[DISCLAIMER dated 11 January 2008:]
If you thought I was irreverent when I called myself “Lord Jesus Byron Crisis” a couple of months ago, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! As I was going through my old MySpace blogs, I came across his doozie, entitled “Random Rhymes with Condom like Jesus Rhymes with Moses,” from June 2007. I had posted a few blogs before this – but it wasn’t until a friend invited me to contribute a funny blog to a MySpace contest (and I wrote this in response), that my blogging career took off. Hopefully you’ll find this amusing and not offensive. No offense was intended. I had nearly NO readers at the time, and was just having a bit of fun. In retrospect, I’m shocked that I actually posted it. (-;
And so now, without further ado, here is “Random Rhymes with Condom” from 13 June 2007:
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I’m sure you know this already, but a couple “friends,” Sir Lancello and Kate, are hosting a Blogger Special Olympics contest:
Never mind that I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. Remember, Jesus never wins. This is the dusty, homeless guy with greasy hair and a scraggly beard who loved talking about sheep and Pharisees. His idea of fun was riding around on a donkey and getting a rise out of a guy who’d been dead for three days. He wandered around the Middle East with twelve nincompoops for three years, until one of them wondered, “Is this IT?” and kissed his ass good-bye for “30 pieces of silver” (translated: enough to buy a gallon of gas in Cleveland today).
Okay, so I’m oversimplifying the story. And hell, I’m not even the real Jesus. There are quite a few differences between me and the original Jesus. And these differences give me hope that I could be a winner after all. For starters, I bathed today (look, he’s a spirit now, and spirits don’t bathe). Second, I wouldn’t be caught dead riding a donkey through the middle of town (those things stink to high heaven and leave stains). Third, I’ve never encouraged another creature to drink my blood (although I once had an interesting dream about a female vampire). Fourth, I’ve never personally conversed with Pat Robertson or George W. Bush (by the grace of God).
Speaking of those idiots…. If Bush and Robertson were married, who would take whose last name? I have to admit that I’m leaning toward Pat taking George’s. Pat Bush! Perfect! But anyway, I think these two are bigger nincompoops than Jesus’ disciples. Sure, Peter tried to walk on water and fell face first into the Sea of Galilee. But he wasn’t stupid enough to say “Life begins at conception” and then celebrate Jesus’ birth at Christmas. Look, if life begins at conception, then why in the frigging world do they celebrate Jesus’ birth instead of his conception? Forget having Nativity scenes featuring shepherds meeting wise men in a manger because the inn has no room. Let’s be accurate and have Nativity scenes featuring little Holy Spirit spermatazoa meeting an egg in Mary’s womb. Seems like common sense to me….
Maybe someone like Jesus, who seems like a loser, can win after all. I mean, look at President George W. Bush. Didn’t he fail terribly in the oil business and as the president of the Texas Rangers baseball team? Didn’t he barely get his MBA degree with a low C average? Hell, he wasn’t even a particularly good Texas Air National Guardsman. But none of that mattered because he had one heck of a Daddy. And Jesus had the most heck-a-fied Daddy of all – the Almighty God.
I wonder if I can talk God into believing I’m the real Jesus. Wouldn’t that be awesome? You could bet your bippy I’d win the blogging contest then. Hell, I might even get a chance to overturn tables at the IRS headquarters in Washington like Jesus did at the Temple in Jerusalem. “You have turned this place into a den of thieves!” I’d say. “And by the way, if life begins at conception….” Then I’d really have a forum. But I’d also have bigger problems than my MySpace profile being deleted. I might end up crucified in front of the Washington Monument – or electrocuted in Abu Ghraib. I’m not sure which fate would be worse.
Okay, it’s getting past time for my Last Supper, so I’d better get off here. I welcome your thoughts, prayers and supplications. And if you don’t vote for me, I’m telling my Daddy – my pretend Daddy. Just please don’t let him know you know I’m not the real Jesus. At least ’til the contest is over….
In my name, Amen.