood, sisterhood, and love were once revolutionary
ideas and they still are today, but you must measure them in reality not in
some fantasy world. It is all up to you, as it has always really been.” Jesus
dropped the gun and stood proud, straightening his spine. He looked at Mr. Lye
and said, “You must go now. Leave through the back door. Walk right past the
cops. No one will see you. Edward is parked at the back of the parking lot. Do
as I say.”
Confused, Mr. Lye got up and proceeded to walk toward the back
door and disappeared.
“They are coming now. They
always kill us. The empires have always killed us. It would not be so easy for
them if we did not walk alone. The human race should worship the earth, its
systems and the social relationships upon which you all are dependent,” he
looked at Mary, “The very relationships and world you can no longer see, teach
your child to see with an anger fueled by love and justice. The biggest threat
to an empire is love, not in the spiritual world, but in the real one.”
He pushed the remaining three captives away with a slight move of
his hand. He rose into the air, a few feet off the ground. He looked over at Father
Luvkids and said,” Move to Latin America, excommunicate yourself from the
church, and first thing in the morning,” he looked around the church, “burn
this fucker down.”
The doors burst open and several bullets littered the body of the
skinny, burnt, bleeding man. His body flew backwards and landed upon the giant
crucifix. Blood streamed out of a bullet hole in his temple and his head lay
upon his own wooden replica. On November 11, 2017, Jesus Christ returned and,
like all other revolutionaries, was killed by the state. Nothing changed.
Mr. Lye entered his office at Sweatshop Sweets Inc. and quickly
walked past his secretary. As he passed, she could see he was sweaty and
distraught.
“Sir, Sir, are you Okay?” she said.
Ignoring her, he entered his office
and slammed the door. He sat down and rolled up to his desk. Over the phone
speaker he heard his secretary’s voice. “Um, Mr. Lye, I just wanted to remind
you that a Boy Scout troop from Virginia is due to arrive for a photo-op for People magazine in forty-five minutes.”
“Christ, I hate those kids,” he
thought.
He felt tired and dejected. The
world was one giant cesspool and he knew he was at the heart of it. He was
struck with a horrible chill. He looked up at the portrait of Martin Luther
King Jr., which a valedictorian from a local private Catholic school had given
him during an MLK celebration. “Nigger,” he muttered.
He reached into his pocket and
pulled out the small piece of paper that Jesus had given him only hours
earlier. He opened it and laid it on the desk before him.
It read:
Hegel remarks somewhere that all great world-historic facts and
personages appear, so to speak, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as
tragedy, the second time as farce.
—Karl Marx
Mr. Lye poured a pint glass of vodka and drank the entire glass.
His eyes watered. He opened the drawer of his desk and brushed aside his NRA
membership card, put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, leaving a
bright red Jackson Pollock on the wall for the Boy Scouts.
This was the only kind act he had
ever done for humanity. Well, there was one more, thanks to his daughter. Two
months later Planned Parenthood received 3.5 million dollars.
