In This Installment (07.15.2005):
JESUS CHRIST: COMMANDER OF THE COMMANDER IN CHIEF
Jesus Chris was born into the family of a poor Jewish carpenter in a small town called Bethlehem in either
4 B.C. or around 6 A.D. (depending on whether you are a Matthew or Luke fan). He spent several years as a
travelling preacher before appointing himself the Messiah, and is the author of the best-selling autobiography,
The Holy Bible. Today, Jesus discreetly makes his services available only in invisible form, eschewing the showy
personal appearances His mother makes on highway underpasses and taco shells for the benefit of easily impressed
Catholics. It is He who guides the President's hand in every decision that affects the lives of the only people
He genuinely cares about – affluent, conservative Christian Americans who love war. Jesus is pleased to take your
questions today, right here on "ASK THE WHITE HOUSE."
Wesley Ryan, from Fayetteville, AR writes:
Isn't this whole "Ask Jesus" thing a little.. I don't know...sacrilegious maybe? This is a disgrace to religion.
If mr. Bush is really so sincere about his faith, he would not tolerate this kind of blasphemy.
First of all, I'd like to thank Andy Card for suggesting, over a plate of fantastic porcini mushroom risotto, that
I descend from on high and chat with you, the lowly faithful. Technically, I already know your questions before you ask them –
but it's good PR anyway. And this Pinot Grigio I'm chugging is positively delish. Man, sometimes I miss being human. Sigh. BUT I'LL
RETURN! AND WHEN I DO, I WILL CHICKEN FRICASSEE ANYBODY WHO DOESN'T DROP TROU AND OFFER UP THEIR BOWEL GIBLETS TO THE ONE AND
ONLY TRUE KING OF THE UNIVERSE! THAT'S ME!
Okay, so: I'll fucking tell you what is and what isn't blasphemy, Wesley. Capiche? On a totally unrelated note – you
might want to stop jerking off to your next door neighbor's fifteen year-old daughter. You know I know. And no, I
don't forgive you. But go ahead pray all you want – I like a good laugh! Next!
Ronald Bickles, from Las Vegas, NV writes:
Why is there so much pain and suffering in your world?
You know, back in the days when I was shuffling around with a mortal noose around my neck, I said a lot of stuff that
was, honestly, the wine talking. I came off as humanist. I suggested that divinity, that Godly love, was selfless.
That sacrifice, humility, and gentility was the path to a happy life. Then you assholes turned on Me, and fucked Me
up but good.
And then just before My death, I might have even suggested that love is suffering, and that was the true state of
being alive. That the pain of love lets you know you're alive...
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA! Man, you sure spout some crazy shit after you've lost a few quarts of blood. Truth is, there is so much
suffering in the world because you cretins deserve it. And I got plenty more where that comes from.
So say your prayers, kiddos. Because when I show up as a hundred foot tall tornado of fire, I'm going to have a lot of
pent up aggression to work out on secularists, hippies, towel heads, homos, and Episcopalians.
Oh, and Ronald? You're an alcoholic and everyone knows it. Next!
Julio Bracero, from Ponce, Puerto Rico writes:
Hi Jesus! I've been wanting to ask, since I'm a Christian: do you talk only to president George W. Bush, or have you
talked to other presidents? Did you speak with Bush the elder, or Clinton?
First a joke, Julio:
What does Jesus say when he's laying pipe with a sweet piece of angel tail?
"ME! ME! ME!"
Anyway. Truth is, I admire Bill Clinton. I admire him because he also thinks he's the Messiah. But no, sorry, I never talked to
him. My contract with the GOP is an exclusive. I did try to talk to Ron, but his head was already so full of cottage cheese,
he kept calling Me "James Taylor."
So that's why today, all Federal policy goes straight from Me to George to You. That is the script, and if you want to live – follow it.
Tammy Keeler, from Falls Church, VA writes:
I must say I'm somewhat taken aback and disappointed by your overall coarse tone and vocabulary in this chat thus far! What ever
happened to all the lovely words and sentiments like "Come, O blessed of my Father" and "Greater love hath no man"?
Yeesh. What, are you My mother or something? Shouldn't you be off glued to the dashboard of some Italian's Cadillac?
What can I say? Language changes, and I'm immortal. Do you think if Shakespeare were alive today, at age 441, he'd still be writing
and talking liking a goddamed fairy? No, he wouldn't. So why should I? Anyway Tammy, I still remember your late '60's foray
into free-form poetry – so unless you're chomping at the bit for Me to share "It's Keen to be Groovy" with all
the nice internet people – may I politely suggest that you embrace one of My newer flowery maxims: "Blessed are the
whiny bitches who shut the fuck up."
Jay Farnham, from Akron, Ohio writes:
How exactly to you reconcile the fact that the President is a dogged supporter of a "Culture of Life", while at the same time he is
an enthusiastic advocate of the death penalty. It would seem that these two viewpoints are hypocritical, and we all know that you
are not a hypocrite.
