Tag: religion

Oh, Jesus

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“Barbaras! You’re free!”
The soldiers cut Jesus down.
“But I’m not Barbaras,” said Jesus.
“Get lost, Barbaras,” said the soldiers.
“But… but…’
“GO!” they shouted.
Jesus ran for the hills.

“I’m Barbaras!” shouted the thief from his cross.
“Liar, Nazarene!” said a soldier, spearing him in the gut.

“I guess they got us mixed up,” Jesus mumbled, rubbing his aching palms.
Jesus looked at his reflection in the pond. What a bloody mess.
“The guys are never going to believe this one,” he said. “It’ll be as if… as if…”
Jesus grinned.
“I came back from the dead!”
Laughter.

Game show

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In his hideout, Ayman Al-Zarqawi pouted.
“They love the Hezbollah and Hamas,” he grumbled. “The parades. The diplomacy. The material support. Why not me and my resistance fighters?”
That’s when Wheel of Fortune came on the television, and the idea hit Zaraquawi like a flying brick.

It’s a blend of People’s Court and Wheel of Fortune. Collaborators and sinners confess their crimes against Islam, the Sharia judge finds them guilty, and they spin The Wheel.
Most of it says “BEHEADING.”
Know what’s sick? “AMPUTATION” actually brings relief and joy to the condemned.
And even sicker, it’ll be on CBS soon.

The rare instance when Diarrhea is fatal

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So I’m shopping for a new turban, minding my own business, when this American starts chasing these guys with a huge basket.
He’s lashing a bullwhip around like a five-tongued frog in a fly swarm.
Allah, how I hate tourists!
So, the crowd gets out of my way, and I pull out my scimitar.
Yeah, my Dad gave this to me. Great balance, huh?
Anyway, I wave it around a bit. I figure it’ll scare him off or something.
The crowd eats it up, and suddenly the crazy son of a bitch shoots me.
So, Allah, where’s my seventy-two virgins?

Do Donkey Suicide Bombers Get 72 Virgin Donkeys?

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Mohammed loaded the donkey with explosives, said his final prayers, and headed for the checkpoint.
“The Zionist infidels will drown in their own blood,” he mumbled.
Mohammed was tempted to squeeze the trigger early, but Achmed had
said “At the front of the line!”
“But what of the people in line?” he had asked Achmed.
“Seventy-two virgins for each,” was the response.
“And the donkey?” he asked.
“Seventy-two virgins for him, too.”
Donkey virgins?
“Next!” yelled the soldier.
Suprised, Mohammed looked around and squeezed.
Nothing.
The next day, soldiers surrounded Achmed.
He didn’t surrender.
“Seventy-two virgins for him,” mumbled Mohammed.

Achmed’s Alley

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I’m standing on the corner, gun in hand.
People quickly peer out of windows, lean out of doorways and parked cars.
Buses crawl by.
I take aim, and shoot them all.
Perfect.
I reload, and a schoolgirl hugging a cat comes out from behind a lamppost.
Drilled her right through the forehead. Ten points.
Suddenly, a man in a turban with a bomb in his hand leans out of the bus.
I plug him, too.
The lights come up.
Damn!
“What do you think you’re doing, Achmed?” yells the instructor. “A curse upon your mustache!”
I beg forgiveness and reload.

Get down off the cross, we can see your wood

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My loincloth’s slipping, I’ve got a splitting headache from the heat and the crown of thorns, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.
“Help!”
I look down. Mom’s there, crying her eyes out.
“Quit crying, Mom,” I shout down to her. “Get me a towel or something.”
She just kneels and weeps.
Wonderful.
“Shut up, freak!” shouts a soldier. He jabs me with a spear.
“Damn!” I yell. “Asshole!”
That’s when it starts to rain.
“Thanks, Dad,” I mumble Heavenward. “What a fucking shitty day this turned out to be.”
I should have checked my horoscope.

Feh to Foliage

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Other kids had Christmas Trees.
I had a Menorah.
No, I didn’t have a Hannukah Bush. We never had a Hannukah Bush.
What’s the origins of that stupid Hannukah Bush anyway? The Menorah represents the Burning Bush, so what is this other bush for?
Next thing you know, they’ll dress some jackass in a blue suit and call him Rabbi Goldstein or something.
Can we look forward to Ramadan Ralph putting presents by an ivy-covered trellis?
How about a Buddhist Bob passing out Zen Candy in an algae-covered dish?
Whatever happened to Holiday Spirit? Good Will? All that Jazz?
Rubbish!

The Adventures of Mustard Man – Chapter 9

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Every seventeen days, a rabbi comes to the factory to look over our machinery, inspect the mustard seed and other ingredients, and then tell us that with absolute certainty that Mustard Man mustard is not Kosher.
Well, duh.
It’s not like we hired him to do this. One day, he just showed up and wandered around before saying something rude in Yiddish and stomping off.
Who is he? I’m not even sure he’s a real rabbi.
Do they have badges or licenses? Is there a serial number in that beanie thing they wear?
I think he’s an escaped mental patient.

Jesusman!

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All young boys dream of flying, but Jesus really could.
That stuff really scared the crap out of Mary, Joseph, his brothers, and his sisters.
“Do you think we should tell him about the Son Of God thing?” said Mary.
“Absolutely not!” snarled Joseph. “We just need some bigger rocks to tie to his ankles.”
Twenty years later, Mary watched helplessly as they nailed her son to a wooden cross.
She wasn’t worried about him dying, though. She was just hoping the cross was heavy enough to keep him from flying around with the thing.
The spear wound brought relief.

Take Two Tablets And Pray To Me In The Morning

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Juan and his burro Steve went up the mountain to pick coffee beans.
A bush was on fire.
“I AM THE LORD JEHOVAH, GOD OF ABRAHAM,” it said.
Juan stared. Steve brayed.
“I HAVE TEN NEW COMMANDMENTS FOR MY CREATION!”
“Que?” said Juan.
The bush rustled.
“OH GREAT,” it said. ” DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?”
“Que?” said Juan.
“YOU… SPEAKA… ENGLISH?” the bush said, slower and louder.
“No habla,” said Juan.
“SHIT,” said the bush. “NEVER MIND THEN.”
Juan stared.
The flames grew. “LEAVE! GO! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF HERE!”
No more weed before harvesting, thought Juan, running away.