In honor of Monty’s sober meditation on God and the universe, I thought I’d lighten the mood a bit and describe a very odd dream I had about just that topic.
The dream starred none other than Jesus himself. I have odd dreams in general, so if a dream is odd to me then it is very odd indeed. I dreamed that Jesus kept jumping in my shit and making me feel guilty. Now, I know that Jesus is generally telling people to be kind to each other and to accept suffering with good humor and grace. But he was being such a dick about it.
I can’t remember every detail with clarity, but the dream generally followed a specific pattern. I would complain about some minor inconvenience, and then Jesus would show up to remind me that he died pretty gruesomely on my behalf, and that it would be a good idea for me to stop being a baby and shut the fuck up.
Like, here’s an example. I was in line at the DMV and they had forgotten my appointment. Naturally, I complained. Not only would I have to wait an hour in an uncomfortable plastic chair likely to injure my spine and make the left side of my body go numb, but the only reading material available would be a tattered copy of Woman’s Day from March, 1993. And I already HAVE Phylicia Rashad’s recipe for Cherries Jubilee! Anyway, as soon as I complained that the DMV forgot my appointment, out pops Jesus from behind a silk ficus like some kind of toga-wearing ninja. He comes up to me and holds out his bloody hands and says “I’m Jesus Christ.” That’s all he said, but his tone said a lot more. “I’m Jesus Christ. I got nailed to a goddamn (sorry, Dad!) piece of wood and had a sticker bush shoved on my head. I think you can sit in that chair for an hour without crying like a little bitch. Oh, and some tool jammed his sword through my ribs, too. I always forget that part. So yeah, long story short, suck it up.”
I don’t remember the complete details of the other scenarios, but they all went pretty much the same. Like the one in the snack aisle at the supermarket. “Dammit, they’re always out of Nacho Cheese Doritos. I hate Cool Ranch!” (Bags of salty snacks part, revealing a bearded face) “I’m Jesus Christ.”
“FUCK, dude. Can’t you wear a bell or something?”
I try to be a good person! Really, I do. But the DMV sucks and Cool Ranch Doritos are gross. These things aren’t my fault. Please stop haunting me, Mr. Jesus sir. Thank you.