Well hey, thanks for the backhanded compliment, Jay! How's your Dad? He's too fucked up from all the chemo to notice
you've been stealing his morphine pills, huh? Don't get Me wrong, I love a good party. It's our little secret. Shhhhh!
Sure, every life is sacred. But some people's lives are more sacred than others. Like George, or Dick, or any of the millions
of docile, obedient faithful who fill the aching void of existential terror with My word – filtered through the velvet
pie hole of any pinstripe-suited used car salesman with frosted hair and a bible. See, if you're on Team Jesus – the
rules can bend. I am not without mercy. Not entirely. The Rapture notwithstanding.
I've had a lot of time to really think about the qualities of humanity that I admire: fucking, all-you-can-eat
seafood buffets, bubble baths. Brilliant stuff! Heaven has nothing on them. I also, from experience, really learned to love executions.
The Romans had it right – nail the bastards who rock the boat to a tree and let them rot. Great crowd control.
In fact, I confess to getting a little nostalgic every time George sends Me a new death row nigra or retard, and the only
option I've got is to plunge them into the fires of hell so My estranged pal Satan can have all the fun.
Shit, now Jesus wants a flame-broiled cheeseburger. Next!
Betty Ramsay, from Boise, Idaho writes:
Is it more Christian to keep someone alive by unnatural means (e.g. feeding tubes, life support, etc.) or to let them die a
neutral death? I am asking this on behalf of the Terri Schiavo case.
That depends on who owns the hospital, Betty. If it's a nice hospital owned and operated by any of My lucrative salvation
franchises, then by all means, please keep the jellyfish plugged in to the Gerber machine for as long as the accounting
department says the checks aren't bouncing. But if it's a privately held or otherwise secular hospital, I'd prefer
that the family be relieved of the burden of having to continue to pay for treatment with money which might otherwise
end up in a collection basket, where it could be put to much better uses – perhaps even funding a pink marble pedestal under
some priest or pastor's gilded bidet!
As for Terri Schlobbo, it didn't really matter one way or the other. The sins of vanity and gluttony were her undoing,
and since she never repented her evil love of Häagen-Dazs before I gave her the brain-melting smackdown, I had no
choice but to send her off to be viciously tortured for all eternity. Next!
Michael Carlson, from Plymouth, NH writes:
You said "love your neighbour as yourself" (Mark 12:31) and that (among a couple of others) there was no other
commandment greater than this. That being the case, oughn't this be put up in courthouses around the country instead
of the 10 commandments?
Oh shit, you got some balls. Quoting My own Book to Me? TO ME? Listen up Mike: there is no other commandment than
this: to do unto others as I fucking tell you to – even when I'm loaded. Got it?
What you don't know is that there are tons more commandments that My Pop never, ever told you about. There wasn't room to
fit the fine print on the granite slabs. Did you know that reading Vanity Fair will send you to hell, Mike? Or
that your constant, pathetic immersion in Xbox really bugs the shit out of Me? How about this: Thou shalt not assume
I love you. If I did, I wouldn't have promised the entirety of South Carolina that I was returning and setting
fire to the tongues of every single person who hasn't already boarded the Christ Express and rejected, once and for
all, the whole idea that you puke monkeys have free will!
This is fresh off the presses Mike: your wife chomps Jap box while you're out of town on business. Howyalikedemapples?
James Bergman, from Detroit, MI writes:
Why is it that you always look like a northern European (i.e. light brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin) in your
pictures when you were born in the Middle East to Jewish parents, who would have been much darker in complexion?
"When in Rome", John. Listen, My own people killed Me, which is why after I did My little Dawn of the Dead
prequel in the cave, I hightailed it over to Rome, where unlike the Middle East, there were people who actually
knew how to paint. And since by then I'd acquired all My post-mortem extra-ultra-super powers, I saw no reason
to continue to saddle My otherwise promising new cult with the competitive disadvantage of being led by a dead
ringer for Sammy Davis, Jr. And so I snapped My two-tone fingers, and PRESTO! – I became the Fabio of the
First Century. The rest is history.
And for the record, when I was sitting for all those nudie Pieta portraits, not once did I pop wood.
Anyway, you're hardly one to invoke questionable ethnicity, John. At least My mother wasn't a shiksa.
Mike, from Gainesville, FL writes:
Could you beat Mohammed in arm-wrestling? Or mud-wrestling?
Moo-who? Oh, you mean that no-talent hack with the persecution complex who ripped off My schtick? Please.
Could a Corvette outrun a Yugo? Could Led Zepellin outrock Clay Aiken? Could Ron Jeremy outfuck the Pope?
You tell Me, Mike From Gainesville Who Forgets I Can See That He's Picking His Zitty Nose At This Very Moment. You
Anyway, whether I could or not doesn't matter, because I don't slum it with whatsisface. I do however enjoy some
friendly inter-diety competition each Sunday evening, when Siddhartha, Vishnu, and Aphrodite come over to My pad
for high-stakes poker and bottomless tumblers of Cuban rum.
Alright already. The food's gone, which means so am I. Thanks for coming. The answer to all the questions still
in the queue is "No."
So just do what My boy George W. Bush says, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be seeing Me again.
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