What would you do with your own, personal Jesus?

Let me preface this with the fact that I am way atheist. I don’t even say, “Bless you” when people sneeze; I say, “I acknowledge your sneeze.” If the notion that I don’t have the same imaginary beings as you bothers you, simply replace (CTRL+H) all the occurrences of Jesus henceforth with Yoda, and forgive me, as you are commanded.

Now…

I sure could use a Jesus. For one, I like wine … lots. We’re all aware of that wonderful skill my man has of changing water into grape-flavored social lubrication. My Jesus would take that shit a step further and create slightly chilled Silver Oak Alexander Valley Cabernet with a side of cotton-dry Parmesan, and Chicken Biskit crackers. Bliss.

Most people would have the fella do something more substantial, like raise the dead. Guess that would be kind of cool. Dead people stink, though. Could they bathe first? I don’t need raising. Figure I’ll pretty much have left my muddy footprint on this marble by the time I rot. He could raise a few ex-pets of mine, but I have enough cat turd mining to keep me annoyed.

I guess if you’re into seafood, you could have the fella whip up quite a feast. You like lobster? No problem. King crab legs? Walking right up! Warm bread is cool, but it freaks me out a little when old men claim they’re blessing me by handing over tasty slices of some two-thousand-year-old dude. Can’t it just be pressed bread? Do me a favor and nuke that, Father. How about some lemony dipping butter? Goes wonderfully with them crustaceans.

We all could use a little Jesus in the sack. We certainly call for his and his father’s assistance as we get closer to the gushing. I’d have my Jesus add a slight upward curve to get me closer to pay-dirt. Sure, the ability to delay orgasm until she cries “Uncle” would come in handy.

What else? You could ask your Jesus for money. You wouldn’t appreciate it as much as earning it. Take it back one step–ask him to give you a great idea that will make you lots of money while healing sickness, stopping hunger, filling a few potholes, creating abs, or whatever.

Jesus could give you relationship advice. I’ve gotten some. I was mid-fuck-up in a recent relationship and sought consoling and advice from Big J.

“So, Jesus, why are you single? You seem like a nice enough guy. Chicks must dig you. Yet, you seem to be riding clouds solo most of the time while women kick me around like a Hacky Sack.”

“Shhh, my son. Listen. Listen carefully. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my girlfriend not giving me any shit.”

“Amen.”

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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