DSCJ's got something to say My personal Christian icon came alive with a revelation over the weekend. This was a first—Dollar Store Camouflage Jesus generally sits quietly on His allotted place on the library shelf, never weeping or bleeding or having other bodily functions that make other statues of Him, His Mother or other sundry saints and martyrs famous.
This time, though, He raised his tiny right hand and said, distinctly, “I need you to do Me a solid and tell Mike Pompeo to get off My ass.”
My first thought, as anybody’s would be, was, Shit, have I been doing drugs again? But that was unlikely, since it was first thing in the morning. I was drinking my coffee, and unless somebody had laced my Splenda with ayahuasca, I was as sober as I was going to get all day.
“Mike Pompeo, the Secretary of State, oh Lord?” I asked.
“That’s the one,” DSCJ said grimly, and for the first time, I wondered if the little AK-47 by his side was loaded. “That fat bastard’s been stalking me, and I want to be left alone. It’s Dear Lord this and Holy Me that all day and night long. From the early AM, when he’s praying he doesn’t have to kiss Trump’s ass before breakfast, to when he’s getting ready for bed, when he’s beseeching Me that there’s a piece of cake left in the fridge, I’m getting smothered with Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, every day.”
“But isn’t he and everyone else entitled to believe in You, oh Lord? Didn’t you say, “Believe in Me, and you’ll go to Heaven?”
“I may have said something like that once or twice, but, come on! Don’t you people have sarcasm anymore? And when they translated my holy wisecracks, they left a couple of asterisks out. One of the footnotes on that one was Except if you’re a self-important, bloated bag of pie and burgers, then it’s a hard swipe left. Yuck! I’d rather get hugged by a fetus, and believe you me, that’s creepy as fuck.”
“Is this all about Pompeo putting that video about being a Christian leader on the State Department web site?”
“Damn straight it is. I mean, it would be okay if Pompeo kept his crush on Me on the down low. Let’s put it in terms you can understand. I mean, it’s one thing when a woman who’s a tad overweight and not exactly a beauty queen lusts after you, but she keeps it between the two of you. It’s even a little flattering, right? But when you and her have about fourteen White Claws between you and start making out on the deck, and your wingman snaps a pick and posts it on Insta, it’s a whole 'nother story.”
“You’re embarrassed, oh my Savior?”
“The Holy Ghost has been roasting my ass ever since it went up. Every time the Trinity comes together, He rubs my nose in it, cackling with holy glee. He’s the same bitter, merciless mofo He’s been for all eternity. Mike Pompeo wants to know how to be a Christian leader? He can follow my example, and get himself crucified, as far as I’m concerned.”
“He works for Trump. That could happen any day.”
“Praise friggin’ be, is all I can say.”
This time, though, He raised his tiny right hand and said, distinctly, “I need you to do Me a solid and tell Mike Pompeo to get off My ass.”
My first thought, as anybody’s would be, was, Shit, have I been doing drugs again? But that was unlikely, since it was first thing in the morning. I was drinking my coffee, and unless somebody had laced my Splenda with ayahuasca, I was as sober as I was going to get all day.
“Mike Pompeo, the Secretary of State, oh Lord?” I asked.
“That’s the one,” DSCJ said grimly, and for the first time, I wondered if the little AK-47 by his side was loaded. “That fat bastard’s been stalking me, and I want to be left alone. It’s Dear Lord this and Holy Me that all day and night long. From the early AM, when he’s praying he doesn’t have to kiss Trump’s ass before breakfast, to when he’s getting ready for bed, when he’s beseeching Me that there’s a piece of cake left in the fridge, I’m getting smothered with Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, every day.”
“But isn’t he and everyone else entitled to believe in You, oh Lord? Didn’t you say, “Believe in Me, and you’ll go to Heaven?”
“I may have said something like that once or twice, but, come on! Don’t you people have sarcasm anymore? And when they translated my holy wisecracks, they left a couple of asterisks out. One of the footnotes on that one was Except if you’re a self-important, bloated bag of pie and burgers, then it’s a hard swipe left. Yuck! I’d rather get hugged by a fetus, and believe you me, that’s creepy as fuck.”
“Is this all about Pompeo putting that video about being a Christian leader on the State Department web site?”
“Damn straight it is. I mean, it would be okay if Pompeo kept his crush on Me on the down low. Let’s put it in terms you can understand. I mean, it’s one thing when a woman who’s a tad overweight and not exactly a beauty queen lusts after you, but she keeps it between the two of you. It’s even a little flattering, right? But when you and her have about fourteen White Claws between you and start making out on the deck, and your wingman snaps a pick and posts it on Insta, it’s a whole 'nother story.”
“You’re embarrassed, oh my Savior?”
“The Holy Ghost has been roasting my ass ever since it went up. Every time the Trinity comes together, He rubs my nose in it, cackling with holy glee. He’s the same bitter, merciless mofo He’s been for all eternity. Mike Pompeo wants to know how to be a Christian leader? He can follow my example, and get himself crucified, as far as I’m concerned.”
“He works for Trump. That could happen any day.”
“Praise friggin’ be, is all I can say.”
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