My Name is Jesus, and I’ve Come Back to Say if That Man Wins, You’re All F*cked!

And I mean this with all the love in my heart

Image collaged by author in Canva.com

Jesus, here, and yes, I have a scribe today.

I’m not really here, here. I’m just downloading thoughts in the mind of one of my biggest fans — I mean followers.

Well, actually, truth be told, she’s not a true believer, but she is an advocate and an avid writer. She’s discovered her most popular and lucrative blog posts are about me.

Gross!

Not the story, but the idea that someone would write about me for the money. Actually, I take it back. She wrote about me with no idea it would be so successful. She just wanted to make sure folks knew that I spoke an ancient language called Aramaic, and what the Christian — not my religion — translators did garbled it almost beyond recognition.

Oh, but I digress. At least I caught myself before launching into the parable of the mad translators at the well where — never mind….

As I was saying, I’m not here to mandate who you should vote for.

If I did, this would not be a democracy.

But I can tell you one thing, if that man wins, you’re all f*cked.

I hope I’m making myself clear.

The best way I can do that is by telling you a story.

One day at the well — and keep in mind that when I lived and taught, the well was your basic town square. Everyone needed water, so everyone came to the well. But they didn’t just fill their water buckets, they wagged tongues and filled their gossip buckets as well, pardon the pun.

These were mostly women. Yes, back in my day, women did most of the domestic work. Not like now, where it’s evenly divided among the genders.

What’s that you say? Women still do the bulk of the domestic drudgery? Really? Guys! Shame on you! Get your hand out of your robes and pitch in!

I tell you what, when you actually put some effort into cleaning the house, caring for the kids, doing the shopping, balancing the checkbooks, or trying to, you’ll see what women are up against every day. The rising prices, the lack of adequate childcare resources, and the inadequate number of hours in the day.

After about a day and a half of this, you’ll flop back on the couch exhausted and see why you might need to hire someone to help your wife. And since money’s tight, someone just in from down Mexico way might be your most practical option. But, and here’s where the rubber meets the treacherous border crossing, if that man wins you’re f*cked.

He’s going to round up all those affordable helpers and send them to Amsterdam where they’ll be paid decent wages, get free health care and a college education, and then come here and steal your wife’s high-end white-collar job. Not yours, since you aren’t working, you lazy son-of-a-gun.

Speaking of guns, I’m not a Christian, but since those folks refer to me all the friggin’ time, I’ll ask. Why do you Christians insist on owning and carrying firearms? Do you not know they kill people?

Not what I teach.

Just the opposite. Turn the other cheek.

Now I get asked this a lot. Which cheek?

Well, ahem, that depends. And no I’m not just being cheeky when I say this. If your butt’s covered with a Depends, then you might want to turn your face and offend less. But, of course, it’s really up to you. Use your common sense, if you have any left.

Wait, I take that back. If you have even a sliver of common sense, save it for November 5. You’ll need it then. And when you get in that election booth, before you pull the lever or stick your stylus in the hole, or whatever the heck it is you do in there — technology’s not my strong suit — pause to consider that if you vote for that man, you’re all f*cked.

Getting Back to the Well

In the Bible, and let me reiterate, I did not write this book. If I had written it, it would read very, very differently than it does now. And be a heck of a lot shorter. One page, in fact. It would say, Pray to Allah, but first, love your neighbor as you yourself by tying up your camel. You would not believe the havoc wrecked by camels on the loose, but that’s a story for another day — after the election.

Besides, tying up your camel is a metaphor. Today you might say, remember to plug in your car, or get your ducks in a row. But whatever the metaphor says to you, between now and Nov. 5, let it mean this one thing. If you vote for that man, you and your camel and your ducks are f*cked.

I hope I’ve made myself clear. And that my English passes muster.

Be safe out there on Halloween. Look for me in my Lady Deadpool costume. And remember, if you vote for that man, turn the other cheek and kiss your sorry ass adios.

Have a blessed day.

---