Happy OMYGODTHEY’REKILLINGME Friday!
(editor’s note: I was looking for an entirely different document when I came across this note from Jesus I wrote 3 years ago today. I don’t think it was ever published…)
Hey folks! Jesus here. It’s been 1976 years since I been rappin at ya, so I thought that since we’re coming up on the anniversary of my death, I’d give you all a shout and let you know what that experience was really like and what I hoped might be my legacy after I died.
First off, let me just verify something about my last words. Yeah, I had a lot of words in my life. Some of them were reported in the Gospels accurately, others, not so much. Can you imagine if the things your said in your life were written down some 50 odd years after your death by dudes you never even met? How accurate would they be? Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t report something like me advocating the wearing of chicken feathers on Tuesdays or the inherent divinity of the garbanzo bean.
In any case, I was really pissed off at Dad while I was hanging there on the cross, nails pounded through my feet and wrists. Can you imagine how painful it was having stakes driven through your feet? No, you can’t. Maybe if you’re a mother and have experienced the pain of childbirth. Imagine that extended over hours and hours. Yeah. Getting crucified really sucks.
So my last words were “Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabacthani?” in other words, “My God, My God, why have your forsaken me?” Geezus, that‘s whiney. Err, I mean, ME, that’s whiney. How fucking ungrateful a final statement is that? Well, fucking sue me, I was getting crucified for me’s sake! Through God, I went from the son of a humble carpenter (that whole Immaculate Conception stuff, um, yeah, that was the residual effect of those freaky Greeks who believed that gods could fuck women. Kinda strikes me as a convenient excuse for infidelity). I went from a nothing to King of the Jews! Herod can bite my left butt cheek; the people wanted ME as their king. Not only that, but God gave me these healing powers. I could fucking walk on water for Messake!
It’s not like I didn’t earn these powers. You know why the first 30 years of my life are not mentioned in the Gospels? It’s because I was studying, and me, the son of fucking God, being in the position of the inferior position of the student, the learner, the disciple, well, it doesn’t go well with the idea that I was divinity incarnate. You think being the Messiah is just something you fall into? Hell no! I spent years studying amongst the Egyptians (those fuckers are freaky; they marry their sisters), the Persians (Zoroastrians see everything as black and white), the Indians (Hindu? How bout Hindon’t!) and those righteous dudes, the Essenes. Yeah, I pretty much lifted all my teachings from the Essenes, but what the hey, if it’s the truth, it’s the truth! Right?
To say I wasn’t born the child of God would be inaccurate. I was. Guess what? So were you. I just happened to work really hard to keep that connection with good ‘ol Dad. You didn’t.
Still though, I gotta admit, I was pretty full of myself. I was on a suicide quest. I was the Jim Morrison or Curt 
Cobain of my day. I went into Jerusalem 1976 years ago this week with a HUGE fucking chip on my shoulder. How the fuck I got away with turning over the moneychangers tables without being arrested on the spot is a mystery to me. Maybe the authorities somehow knew I needed a more dramatic ending. Once I got away with that, well, to say I was feeling invulnerable, yeah, that would be pretty accurate. No one could touch me!
Then came Judas and his goddamn kiss. First off, let me say I’ve never been real comfortable with this middle eastern custom of dudes kissing one another. I am not fucking Borat fer Messakes! Lesson learned. If a dude comes up to kiss you flanked by a dozen Roman guards, yeah, THAT’S when I shoulda turned the other cheek! At least we got a ear off one of those muthafuckers without reprisal.
So then I got brought before Herod. Let me tell you, the only accurate representation of that scene came from the film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Chris Superstar. Herod was a homo freak who pranced around in his tunic and danced on the borderline between being a Jew or a Roman. I wouldn’t give him the time of day and that infuriated his faggot traitor core.
So then came that ass-hole Pontius Pilate. He asked me if I was the King of the Jews. Talk about a no win situation! Say yes and get executed for usurping Herod’s throne. Say no and get executed for misrepresentation (remember, that’s what the masses were saying about me, Hey, felt good at the time!). Pilate was a politician. Wouldn’t have mattered what I’d said. I was gonna be executed either way.
One irony about my death is that for 700 years or so (since the Crusades), Xtians have marched through Jerusalem at this time of year recreating my death march. Ummm… How bout they get whipped close to death before the march (they don’t do that) and then march the 2 miles or so along the Stations of the Cross? Here’s the thing: the Medieval stations of the cross are all wrong. The thousands who’ve marched this path in Jerusalem are marching down the wrong road! My final trial and whipping happened at Pilate’s residence on the west side of town, not the Roman citadel up in the northeast as has been believed by Westerners for centuries. Anyhoots, it’s not like these zealot’s masochistic rituals mean a hill of beans anyways. That they’ve been doing it on the wrong road for 700 years, kinda makes it ironically funny.
So, in conclusion, here on this Holy Week, I hope I’ve set the record straight on my death. You call today “Good Friday”. Ummm… I got fucking crucified today! It’s the most painful way of dying ever created! You Americans bitch about how your government “tortured” Moselms. You don’t know the half of it! GOOD Friday. How bout we rename it, “OHHMYFUCKINGGOD! OWWW!! YOU’RE DRIVING A STAKE THROUGH MY WRIST Friday”. Yeah. If you want to honor me, that would be a good first step. That’s better than “The Day Jesus Questioned his Faith Day” and when you reflect upon the “Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabacthani” last words, that’s what you might think.
My buddy Joko has a 6:52 AM tee time for a what will hopefully be a full round of golf tomorrow. His prayers to me for breaking 100 tomorrow for the first time ever are to no avail. I ain’t got no control over golf. Best I can do is wake him up on time. G’night folks, and Happy OHMYKUFFINGGOD THEY’RE CRUCIFYING ME Friday!
Happy OHMYKUFFINGGOD THEY’RE CRUCIFYING ME Friday to you to Joko.
Have I ever told you …your an udder trip 😯 ? Don’t ever change ok 😉 !!!!!!!
“I could fucking walk on water for Messake”!
And…” No one could touch me”!
Your damn right it was….J….!
and how come you never hear of a priest being molested by one of the faithful huh….?
You had better check your house out for any suspicious lurking looking Catholics J…,i’m tellin ya out of experience…I found three in my bathroom closet just this morning…:(…just lurking…..be careful ya know there are reportedly 7 billion of them out there somewhere but frankly I do not know where they are and if my blogs are any indication of their numbers then disregard this entire reply because their are not any Catholics in the entire world.
:entertained:
D.
Howdy Joko.
Is there a Rock Opera in the future?
Jesus!
Yes; this is undoubtedly a shit way to spend Easter…
Joe.
I’m afraid Joko, that your recounting contains some historical inaccuracies. Please find them correct here: http://www.doriabiddle.com/Stations1.html