I sir, am he
We printed it: Jesus is just alright

1.

     The Son of God walks into a bar and orders a drink. It's a Monday night and the bar is crowded with guys named Todd. They're all named Todd. They're all wearing white ball caps and plaid shirts. The game is on.
     "I'll have a Sex on the Beach," the Son of God says.
     The bartender says, "Hey, ain't you the Son of God?"
     To which the Son of God replies, "I sir, am he." He then pulls his robe around his legs - tugging it under his crotch - and slides onto a barstool. Three moves. He pulled it off in three moves without getting his robe stuck on nothing.
     This is the Son of God we're talking about. He's a real cool character.
     The bartender slides the drink over.
     "Bless you, my son," he says.
     The bartender only nods his head.
     Jesus. We should call him Jesus.
     Jesus, the Son of God, the Carpenter, the man who had a harder time at thirty-three than any other person in history.
     Jesus is scanning the territory, looking for birds. For broads. For chics. The babes. The honeys. Mamas. Geb teesurbs. That's all Jesus is interested in. Geb teesurbs - milky pillows. Breasts, uh.
     Everything else is totally meaningless.

     "I like the boobies," Jesus says to no one in particular. A rando dude sitting next to him tips his drink up to the memory of breasts.
     You see we've all been there. You can dress it up. You can use pretty words to hide your meaning. You can do this. You can do that. What we're all looking for is somewhere safe and comfortable, someone. Jesus isn't necessarily looking for cheap meaningless sex. But something to take the edge off. To take the edge off being the Son of God. It's a lot of work being a martyr.
     He's many things to many people, but Jesus is also a man. There's no need to forgive him for that. He's just doin' what he can. Doin' what he gotta do, you understand.
     "Hey Jesus," says the man on Christ's immediate left.
     "Oh, hello."
     They exchange pleasantries. The casual interaction pleases the Son of God in a manner he can't quite explain. While Jesus has many talents, a psychic he is not. Moreover, Christ regards himself as a mind reader that can only read the wrong things. It pleases him that the man on his left wanted to know how he was doing. That he wanted to say, "Hello" eases Christ's mind. It means he's fitting in.

     Now here's Jesus scanning the bar in search of someone to keep close at night. That ain't bad. That ain't wrong. He's drinking a Sex on the Beach and having a good time.
     We all like to have good times.
     Good times. Good times.

2.

     That's when this bird walks in. Only word for her is pert. Yup. Curves like a flower and a bob of hair that's swishin' as she's walkin' up to the bar.
     Jesus is strokin' his beard and lookin' Christly. He ain't got much other way to look, s'pose. The girl is standing between the guy on Christ's right and some rando. Chillin'. She's chillin' and tryin' to get the attention of the bartender.
Jesus turns to the guy on his immediate right and says, "You want to move to the back of the bar," and waves his hand - with his index and pointer fingers pointing toward Heaven - in front of the guy's chest.
     "Huh?" the guy says. "Huh?" he says again.
     "You want to move to the back of the bar," Christ says and repeats the gesture.
     The guy picks up his drink and moves away. Christ slides over to his seat and turns his attention away from the girl.
     Yeah, he's ignoring her in that obvious, obvious way. I see you. I don't see you. This is a game of no Biblical importance.
     And the pert young bird is drinking a Sex on the Beach, which gives the Son of God a conversation opener.
     "So," he says. The girl turns to regard him, "I see we both have a passion for sex on the beach."
     "Yeah, it's my favorite drink," the girl says.
     "That too."
     She blushes and Jesus starts chatting her up. You know the routine. Been there. Done that. Made the small talk with some bird inna bar. What do you do? Where are you from? Do you enjoy tantric sex?
     It's been going on since Adam picked up Eve.

     "So what do you do?" the bird asks. "I mean, oh, now that…" she lets the thought wander to the Christ Child.
     "Oh, this and that. I do some traveling. I'm writing my memoirs," Jesus says.
     "Really?" The girl takes a sip of her drink. Jesus is already on his second Sex on the Beach - he's hoping the girl will order another. A few more drinks and it'll be the Garden of Eden.
     "Yeah, there's a lot people don't know about me and I think it's time I set the record straight"
     "Yeah? Like what?" she asks.
     Jesus is getting the girl's rapt attention.
     "Well, a lot of people think I died on the cross," Jesus says.
     "Uh-huh," the girl says.
     "Actually, I drowned. My PR agent made up the crucifixion."
     "What happened? You drowned?" The girl is on the edge of her barstool.
     "Yeah. I can walk on water, but all that really means is my feet stay on the surface level. My body is free to submerge, as it were."
     "So what does that mean?"
     "My feet were in the air and my head under water," Jesus says and lets the topic drop.

