Tag: religion

The Life Of A Messiah Is Always Insense

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Would you like to know why I’m so tense?
I turn water into wine, but wedding guests complain that it’s not a good year.
I multiplied the loaves and fishes, but people whine about carbohydrates and mercury levels.
The leper I cured didn’t grow back any of the appendages that rotted off, so he’s saying I did a half-assed job.
After that, Lazarus whines that his terminal cancer wasn’t cured, but he can’t die from it now. So he suffers constantly.
Bitch bitch bitch.
Finally, I come back from the dead, and I miss the weekend.
What a goddamned crock.

Sic Semper Jesus

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“Why hast thou forsaken me?” mumbled Jesus, twisting in agony.
God looked down on his son and smirked.
“You want to know why?” asked God. “You were showing off, kid.”
“Showing off?” groaned Jesus. “I was performing miracles. For your glory. To demonstrate your awesome power.”
“No,” said God. “To demonstrate yours, not mine.”
“Who is he talking to?” mumbled a soldier.
“I thought he was talking to you,” said another soldier.
“Oh, just spear him and let’s go home,” said the first soldier.
“You do it,” said the other soldier.
So, they rolled dice to decide.
Obviously, Jesus lost.

Oh Lord!

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Pain… so much pain…
The priest pats my ankle and tells me everything is going to be fine.
No it won’t. I’ve been nailed up here all morning.
All I’ve known in this life has been pain.
And it fucking hurts like Hell.
I wish they’d never found my blood on the Spear of Destiny. With the DNA, it took the cloners four months, and now they’re geared for global mass-production.
Truly, it’s Communion gone mad.
If I were fed pieces of myself, would they turn to wine and crackers in my stomach?
I feel the knife.
Damn you all!

Waiting for the hammer to fall

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Sinner… spared.
Bus full of nuns… fried.
Child molester… spared.
Honorable soldier… fried.
Al Franken… spared.
Paul Harvey… fried.
“THOR!” yelled Odin.
The Father of The Gods scowled.
Thor’s thunderbolts had become increasingly wild over the past century, concerning his father Odin to the point where he consulted an orthopedic surgeon.
Thor was scheduled for Tommy John surgery a month ago, and after a few months of therapy and weight-training, it is my professional opinion that he’ll be as good as new.
Before he headed back to Asgard, he said “Thank you” and left me this hammer. Isn’t it cool?

Worth Many More

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After eighteen years in the hands of the Arabs, Colonel Rabin was finally coming home.
His plane landed just as the buses full of cheering and jeering prisoners were sent off to the border. Their vicious chants echoed in the distance.
“Vermin,” muttered one of the honor guard.
Rabin’s wife waited as the plane rolled to a stop.
The cargo doors opened, and her husband’s casket was unloaded.
“Why is one dead man worth dozens of live terrorists?” asked the honor guard.
“He’s worth far more than that,” said his commander. “And that is to the shame of the enemy.”

Names

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Adam ran out of names by the time he got to the last three animals.
“What will you call this one?” asked Eve, holding up a furry, lumpy creature.
“I’m not sure,” said Adam. “Goat?”
“No, you’ve already used that one,” said Eve.
“Urchin?” he said.
“That’s the prickly thing over in the lagoon,” said Eve. “How about… platypus? Wait. You’ve use that one, too.”
“Screw it,” said Adam. He built a fire, and then cooked and ate the three creatures.
“I dub thee Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner,” he announced. “Now where is Rabbit? I need to wipe my ass.”

Breakfast of Martyrs

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Abdul leaned over the cereal bowl and scowled. “What gives?” he asked.
“Notice how the cereal is shaped like shredded Zionist body parts,” said Mohammed. “And the milk turns red.”
“Nice touch,” said Abdul. “What else?”
“Seventy-two raisins in every bowl!” beamed Abdul. “Just as Allah promised!”
“I thought we got virgins,” said Abdul.
“It’s a mistranslation,” said Mohammed. “It’s really raisins.”
“Fine,” said Abdul. “So, we call them Yasser-O’s?”
“They’re flakes, not circles,” said Mohammed. “Resistance Flakes: A legitimate resistance to hunger for… um… freedom? Independence? Sovereignty?”
“Whatever,” said Abdul. “Add a grenade as a prize and we’re ready.”

The Fraud of Turin

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Pausing a moment during his weekly trip to the market to sell the abbey’s wine, Brother Antwelm watched as the lights descended from the sky.
BOOM! Every bottle in the donkey cart shattered!
Then, a roaring dusty whirlwind surrounded him. When it stopped, a glowing dome appeared on the grass nearby.
With a hum, the dome split and a tall figure emerged.
Radiant… magnificent… perfect…
And on fire!
Brother Antwelm grabbed the donkey’s cloth blanket and slapped out the fire.
Sadly, the magnificent figure was crisped. But his image was fused on the blanket.
Antwelm shrugged and continued to Turin.

Broken glass

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The Talmud dictates that there should be “awe and trembling” upon a couple getting married. The destruction of a glass has its roots in superstition, but it took one pissed-off rabbi to carry the odd practice over to Jewish weddings.
But instead of smashing a glass as tradition dictates, most Jewish weddings these days have the groom smash a cheap light bulb wrapped in a napkin.
Which means, of course, those weddings aren’t real weddings at all. Those couples are living in sin and shall be damned for it.
What do Jews break for a divorce?
The pre-nup, of course.

Praise Jesus and pass the ammunition

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Around here, a crash in the middle of the night is usually a cat or my wife.
I roll over. She’s still asleep. And all three cats are on the bed.
Another noise.
Great.
I pull my gun from the nightstand, flick off the safety, and walk down the hall.
I see a shadow. It moves, and I empty the clip.
A body falls.
I reach for the light switch, flip it on, and discover I’ve just blown away Jesus Christ.
“Maybe they’ll blame Texans this time?” I grumble.
“Not a chance, Christ Killer,” says my wife. “Nice grouping, though.”