Jesus had made a lot of enemies because of his radical leftist philosophy. The Pharisee Coalition, which had been so shocked and offended by the precocious blasphemy of an adolescent Jesus, was one of the more well-funded and conservative groups, and they were meeting in Jerusalem that night to discuss what to do about this upstart King of the Jews. It was to them that Judas went.
“I can tell you all the dirt,” he said. “All the disgusting and depraved things they do. More than that though, I can tell you where to find the bastard.”
“Bastard! Aha! We knew that virgin birth thing was a fraud.” Caiaphas, the head of the Coalition, was a short man, and very bitter about his height. He was most strongly opposed to Jesus, whose pro-midget policies only served to draw attention to small men.
“Thursday then. In Gethsemane.”
“And how will you point him out to us?”
“I’ll kiss him on the cheek.”
“We of course cannot condone that type of homosexual abomination but as long as you bring us to Jesus, we’ll overlook it this once.”
Judas grinned evilly, and the cartoon devil on his shoulder jumped about, cackling with glee. Six days to go.
On Sunday, Jesus and Friends arrived at Jerusalem. Lacking any wagons, and unable to rent the preferred limo due to Judas taking off with all their money, they stole a donkey for Jesus to ride into town. Hardly the most fitting transport, but it had worked for his mother and would suffice for now. Once the Romans were all kicked out and the Jews were made to realize who was Messiah and who wasn’t, then they’d get comfortable travelling. Till then, small sacrifices had to be made.
However, the people seemed to love the whole donkey thing. They crowded around, cheering, waving palm fronds, and tossing their panties at him as he rode by, as if he was a rock star rather than a carpenter-turned-visionary. Of course, God had spent a small fortune bribing the crowd to behave like that; it would really rub Zeus’ nose in things.
It backfired though. Zeus went to Tiberius, who went to his generals, who called Pilate, the Roman governor in Jerusalem. Under no circumstances was this kind of blasphemous rebellion to be tolerated. Pilate conferred with Herod, puppet king on the Jewish throne. Since Jesus supposedly claimed that same throne, Herod was easy to convince. Jesus would not leave Jerusalem alive. Five days to go.
Monday morning dawned bright and clear, and what better way to start the week than spending an hour or two inside a stuffy temple? Of course, Jesus had ulterior motives. Strapped for cash, he thought he could see if any donations were waiting to be picked up. There were advantages to being the only child of the most worshipped deity between Bethlehem and the Jordan.
However, Jesus arrived at the temple to find it filled with every sort of person but the faithful: moneylenders, merchants, street performers, chorus girls, Romans, Jews, Samaritans, even the occasional drag queen performing in sequins to the familiar melody of “I Don’t Know How To Love Him.” The last part Jesus didn’t really mind, until the queen screwed up on the lip-synching.
“That’s it!” he shouted, flipping over a table. “You’ve turned my father’s house into a den of thieves and I overlooked it. But,” he flipped another table, “fucking up on something as simple as Andrew Lloyd Webber is just too much!” Flipping three more tables, Jesus stormed out of the temple and spent the next two days fuming in his room. Broadway Jerusalem ain’t, he thought.
Thursday afternoon, God paid his son a visit. “How’s it goin’ kid?”
“Do we have to do this Dad?”
“Second thoughts? This late in the game?”
“It’s just so… final.”
“But you’ve got to understand. This clinches it for me. You die. We win. Maybe it takes a couple centuries, but you do this one little thing for me and you will be the second most important person in history.”
“Second?”
“Well, Orville Redenbacher makes this really incredibly good popcorn…it’s a close second though,” God quickly reassured.
“Fine. So have we worked out that resurrection thing yet?”
“Uhm… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“You haven’t have you?”
“Uh, not exactly no.
“Christ Dad! I’m dyin’ here! You’re off in Heaven, I’m slavin’ away down here and you can’t even manage me a little resurrection.”
“Look kid. You’re the one who used your Get out of Death Free card on that Lazarus guy.”
“So what’s the plan then?”
“You take the boys out for a nice dinner. I’m gonna go…” The last was too mumbled for Jesus to make out.
“What was that?”
“Go play poker. With Lucifer. To get you back.”
“Poker? Dad! You can’t be serious!”
“I am. It’s the only way.”
“But you never win! And this is my life you’re playing with.”
“Don’t worry boy. Always trust your old man.” And then God vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving a bewildered and frightened Jesus to plan a last minute dinner party for thirteen.
“Sorry about the short notice guys, but I wanted us all to have a last meal together.”
“Last?” Peter asked. “What’s happening?”
“I’m leaving.”
They all started shouting at once. “Leaving? No you can’t! You mustn’t!”
“Calm down! All of you!” Slowly, they quieted down. Jesus shook his head in disgust. He’d been hinting at this for months, but they were Israelites to the core. You really had to hit them over the head with it sometimes.
“Kay. This is how it is.” He held up the bread. “This is my body.” He broke it in half and passed it around. “Eat this, and remember all I’ve taught you.” He held up the wine. “And this then would be my blood.” He poured a glass and passed the jug to Peter. “Drink this, in remembrance of all the fun we’ve had.” He looked at them, stupefied. They still didn’t get it. Oh well. They’d learn soon enough. “Ah hell! Let’s just get drunk.” He chugged back his wine. After all, he’d be sober enough tomorrow, he thought. Dead sober. Tee-hee-hee.
After dinner, they all staggered down to the gardens to sleep. Judas snuck off, his cartoon devil still laughing. Depressed, drunk, and exhausted, Jesus called home only to get the machine: “Sorry, God can’t come to the phone right now. I already know who you are and what you want so don’t bother leaving a message. BEEP!” Frustrated, Jesus fell asleep.
