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February 24th, 2010
11:33 pm - How Jesus Made a Comeback
“We could get rich if we just configured the crust of this toast to look exactly like Jesus’ afro.”
“Afro?” I repeated with skepticism that could’ve fed countries. You know, if skepticism was recognized as a digestible food. It’s not.
“Yeah, of course,” Derek said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He had a tendency to say the oddest things without any sense of realizing the effect he had on his audience. “Oh god, don’t tell me—you’re among one of those plebeians who still think Jesus was white? Please.”
“You mean … he was real?”
“Oh, for sure, dude.”
I absent-mindedly plucked the crust from the lazy Susan it had been perched on. Like, this was some freak show exhibition of really unexcitingly-shaped toast crust trying to pass off for a religious deity.
“HEY. HEY. HEY. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE PUTTING IN YOUR MOUTH, DUDE.”
“… I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, and I’m Catholic; nobody cares. Get that crust out of your mouth; it’s my business endeavor.”
At that moment, I swallowed the potential Jesus. It tasted kind of burnt.
“Oh, don’t make me perform surgery on you—puke it the shit out. Now.”
“Can’t we just toast some more toast and mold some other crust into Jesus?”
Derek looked aghast. I hadn’t meant to be offensive. Then again, people who proclaim Catholicism so proudly often are easily offended.
“First off, it’s only toast once it’s toasted. And no, we can’t just toast another piece of toast and mold some into Jesus,” Derek spat snidely.
“Uh, your DNA is on my shirt. Gross. Get me a napkin to wipe your saliva off.”
“I would think you’d be honored to be graced by the flecks of spit of a Catholic. And GODDAMMIT. WE COULD’VE BEEN FUCKING RICH IF YOU HAVEN’T EATEN THAT CRUST.”
“Why was that crust so special in particular, anyways?”
“Well ...” Derek looked abashed now, a rarity for him.
“WHAT.”
“That crust? It sort of … talked to me. Like, its mouth opened, revealing these teeth as yellow as butter and it said, ‘I can make you rich if you make me look like the afro of Jesus’. Literally.”
“Wow. That’s fucked.”
“It really is.”
We toasted more toast.
None of the crusts talked.
It was a one-time thing.
Current Mood: accomplished
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