     "But what about Easter then?" the girl asks.
     "What do you mean?"
     "Easter. The bunny. All that."
     The Christ Child strokes his beard. He's been considering trimming it into a goatee. That seems to be the thing these days.
     "Well, you see," Jesus says, "I rose from the dead and ascended to Heaven."
     "Okay."
     "Yeah, and I appointed a man in a rabbit costume to take over my duties as Christ from then on. He was St. Lucius the Bunny--a notorious drag queen in Biblical times."
     "Really."
     "Oh yes. And so St. Lucius had a thing for pastels and plastic grass--"
     "Like Astroturf?"
     "Something like that," Jesus says. He takes a sip of his drink and spills a bit on the front of his robe. "The cup runneth over," he says. Noticing that the girl missed the point of his joke, Jesus says, "That's just a little something I say when I spill my drink, you see. Har. Har."
     "Okay. Do you know what I think of when I think of Astroturf?" The girl asks. Her breasts heave slightly as the thought stirs some distant memory.
     "Pray tell."
     "I always think of the Houston Astros. Because I always think of their baseball field as really really green. Y'know? Like really really green. And they're called the Astros. And their ball diamond in really green. And so I think, 'Astroturf!' Do you know what I mean?"
     "I have no idea."
     After a few moments the girl asks, "Well, what else is in your memoirs?"
     "Well, I traveled Europe a bit after high school. It's something I think most people do when they're trying to find themselves," Jesus says.
     "What did you find?"
     "I never found anything until now."

     It looks good. It looks fine. The girl is going for it. She's on his side. All his.
     "Are you a religious person?" Jesus asks.
     "Oh, I don't know," the girl says, "What do you mean really?"
     "Well," Jesus pauses to stir the straw around his glass, "I guess I'm wondering if you have any Jesus in you."
     "No," she says.
     "Do you want some?" Jesus asks.
     "Okay," the bird says.

     Jesus takes the girl back to his loft for a drink. He lives in the East Village. The loft is rent controlled and what he pays a month--oh, you'd have to be Jesus to get this kind of deal. Jesus has a large collection of Precious Moments figurines displayed on his shelves. There are posters of kitties and puppies on the walls, framed posters. The bedroom is immaculate. The loft has a second level where the bedroom sits. A small staircase leads to the bedroom. Directly underneath is an office where Jesus does his emailing. Jesus buys most of his Precious Moments from eBay.
     The loft is furnished entirely in Ikea. Jesus is fiddling with the stereo. He can't decide what to play. The five disc changer is filled with Charlotte Church: Voice of an Angel, Beatles' Number 1's, The Mormon Tabernacle Choir: Climb Ev'ry Mountain, Andy Griffith's latest gospel CD and a mix disc of Jesus' favorite songs that he compiled from Napster. He selects the mix and the loft is filled with the sounds of Pavement's "Summer Babe."
     "Oh, I love Pavement," the girl says.
     Jesus nods his head in time to the music.
     "Summer babe," the girl sings, "something something something. I saw you nah-nah-nah. Summer babe."
     Jesus asks if the girl would like something to drink.
     "I'll have a, oh, whatever you recommend," the girl says,
     "Absinthe?" Jesus asks. It's what they used to drink in the old days when Christ and the Apostles were too plowed to turn water into wine.
     "Sure," the girl says.
     Once the girl is sufficiently tipsy and full of drunken sexual arousal--Christ begins to make his move. He kisses her lightly on the lips, anointing her with his love.

3.

     And that's the story of life. It's a story of Jesus picking up birds in a sports bar, Adam and Eve touching their naughty bits in a garden and writer unsure of what to put on the stereo. But Jesus is just a martyr with a boner. And really what happened? What really happened to Christ?

     "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention," the bird says to Jesus.
     "I said, 'I see we both have a passion for sex on the beach,'" Jesus says.
     The girl brushes Christ off and flips her head to regard a man standing at the back of the bar.
     It's the same old story. You've heard it a million times.
     Jesus sighs and slumps in his chair. He wonders where he went wrong. He could totally see himself back at his pad with the bird. The martyr really needs a nice piece of ass.

     "You almost had her," I say to Christ.
     "Whazzat?" Christ says.
     I repeated myself and took a drink of my beer.
     "Yeah, they're nothing but trouble really," Christ says.
     "True."
     "Yep."
     I'd entered the story innocently. My intentions were honorable. All I wanted was a drink with Jesus Christ. So I bought him another Sex on the Beach and sat with him for a while. We talked about the world and love and all of that stuff. You really didn't miss anything though--Jesus was pretty drunk.
     Uber drunk.
     "Hey, can I have a dollar for the jukebox?" Jesus asks.
     "Sure."
     Jesus puts my dollar into the jukebox and programs the machine to play "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton, "Moondance" by Van Morrison, "Hotel California" by the Eagles and a thirty minute long guitar noodle by the Grateful Dead. It's Jesus, you know, it's always been Jesus. He plays the songs that the world wants to hear. The next time you hear "Wonderful Tonight," take a look around the bar--there might just be a Christ Child sipping a Sex on the Beach.
     It's the same old story. You've heard it a million times.