Date: Wed, 22 Jan 2003 15:36:43 -0800
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: Naked Came the Savior

			  "Naked Came the Savior"
			     (a passion play)

				    by

			     Timothy Stillman

(for Old Stick Up the Butt)


(with apologies to "Penelope Ash" and the gang at Newsday
for sullying the title of their literary hoax, "Naked Came the
Stranger")

Humpy Praline thought this Jesus was a real strung out
daddy-o. Humpy and Jesus humped all the time. Jesus in
Humpy's eyes was a lean raw boned delicate dude who liked
to have his ass fucked the very best in the very worst way.

And while Humpy was fucking that royal ass, giving it all sorts
of pain and pleasure, Jesus would recite his parables. Jesus,
German accented with a little Polish thrown in for good
measure, would go on and on about the man who built his
house on the sand and the man who built his house--"Oh my
goodness" and "Fuck me baby ten to the cross"--peppering his
words, his hung voice, his panting, gasping, rasping, voice, and
Humpy would get deep in. For Jesus, all rawboned and big
balled and penis up the Johnstown River of sex was the hottest
hot rod in the town.

At least that was how the Humpster saw him.

All the high school boys, like Humpy, thought so, and they
banged him because he loved to be banged, and he loved those
frickin' parables, so Humpy and Mike the Dick and Terry the
Titty Twister and Perry the Primadonna just put cotton in their
ears and banged away into that rather large ass hole, paying
not one whit of attention to what the Savior said, cause he said
it all with their spunk up him and that was all they knew and all
they needed to know as his butt muscles massaged and gripped
their wangers like you can't imagine, like his ass was gonna eat
em all up.

To Mike the Dick, Jesus had green eyes. To Terry the Triple
Nipple, Jesus had blue eyes. To Perry the Primadonna, Jesus
had black eyes. To each of them he had a different body type.
To each of them, he had a different skin color. To each of
them, he had different accents. To each of them he was a
totally different person. None of them knew the others saw him
as hot and muscular or wan and weak or dark and wiry or
small dicked or long pronged. Not anyone needed to
understand the parables which truth to tell put them to fuckin'
sleep when they had fucked him and then lay beside him and
smoked their Kools and dissed this boy and that boy and
condemned eyes for eyes and teeth for teeth.

And all the while Jesus his balls long and sandy his balls tight
and brown colored his balls pale and hairy his balls small and
hairless said thou shalt not suffer a witch to live thou shalt not
kill thou shalt not commit adultery thou shalt not allow man to
lie with man and all that, they just blissed out and were getting
ready to lube him up so he could fuck them.

They each in turn, never comparing notes, so the gimmick of
the thing would never be caught onto by them, thought Jesus
was just about wasted as he could be on grass and pills and the
valleys of same that he fell into with them in their hot
unmarried sheet stained fuck bed that was forever turning their
thoughts as though on a raised dais with themselves on the
cross of Golgotha, their arms and legs tied to the cross, their
butts smirking with flatulence, their heads with the crown thing
of thorns on them, and Jesus standing there naked looking up
at them, and they were in their own individual fantasies butt
naked as well, and they thought that the cross would be a good
place to have sex. Would be a good place for bondage and
discipline. All that blood beading and all those thorns and all
that good night nurse being bound up there while Jesus
ascended the cross and squatted over them and let them lick
his ass hole while he pranged their prongs and the crowds and
the Roman Legions cheered.

And all the boys thought, when it came to Jesus, he sure was
one gigantic asshole. And no one could argue with that. Jesus
made promises to them when they were sexually engaged with
him. Jesus said he would show up at this or that place and
never leave them and he was always with them even to the
ends of something, they were too busy fucking the stew out of
his innards to pay much attention, but they all knew the
promises were bullshit.  His plane was headed one direction.
Their plane was headed the other way. He didn't give a damn
about them or remember them not even their names. He was
omniscient that way.

He would never show up when he said he would. He would
gaze his green black blue eyes at them and he would tell them
they were created specifically by him and he would bless them
if they loved him and loved no other. He was their keys to the
kingdom and all of that. But it was all bull but so what? He
was their stud muffin. You forgive your stud muffin little
things like that to get to the bigger things.

Guy was gone fur sure. Too much weed. Too much
Thunderbird. Too much sexual shenanigans goin' on in his
little tract house out there in Levittown like all the tract houses
around him, wood and stucco, and little rooms with wood
blinds that let slats of the sunshine in those tiny rooms that you
could walk across in about two steps. Smelly house from all
the sexual shenanigans, and the uncleanness of it all, the rank
hell fire sin of it all, the dirty dishes piled in the sink, the floors
never vacuumed, dust bunnies the size of Cleveland, spilled
liquids of all sorts, the clunky Thrift Store ratty heavy furniture
gathering dust hither and yon, the streaked windows, the
moldy smell of too many newspapers and oldness and
cruddiness and a coffee pot that never worked and a
pockmarked Imana fridge that was always empty ceptin for
Thunderbird bottles. In short the house was a shambles.

