It's A Wonderful Death

"Son? Son! Get in here!"

"Hi, Pops! What's up?"

"Junior, it's finally time for you to go down to Earth and meet your destiny."

"Great! Let me go get my accordion."

"Uh, no, ummm.... look. Sit down."

"Sure. What's going on?"

"Well, you see, son. We've done some basic market research and it seems that a savior who plays polkas all his life and dies of athlerosclerosis in a rest home in Phoenix doesn't skew well with the 12-to-37 female religious demographic."

"Where's Phoenix? What's a demographic?"

"Never you mind. All we know is that mortals are more responsive to guilt than 'Roll Out the Barrel' as concerning the afterlife goes, so we've had a little change of plans."

"Uh-oh. Like what?"

"First, you're going to be born poor..."

"Poor? Do I hafta?"

"All messiah's are born poor, Junior, you know that. It builds character. And it won't be so bad. You get to have a pretty good time down there. You know, drink, screw, knock around in the woodshop, parcel out a few small miracles to impress the ladies. Or the guys, your call. Best of all, no wife, no kids."

"Cool!"

"Until you're thirty-three, that is, then you're going to die and be reborn as mankind's redeemer."

"Thirty-three's a little younger than I planned, but that's life. Or death, eh, Pops?"

"Yeah, kid, you're a riot. Now there's something you ought to know...."

"Yeah?"

"For technical reasons they're going to execute you as a criminal... real slow. It's going to take a few days and its going to hurt like hell."

"Now wait a minute! I didn't...."

"Zip it."

"But..."

"Zip!"

"....."

"Okay, first they're going to whip you bloody, drive nails through your hands and feet and then slip a spear into your rib cage a few times. But that's the good news as the punctured lung will suffocate you in your own blood in a matter of hours, otherwise you'd hang there for days until you died of thirst or fatigue."

"...."

"Say something."

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

"Something intelligible."

"You'd let them do that? To your own son?"

"Well, sure. I mean, it was my own idea. Well, actually everything's my own idea, but I had a focus group in Indiana iron out the details. I'm tellin' ya, those ladies in Fort Wayne don't mess around."

"You can be such an asshole, you know?"

"Sorry, it's my job. Any other questions?"

"Yeah, one. I don't suppose it's too late to go Buddhist, is it?"

"That's my boy! Now let's get transubstantiating. We've got a hot virgin waiting for us in Nazareth and she won't last long."

"Hot dog! Last one to the womb is a rotten oosphere."

=lefty=