I Was Mugged By Jesus This Morning

The moral of the story is never enter a house through a garage unless you're bringing a car with you. That's what I did yesterday when I forgot my ancillary keys. They're either in my car or in one of my other pants pockets, and I just didn't feel like walking all the way back to the car to get the keys.

It was probably fifty feet away. I am full of disgusting sloth, apparently.

So instead of going through the people-door, I used the keypad to open the car-door, and went in that way. Turns out that nobody actually used the front door at all yesterday.

That's how I ended up getting attacked by Jesus Christ this morning as I left for work.

I opened the front door, and there He was. He did not look happy. Not even a little. Perhaps the Messiah stands at the door and knocks, but if you don't let Him in all night, He gets a little pissed off.

I recoiled in fear and shock. From the wild look in His eyes to His beetling unibrow, Jesus was a sight to make the bowels of strong men slosh and seep as though filled with lukewarm bathwater.

It's about time I explained this whole situation. Don't everybody start getting ready to be caught 'way up in the middle of the air. Stop listening for the trump of the archangel. Unseal your doors: the locusts with the faces of men are not coming with the authority to destroy one third of all that crawleth upon the earth.

Someone stuck a religious tract in the doorframe yesterday. The tract had a picture of Jesus on the front. And nobody used the door all day long.

Now, usually, a piece of paper stuck in the door falls down when the door is opened, immediately drawing one's attention as it wafts towards the ground. But a piece of paper left for a day and a night exposed to the elements in such a position follows a completely different set of rules.

It sticks to the door when the door is opened, having been fastened thereto by the action of becoming damp and then drying.

This is what happened to the tract. When I opened the door this morning, it did not fall, but remained stuck to the door, still folded in half, like a tenacious piece of savior mache.

The face of Jesus was folded down the middle. Everyone knows that when you take half of a face and mirror-image it to make a full face, the result is very creepy.

And, with half a face of Jesus two inches from my left eye, and my right eye still directed into the house, I had the distinct and unmistakable impression that the King of the Jews himself was lunging at me from out of the bathroom.

At this point, it would be nice to say that I took down the tract, read it, and repented of my sinful ways.

In fact, I took the Lord's name in vain repeatedly, in combination with a lot of other rather salty language. And then I went and made a snide joke out of the whole incident to various people all day long.

That's probably the best time I've ever had with a religious tract.

Please, Lord, may I have another?