But Jesus knew what he liked, and what he liked was being all
things to all boys. Sometimes men came to his house. Men
who were men of God. They wanted to sell him Bibles or get
him to come to Sunday School and church some day because
we'd all be glad to have ya being new to the town and all real
friendly like we are. And some got that far in their spiel and
pretended not to notice and others became somewhat
interested and Jesus turned them away post haste, while others
saw him standing in the door, starkers he was to all his callers,
with his little big thick thin hairless hairy with red brown black
pubes and some of those men of  god (no room at the inn, how
true how true) beat their feet in their two tones and got the
living hell out of there, away from the muscular weak short
small tall thin man or woman because Jesus was easy in all
these regards.

Jesus Jell-O.

And Jesus knew they would not accept him at church because
he was always nekkid, and Jesus just waited for the high
school boys to get out of school and drop by and stand in line
at the door while he took them one at a time. Jesus knew how
to entertain. He knew that he could make all the promises he
wanted and keep none of them and make the boys think they
were at fault for his making the promises in the first place
because they just didn't understand. He read Norman Vincent
Peale and Dear Abby.  He knew his shit. And he had them
there, he had them there; the price of admission was having to
listen to his parable spouting. This dude was from left field in
that stuff.

 And parables are whatever you want them to mean. Anything
from don't ever eat succotash to never pee on the bark of a
tree. Whatever, dude.

Not that anyone minded after a time. It was kinda fun thinking
that he was permanently chained to this house, fingering his
tits, playing with his balls, waiting for them and only them.
They didn't mind waiting in line, and while doing so, they
never talked about him, never exchanged sexual adventurers
trying to one up the other guy so to speak.  He was their
private turf. He was--sacred. They just flapped their lips about
the stuff boys flap their lips about as they stood on the little
cement porch, and down the steps, and down the driveway,
biding their time Job like, so they could be his bridesmaid for
about fifteen minutes or so though they didn't think of it in
those terms. Jesus of course did. He knew the fine art of
self-justification as well.

So okay, he wouldn't go driving with them into the country
side to make love in the bosky dell and he wouldn't go out
with them to a bar and drink himself senseless with them and
he wouldn't drive them over to the next town where there was
a porno kinda drive in, and this bugged them for a time but
then they thought what the hey we got booze and pot here in
his house and he is the best porn goin' can you dig it man? and
what are we gripin' about and his keys to the kingdom are
mine as soon as Humpy and Stacy and Lacey and Reg and
Dunderhead and Mike and Perry and Joel and Jimmy and
Randy get through with him. My god whooee that savior is a
sexual dynamo. Just get him started on that David and
Jonathan thing and his dick stands up and says blessed be and
there's no stoppin' him then by god or whatever.

Course Jesus was a little crude sometimes. The next house
over, the guy there owned some pigs, and Jesus once cursed
them and put the souls of Blankey Blue Eyes and Tornado
Speed Pete in those pigs and they cornholed each other to
death, this was at the behest of Perry Pompadour and Terry
Big Balls cause they told Jesus that those two turds who
would drink turpentine and smoke any weed that grew out of
the ground, just pluck it right up, and stick it in their mouths
and light it and puff away, that these two gooneys who were
Preacher kids were razzin' them about what they did over at
Jesus' many mansioned house, and were making gonna tell
noises, so Jesus took care of them.

The boys bodies at the exact moment their souls were slipped
into the pigs who then slipped into each other's a--holes and
had a mighty fine time there in the mud let me tell you what, at
that exact moment, the boys in question felt their bodies slip
down like a sheet over furniture that wasn't there anymore; the
bodies flopping to the floor like a drop cloth from a weary
house cleanin' mother's hand on a sunny hot summery day
when she decided fuck it let the house be a wreck I'm going to
be a two gun Tessie from Tulsa, and that scared anybody who
was goin' to rat on the J Man out of three decades of life and
they would never by god rat on him now.

"Jesus, Jesus, do you think this time you could be David and I
could be Jonathan and we love each other oodles and oodles
and there is only the dicks we have between us and how we
rub a dub dub them." And Jesus would get that kind of leer on
his face and kind of snarl on his lips that actually looked like
the kind of expression that the Frankenstein monster had in
some of the movies when he was about to dismember some
village people from stem to stern though of course they
couldn't show that part in the movies. But you just knew it
already. And Jesus would kind of growl like the monster did
too.

