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Archives: Mar 2013

Weekend at Jesus’ 2: Look Who’s Jesusing Now

A bearded man sits at a table in a small room. The space is completely empty except for the table, a folding chair and a half empty case of Miller High Life. The phone rings, and the man answers it.

“Hello, Satan’s Dildo Emporium. How may I help you? I’m just kidding, it’s Jesus! Hello? Anyone there? Really, I’m Jesus Christ. It was just a gag. Hello? Ma’am? Oh boy. I’m probably gonna get an earful about that one later.”

Jesus hangs up. The phone immediately rings again. Jesus answers.

“Hello, Jesus speaking. How may I help you? Yes, I placed the Craigslist ad selling a futon. No, I’m not really interested in ‘unique trades’. Why the hell would I want to trade my futon for another futon? Sir, while I appreciate that your futon comes with your ‘whorish wife’, I’m going to have to pass. Make it your teenage daughter and I might reconsider. Thanks anyway.”

So your roommate is a loud slut: Your guide to finding a new apartment

Let’s face facts: I’m a mess. I can barely make breakfast for myself without accidentally setting something on fire or punching people in the face. So I really have no business giving people advice on finding an apartment.

That said, the one benefit of having everything in your life be a horrible, horrible mistake is that you can provide excellent advice on how not to do things. With that in mind, may I present Paul Ryan’s guide to finding a new apartment.

Step one: Drink heavily
Finding a new apartment is like getting laid: You have to drastically lower your expectations if you want to actually be happy with the options that are in your league. So grab a bottle of whiskey and don’t stop drinking until that 200 square foot studio apartment in the middle of the ghetto looks sexy.

Actor Ed Harris has a terrible credit rating

The collection agency is calling again. I hate it when they call. They’re especially aggressive and rude this time, demanding that I come down to their office to work out an automatic payment plan that deducts from my checking account. If I refuse, they claim they’ll make my life a living hell. They’ll ruin my credit. They’ll contact my employer and garnish my wages. They’ll repossess my car. They’ll foreclose on my house. They’ll kiss my dad on the mouth.

Wait a second. I don’t own a house. Come to think of it, I don’t own a car either. I have an employer, but I’m sure that’s a fluke that will soon be rectified by God. Who is this collection agency calling for again? Eddie Harris Jr? What the hell?

Eddie is the man whose phone number I apparently took over when I changed phone carriers in 2009. A collection agency has called me the first Friday of every month, right at 2pm like clockwork, for the past three years. It is slowly driving me mad.

Jesus Christ!

A bearded man sits at a table in a small room. The space is completely empty except for the table, a folding chair and a hamburger phone. The phone rings, and the man answers it.

“Hello, Jesus speaking. How may I help you? Yes, I remember your grandfather. Well, he died because he was old. Look kid, I didn’t “take” him from you, his organs just stopped working. Shit breaks. Get used to it. Grandpas don’t come with warranties. You ever buy a box of pens, and you take a fresh one out of the box and ink starts leaking all over the place? It’s kinda like that. Shit happens. Sorry.”

Jesus hangs up. The phone immediately rings again. Jesus answers.

“Hello, Jesus speaking. How may I help you? No, I’m not terribly concerned that the Jets haven’t won a Super Bowl in a while. I’ve got more important things to worry about. To be honest, I don’t even follow sports. No, it’s not that. I like sports. I used to follow them religiously when I was a kid, but now I’m older and I’ve got a full-time job with long hours, and I just don’t have time to keep up with the games and everything. You know how it goes. Who? Sorry, I don’t know who that is. I’m glad he’s a big fan of mine, but he’s probably the second string quarterback for a reason. Look man, I’ve got like a thousand little kids a day calling because they’ve got cancer. The Jets can handle their own shit. Maybe tell them to focus more on free agency.”