Blasphemy

...Say, Satan,
just how
gosh darn Hot
does it get down here?

So, I’m putzing around in the kitchen this morning, when the Boy Wonder calls me – “Hey, mom, come check this out! Jesus is pulling a cross down the street.”

Not something you see everyday, right?

I get to the living room window and sho’ enough, there’s this dude dragging a cross down the street, followed by a procession in their Sunday Good Friday finest.

“Hmm”, sez I, scoping out the everlasting dimensions of the butt of god’s son. “ ‘Jesus’ looks like he buttered those five loaves, had him a fish fry, then ate the whole durn thing up by himself.”

And so it begins. Everybody’s a critic in the Jaye household. (Joan and Melissa ain't got nothing on us.)

“Jesus wasn’t a blond, was he?” We’re both eyeing the Botticelli curls of the Wrangler wearing leader.

”Given the predominate coloring of the indigenous people from the part of the world where he was born? Chances are, No.”

“And what’s with the red T-shirt and Nike’s?”

“You’d think someone woulda gone down to the nearest K-Mart and bought a sheet-—I mean how much would a cheap white sheet cost?--sewn him up a robe, tied a string or a belt, or something, around his waist, and slapped a twig on his head. Doesn’t look very Jesusy does he?”

As the procession disappears around the corner, we look at each other.

“Jesusy?”

Once we sobered up, we spent some quality Madonna and Chile time watching Jerry Springer.