And he was a ball of fire, he was a Jacob's ladder of sexuality
and they oft wondered what it would be like gang banging him
but Jesus said he would always be there in paradise and if
paradise was too damned crowded, then he might forget their
names, (how could he? he never remembered them anyway)
and because some of what he said got through to them even
though they tried not to let it get through, did all in their power
not to let it get through, it did anyway, and they thought holy
moley this dick wipe might really be the savior so I better do
like he says, and he says you can do me now and I do him now
and it's fun and his dick tastes like all the olives and all the
mounts and all the fleecy while clouds on an Israeli day, O
Prince of Piece.

He had a pretty good cracky too and his butt was like a girls
like a hot hairy heavy dude's like a little boys mounded and flat
and girthed and red and pale and brown and thick meated and
close to the bone and he always liked to recount the tale of the
three beggars who thought they were blind mice and they
never knew where Alice went because she was off on the
Carpathian mountains looking for Dracula who had become a
count because he had been wakened by the good witch Glenda
when he had been asleep in the castle turret combing his long
golden locks.

Jesus was wasted more and more when the boys dropped by to
play in his band. Jesus got more and more crazy and sometimes
he changed in front of them when they were fucking him from
the front and his legs against their chests and his ankles on
their shoulders. He would change body type and hair color and
hair length and sometimes he had a beard and sometimes not
and sometimes he had a goatee and sometimes not and
sometimes he recited beat poetry  and said things like "call me
Jack Carwhacky" while he was being banged to a merger and
he would cry out sometimes "Father Father why hast thou
forsaken me?" and sometimes his hair would be two tone and
three tone and sometimes his very facial structure would
change and he would become more womanly or masculine
with high cheekbones and thin lips or rich full red berry
pouting ones and no cheekbones at all to speak of.

And they thought they were cracking up and they sure weren't
going to tell anyone they thought they were cracking up
because then word would get around and then they would be
put away somewhere where they would giggle in a padded cell
and catch flies and eat them and that was not something any
sane person would look forward to so they decided to keep
their cracking up to themselves. And just smoke more weed
and drink more Thunderbird and use the bottle on Jesus and he
could use the bottle on them. And they would sometimes at his
behest imitate old Cecil B. Demille Biblical epics, and lie on
the bed and eat grapes and drink wine and laugh a lot and
drink with their arms circled round each other  and feed each
other grapes and never touch each other sexual but maybe
giving each other a frog now and then on their arms.

They thought that part was pretty dull but Jesus had a
hankering for old C.B. movies and they went along with it
though they thought it was boringass in the extreme. But
finally Jesus would say wanna jack off? and they would say
JC/JO AOK. And would.

Each boy, who thought himself monstrously clever, called
Jesus Christ Jack off Christ and Jesus let them think they were
each so fuckin' original, let them each think they were the
greatest biggest hairy jokester of all time, because Jesus knew
they loved him, because Jesus knew they would lay down their
lives for him, because Jesus knew that even if he never had sex
with them ever again, even if he never allowed them to do
anything to him and refused to do anything to them, if he
required them to come to his little tract house on Palmer Street
and sit there in a campfire girl circle and sing praises to him up
the wazoo which they would never be allowed to see or touch
again, if he told them there was no Paradise and they were
going to fry whatever they did--

--Jesus knew they would still love him because he was so let's
face it so goddam lovable.

Jesus was a bit of a jerk. He honest to god didn't know they
wouldn't give him the time of day if he didn't come through
for them. He honest to god didn't know he had to be Santa
Jesus for them to give two dicks about him. He thought he was
the whole ball of wax. The big enchilada. The rooty tooty of
the western world and all points east south and north as well.

Well they wouldn't have given two dicks about him because he
wasn't that much, he was just a parable spouting lying
promises making kind of guy who had such a fucking low
opinion of himself he always had to have them say they loved
him over and over and over while they were fucking or he was
sucking them off and they had to speak in thees and thous and
all that bible shit, cause the guy was doing them all a favor by
getting down there with the masses and letting the body fluids
fly.

Lenny Bruce said it best, "Without polio, Salk was a putz."
Without sex and keys of the kingdom and putting up with his
shit so they could get to the main course and maybe just maybe
eternity up ahead with Jesus fucking them forever more and
they him so be the word of the lord all praise his holy name,
Jesus was a putz.

Of course sometimes Jesus was in the middle of a parable after
an especially good blow job and hand job by his leathery big
pale small stubby fingers brown delicately long fingers  and
they would be lying on the bed and Jesus trying to distance
himself from the sexy stuff when the next boy in line would
start banging on the somewhat warped wood front door, and
shout out, "Hey savior, I'm in need of some salvation."

And the parable would be cut in half and Jesus would be
miffed and call down lightning and thunder boomed and stuff,
but what the hey, he would never hurt his boys, Jesus' kids,
they were the King's kids after all all righty all right. And he
would sit up on his ass and tell his boy of the fifteen minutes of
fame that he would continue the story next time, and the boy
dressing sleepily and spent sexy boy would say yeah right
whatever, give Jesus' dick a final tug and be off. Which Jesus
re-interpreted in his booze and weed hazy mind as "hot damn
I'm counting the seconds till that parable is complete, I'll lose
sleep wondering about how it all turns out." Get a grip Jesus.
And then the next boy would enter and strip.

