Where the Fuck's Jesus?

As you may have heard from the local townsfolk, or from those smartalec kids who hang out in front of the TruValue over on fifth and Wayne, I've dedicated my life to a search for Jesus. For years I have searched far and wide, from the highest peaks to the deepest valleys, deep under the polar icecap and at the bottom of the mariana trench. I've looked in closets, I've looked under rugs, picnic tables and once even inside the girls' dressing room at a Foxy Boxing match. I've scoured the bus stops, the zoos and the trendy bars of our fair land and all of my searching has left me with but one question: Where the fuck's Jesus?

I mean, maybe I heard wrong, but he did say he was coming back, didn't he? I seem to remember something along those lines, maybe it was "Save my seat dude, I gotta whiz!" or maybe it was something a bit more poetic, but I was left with the distinct impression that he'd be draggin' his sorry ass back here sooner or later. And I'm about out of places to look.

Over the years there have been times when I thought I'd found him, but impostor Jesusi they were, every last one of them. Bogus Jesusitos. I was fairly sure I'd found him back in 1984 but then that guy ended up smoking all of my weed and sleeping with my sister, so I had to throw him out. I know, I know, whatever you do unto the least of my brothers, yadda yadda yadda. Well, in that case, Jesus got a Birkenstock crammed halfway up his ass that day.

And don't even get me started about latino guys named Jesus. I fell for that one a few dozen times too many and even spent most of the late 80's running guns down in Panama with Jesus and his brother Chuy. He may not have been a member of the holy trinity, but lord knows the real Jesus never saw that kind of money curing lepers and the blind and all that noise.

Probably my worst near-Jesus experience was when I thought I'd found him back in '79, but it turned out the guy was really the Phoenix Kindergarten Killer, that guy who was abducting all the little kids and filling Tylenol bottles with their teeth, then sneaking the bottles back onto the shelves at K-Mart. I very nearly had to do some jail time over that one, when the police discovered that he was making muppet dolls out of their corpses and putting on a live-action variety show in my basement. Hell, I just thought the savior had some strange friends, y'know? I mean, who questions the son of God, anyway? You want to end up out in a cornfield with your head on a jack-in-the-box or something?

I'm sad to say, it looks like my latest potential Jesus is turning out to be a big disappointment as well. No corpse-puppets or anything (so far) but all he seems to do is lay on the couch and watch Happy Days. I also think he's been chowing down on my Chips Ahoy while I'm at work, so unless he starts turning water to wine some time soon I'm going to have to ask him if he can stay with his sister.

Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of this shit. If Jesus was going to take this goddamn long, he could have at least phoned ahead to tell us not to wait up. Personally, I'm petitioning my church to change their daily prayer from "Our lord in heaven who art merciful and kind" to "Dude! You fucking fall in or something?" I suggest you do the same.

When's God Gonna Quit Bustin' My Balls?
I'm not a bad guy, I go to church, I pay my taxes, so what I wanna know is: Hey, when's God gonna stop bustin' my balls? I swear, I get home from work and my belt sander throws a gear, my wife wants me to take her to see Ricky Martin, and my son,... (7/16/01)