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Jesus Has a Few Friends Over for B-Day

December 22, 2011


HEAVEN – Jesus Christ celebrated his 2016th birthday this week with a handful of friends, including his best pal, Satan, and new wife, Anna Nicole Smith.  God the Father showed up being pushed in a wheelchair by Mother Mary.

The private party was held at Christ’s mansion just off Golgotha Boulevard, the name of which used to evoke in Jesus bad memories whenever he drove around the corner to pick up a coffee and newspaper at the 7-11. It was not until the Inquisition that he came to terms with the day he got tortured on Golgotha  – a day that FDR later wanted to claim would live in infamy until his staff convinced him that such a catchy phrase would be better used in connection with the day he, FDR, got root canal.

Said Elsa Christ, wife to our Lord and Savior: “Don’t think that the Roman Centurion who shanked my Jesus in the ribs didn’t get a big time payback once my husband decided that the only cheek he was going to turn from now on was the Centurion’s cheek to the other side of his face.”

“Does that mean,” we asked Mrs. Christ, as she hung up our coat in the foyer, “that the Centurion will not be in attendance today?”

“Oh he’s here all right. You ever heard the expression, ‘Going to hell in a hand-basket?’ Well Jesus and Satan used the Centurion’s epidermis to make an actual hand-basket. He is the hand-basket.”

On cue, Satan entered carrying the Centurion hand-basket filled with what turned out to be Christ’s favorite guilty pleasure, Drakes Devil Dogs. Anna Nicole Smith was at his side, and holding onto the Prince of Darkness for dear life, as she appeared various sheets to the celestial wind.

“Yeah, I know,” grinned Satan, “the Devil Dogs, a bad inside joke…But we’re not here, Elsa, to talk about the end at Golgotha. We’re here to celebrate the beginning, the manger, and all that other happy horse shit.”

“Oh Gawd,” said Mother Mary, “how could I ever forget that day. I’m nine months pregnant and running around the desert trying to dodge that nasty man, King Herod…”

“Oh here we go,” moaned God the Father from his wheel chair, with a plate of cold cuts on his lap. “Tell us, little miss martyr, the whole story for what, the zillionth time?”

“Listen to you. Talk about a player. You knock me up and don’t even bother giving me an orgasm. The worse thing is you had to send one of your lackeys, that Gabriel – though he was a cutie, that Gabriel – yeah, you had to send him ahead of time to tell me you were going to plant your omnipotent seed in my womb.”

“Well Joseph wasn’t going to get it done.”

“Oh you leave Joseph out of this. He was a good man. Anyone can get a girl pregnant, but it takes a real man to raise a child, to be a father.”

“That reminds me,” giggled Anna Nicole. “Did they ever find out who was the daddy of my baby girl?”

“Anna Nicole,” said Satan, as he led her away. “I already told you. I’m the father. Were there any other straight men in your life?”

There were some glaring omissions on the guest list, even one so private. Saint Paul was not invited to the party. Jesus III told us that Paul harps a lot on Jesus for various life style habits, especially the small hipster ponytail.

“Paul is a pain in my all-knowing, all-seeing balls,” bellowed God the Father, as he reached for the nacho tray. “He’s the one who insisted that we name that road Golgotha Boulevard. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh Jehovah,” said Mother Mary, “Paul means well. He’s just…”

“Mother,” said Jesus, who was dressed in white khaki pants and a pink polo shirt, “it’s just never a good idea to invite a sexual nihilist to a party.”

Satan re-entered the living room, sans Anna Nicole, from the kitchen carrying three beers, one of which he handed to Jesus and the other to us. “You mean that bitch, Pauline? What’s SHE up to these days?”

Later everyone gathered around the kitchen table on which sat a cake with 2016 candles. We marveled at how so many flickering wax sticks could fit on a sixteen inch, three-layered cake, when God the Father commented that, “Shit, kid, there are still a few creationist tricks in the old bag, this wheelchair notwithstanding.”

We all sang Silent Night, Holy Night before Jesus blew out all 2016 candles and made his secret wish that of course was not a secret to God the Father, who was still omniscient.

“Talk about living in your dad’s shadow,” muttered Jesus.

“I heard that,” said Dad.

Then the party became a Christ sing-a-long, starting with Come All Ye Faithful, moving on to Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.

In between Oh Little Town of Bethlehem and Joy to The World, the group talked about the beauty and greatness of Christmas songs; how they more than made up for all the billions of people that had been killed in religious wars and other forms of persecution all in the name of Christ.

Said one of the Three Wise Men, who had brought to the party frankincense and buffalo wings: “Hey, the Thirty Years War even up in a trade for God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman, sounds fair to me.”

Toward the end of the caroling, everyone became a little more subdued when Satan pulled out an empty Herr’s Potato Chip two liter can and began to beat on it in a slow steady rhythm.  Jesus looked to the Wise Man, who looked at Mother Mary, who looked and smiled at God the Father, who returned the smile.

Then Satan led the group in song, while keeping beat:

“Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum

A new born King to see, pa rum pum pum pum”

Satan’s eyes met those of Jesus.

“Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum

To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum”

And now the mansion of gold shook as all these heavenly voices reached a crescendo of rum pum pum pums. On the last “pum,” everyone went quiet except to hum along while Satan sang the next verse solo:

“Little Baby, pa rum pump um pum

I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum”

Now it dawned on us that Satan had been in that manger after all, even though he must have known that thirty years later he and the newborn King would wage an epic battle in the desert for forty days and forty nights. But not on that magical night, in Bethlehem, when a star had shone so bright that it had a tail as big as a kite. Satan had come to the manger as a little drummer boy.

And now he pounded that tin can, tears in his eyes, eyes that stayed locked on Jesus, while his voice became almost urgent:

“I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum

That’s fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum

Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum

On my drum?”

Jesus nodded, as tears ran down his face. Everyone was now prepared to rejoin Satan and to raise the roof with the finishing verse:

“Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum”

And Mother Mary followed the song’s directive, her mouth a halo of song.

“The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum

I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum

Me and my drum.”

Satan and Jesus embraced, with the former saying:

“Happy birthday, brother.”


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From → Humor, Jesus, Satire

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