He dreamed he was walking up a set of stairs. Seven stairs. To the top of a hill shaped like a skull. At the top of the hill, a lamb was tied to an altar, bleating in pain and terror. He went to free it but was stopped by an invisible hand. The lamb turned to him and said, “What are you lookin’ at buddy? You know you’re the son of God. You know daddy’s purse strings will pull your fat out of the fire. You got nuthin’ to fear. It ain’t no sacrifice if you know you’re gonna wake up in 72 hours. So you lose a couple nights on a weekend. The clubs ‘round here ain’t worth shit anyway.” Then the lamb and altar both disappeared and Jesus was left standing on a hill. A little cartoon devil appeared. “Hey stud. Is it worth it? What you’re about do, I mean, is it worth the effort?” “It’s the salvation of mankind,” Jesus replied, “that’s worth quite a bit.” “Salvation hey? Let me show you something.” The cartoon devil danced and the hill became the world, united by a blood-red cross. Thousands of millions of believers. Then the cartoon devil snapped his fingers, and wars broke out, men dying bloody deaths for believing, for not believing, for believing something slightly different than their neighbors. The cartoon devil raised his pitchfork and men used the cross to imprison, enslave, and persecute.
“See what will happen? All this, in your name. So much for the salvation of mankind. If you do this tomorrow, you damn them.”
Jesus looked at the little cartoon devil. “You know, whatever I just saw happening, you started, with a dance, a wink, whatever. You did it. Not me. Now get your scrawny animated ass out of here before you bore the hell out of me. People want laughs so let’s just skip this night of agony bullshit and get on to the real funny stuff, like my trial and crucifixion.”
Fade to black and zoom in on Friday morning. Having been betrayed in typically melodramatic style, Jesus was on trial before Caiaphas and the other Jews. Peter had since denied him, Mary Magdalene had returned to hooking, and Judas had moved to San Francisco, operating under the assumption that betrayal by kiss would earn him more in a crowd of a million homos, bitter old queen that Judas had become.
“So Jesus,” Caiaphas began. “You say you’re the son of God.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Blasphemer!”
“I know you are but what am I?”
“Heathen!”
“I know you are but what am I?”
“Power-crazed lunatic!”
“I’m rubber, you’re glue. Bounces off me and sticks to you.” Jesus even had time to stick out his tongue before being dragged before Pilate.
“So you’re the infamous Messiah.” Jesus stayed silent. “Don’t you have anything to say? Your people have rejected you, you who came to save them. Surely you must have some response to that.”
“Not really, and my name’s not Shirley.”
“Look Jew. I’ve got an entire province to run here, and Caesar isn’t exactly lenient. Do you think it matters to me whether or not you die a slow and painful death?”
“Look Roman,” Jesus sneered. “Wash your hands of me as much as you like. You ain’t no Lady Macbeth, this ain’t Shakespeare, and I don’t give a flying fuck what you do here.”
“Fine then. Die and rot.” The guards started to drag Jesus away. “I’d flog you or send you to Herod or something, but like I said, I’m a very busy man, and I’ve an appointment with my pedicurist this afternoon. Consider yourself lucky.”
Jesus was dragged out into the streets, stripped, beaten, and mocked. Then two Roman soldiers shaved him bare, slid him into some nylons, threw a gaudy sequinned dress on his lacerated back, slapped some rouge on his face, and then crowned him with a tacky silver tiara.
As they led him up the street, they shouted, “Come one, come all, come see Jesus Christ, Queen of the Jews.”
Flashing them an empty look, Jesus said, “I am heterosexual. Can we please stop with all the gay innuendo? It’s grown tiresome.”
Dead man walking or not, Jesus’ tone inspired even the most agnostic to obedience.
The Roman Empire being as it was in those troubled early years, there were many unpleasant ways to be killed. This wasn’t because the Romans were that nasty a bunch of people. It was mostly because within the borders of the Empire were several diverse groups of people all of whom were of more-than-average stubbornness; the Jews ranked highest on this list (which at this point in our narrative is no surprise).
Among the various modes of death was being fed to the Great Crocodile (an oldy but a goody only practised in Egypt); traditional ones such as stoning and beheading; and of course, being trampled by camels. The latter occurred frequently enough by accident that it had long since lost all impact as a means of capital punishment.
In Israel, crucifixion was the mode of the day. Sufficiently painful, bloody, and drawn-out to represent years of Jewish stupidity, crucifixion was the fate Jesus had in store, and he was slowly marched out of the city to the Hill of Golgotha, or Skull Mountain. The specific details of Jesus’ crucifixion should be overlooked here in that they’re gruesome enough to detract from what is otherwise a pleasant little story.
Jesus’ cross was raised. On either side of him were other crosses, each with another man hanging on them.
“What are you in for?” one asked.
“For being the Messiah.”
“The Messiah? Hah! If you are, save yourself.”
“And us!” the other added.
“I would if I could but I can’t so I won’t. Now leave me alone. This is my greatest moment.”
Jesus looked out at the crowd. They laughed and mocked, a bunch of schoolchildren picking on the fat kid. Maybe Satan was right. Maybe this bunch wasn’t worth saving. Oh well. Too late to back out now. He was already feeling woozy.
He looked up to Heaven, hoping God had finally managed to win a poker game. If not, at least he had his memories. They’d serve him well in a long dark eternity of fire and brimstone. “And now,” he said loudly enough to be heard, “I’m ready for my close-up!” And with that, he surrendered his spirit.