“Ye shall know them by their fruits.”
-Jesus
“Man of the worldly mind [. . .] do you believe in me or not?”
-Marley
“Nothing is so firmly believed as what we least know.”
-Michel de Montaigne
It is that merriest of momentous festivial yearly-conclusions, when that Turkishly saint stuffs my socks with old trees and steals all my red hair ties . . . but I have plenty of pink ones, which, evidently, that night-flying Huckleberry and his Moorish companion are too frivolous to realize is simply light-red. I suppose then, though, they (being those ties with a light-redishly hue) would off-balance that Babbo’s dear crimson snow suit, lest it be faded or fluorescently ‘80s.
But this all must be wrong; it most clearly ain’t right–that blonde-ginger fake news host (Ole Meganly Kelly) has televiciously tribed that Saint Nicholas is white . . . or was . . . I don’t know. That’s queer, I suppose; though, Old Clause could’ve been a geographical odd-ball with the purest of skin.
This, once again, as believed by the Kelly, is a condition which has not only sabotaged the dermatological regularities of Santa Clause and Michael Jackson, but also the Jesus, whose well-documented monochromatic illumination greatly contributed to his founding of the United States some six thousand years ago . . . or something like that.
Ah, yes . . . the one and only gentle Jesus. You know, the humble Jew who hates fags, kills the poor, heals only for profit, disenfranchises women, rides a horse, wears a cowboy hat, shoots black people, and accuses everybody of harassment and microaggressions. I mean he definitely didn’t go about bronze-aged Palestine (where whites are well-known to’ve retrospectively dwelt) sometimes on a donkey, or in sandles, hanging out with twelve totally heterosexual dudes and an energetically-clingy possible-whore. I guess Jesus could be a collaboration of all those contradictory, coincidently contemporarily-compatible dispositions . . . in which case he’d be kinda like Richard Gere–some rich douche, wooing a kind-hearted harlot (who may or may not have herpes . . . probably she does though). Yeah, I could live with a Richard Gere Jesus.
Ah-hah, but no! Jesus is Alabama man-Jesus, and you can bring his extra-white ass to the motherfucking “bowling alley where he drinks heavily and chews tobacco.” Alabama man-Jesus is also “almost impossible to steer, and [he] glows in the dark.”*
One thing’s for sure–Jesus has liberally-lengthy, lavantishly-locky, lovely long hair, which the other gospel of Matthew tells us has been worn up in a bun since the end of ‘04. I wonder if Santa steals his hair ties too . . . and on his fucking birthday . . . goddamn!
Merry Christmas Everybody!
-Matt
BTW, my sister also has a blog called cafethenightaway.com. It’s much better than mine, so check it out!