I met Jesus today.
I was surprised to find that he’s a black man and he smokes Cherry Cavendish pipe tobacco.
He was dressed all in black; a priest shirt fitted with a white collar tab completed the ensemble.
Oh, and he was juiced to the nines. (at @10am)
“Hey, man, do you know who I am?” he asked.
“Uh, noooo. Should I?” I replied.
“I’m Jesus, man…looky here,” he said, lifting up his shirt to reveal a dark whale of a stomach.
He then pointed to his right nipple and said, “The Father,” then to the other nipple, “The Son,” and finally pointing to his disgusting and protruding belly button, said, “And the Holy Spirit….shit, man. Peace.”
Wow, I thought, you just can’t make this stuff up.
“Uh-huh. And what kind of tobacco would the Savior like today?” I asked.
“Cheery. Somethin’ cheery….and a little pipe. I’m the Prophet, man…shit.” (He meant cherry, but said ‘cheery’)
I weighed out his tobacco and got him a pipe and totaled him up.
He opened his tattered wallet to pay all the while talking ragtime and muttering vile obscenities.
He must have had at least $100 in there. I’m thinking, where does a guy like this get scratch like that?
Then I remembered; He’s the man.
Hey, wasn’t he supposed to be out battling the Anti-Christ today?
I mean it is 6.6.06.