"Hi sweet Lord."


"Hi kumquat," Jesus would say breathily in his German
Yiddish Goy Spanish Polish Serbian Arabic accent, depending
on who the boy was.

Of course the neighbors sometimes wondered why all these
boys were lined up at Jesus's abode, what the hell was going
on in there, but this was the fifties and the tight white collar
was strangling pretty much everybody so nobody cottoned
onto what was really going on, you could have hit them with a
brick that explained it all and they still wouldn't have cottoned
to it,  what can you expect of people who say things like
"cottoned to it,"? they'd just about have to be idiots, wouldn't
they? They would just notice the huge lump on their square
heads where the brick hit them, and say something like Land
O' Goshen, that sure is a hard brick and waddn't too
neighborly for him to throw it at me neither.

But if anyone asked, he was a barber and he worked out of his
home. Continuing the lie, he had come here to Spencerville
from Seville, Ohio, where the bunny rabbit delivers Christmas
presents in place of Santa because Santa was not allowed in
Ohio anymore, something to do with a boy named Timmy and
a dog named Rags all involved on the police blotter in some
sort of morals charge. And of course he loved to tell the boys
that he was the barber of Seville. Let's be kind and just say the
boys' blank eyes would have given those of Little Orphan
Annie's a run for their money.

The way the boys perceived him, his physical appearance, his
accent, all of that, was purely arbitrary, a holy conceit. He just
did this because he was Jesus and he could and they couldn't.
To the boy who thought he was Polish, (he had to tell them the
nationality of his accent; they neither knew nor cared a hill of
beans one way or the other) he said he was the barber pole of
Seville. The boy was sucking away on the holy member and
stopped, looked up at him with a blank stare. Jesus smiled
beatifically, no one could smile more beatifically and that was a
fact, and after a moment's hesitation, the boy shrugged his
shoulders whatever, and got back to what he was up to.

Jesus sometimes had a paper maiche cross standing at the foot
of his bed, to  cast the shadow of the cross in the orange
bedroom lighting while he was fucked and sucked and did thee
likewise cause he dug it and come some April he would be on
a cross and he would die and be put in a tomb with its opening
sealed by a big rock, and he would go down to hell and he
would tell the good people in its anteroom that now he was
come and he could take them up to heaven where they
belonged. They didn't get to go to heaven till Jesus showed up.

The anteroom of hell which was not hot but cool in a very
un-cool, very un-hip way. It was sort of like a Las Vegas
lounge with tables and big tall drinks and some keno machines
one armed bandits and a lounge act, Jerry Vale, for instance
though the card changed every hundred years or so, but it had
gotten pretty boring for those who had been here for you
should pardon the expression a helluva long time, and just
about drove some out of their minds, sending them to the hot
locked tight door to hell,  (did the singers' voices get piped in
there so the damned could suffer even more?) a big red
asbestos thing, and they banging on it "let me in let me in by
the hair of my chinny chin chin" but no go there, and they were
mighty glad to see the savior pop up or pop down, and he
would escort them to heaven, see they got in the gates okay,
then pop back to the cave, kind of like Superman, going real
fast so no one could see him. SuperSavior would then rise
from the dead, fly into the sky, get everybody to see the whole
event differently, put it down on animal skins and pee draw it
in the dirt or whatever,  contradict the hell out of each other,
and it's up up and away.

Now who the hell in their right mind would not believe every
word of that? How could anyone believe anything else? And
even go so far as to laugh their asses off at it all? That would
be silly. We know that we know that we know. Not like those
idiotic religions other people stupidly cling to. Who all go to
hell anyway. Who could believe that crap they shove down
everyone's throat?  They'll be corrected by god. Get real, man.

But who the hell cared? Nobody believed it would really
happen. Nobody believed Jesus would go away from them.
Nobody believed they would really die or that heaven or hell
was real or any of that, it was just that Jesus put out and that
was the scripture hook line and sinker. Hell, the boys thought
they would be boys in high school forevermore for that matter.
Thinking two minutes ahead was beyond them.

If anyone had known that Perry the Perfidiousness's middle
name was Judas (and what the hell kind of parents would give
their son a name like Judas is beyond me) they still wouldn't
have made the connection, because everybody was too busy
singin' and swingin' and drinkin' and tokin' and marryin' and
givin' in marriage and all that jazz.

The rest of this story gets pretty bloody so I won't go there
and will bring you closure now which should validate all the
souls in Jesus's bedroom with its cardboardy chest of drawers,
which all the boys called chester drawers because they were
mongoloids,  and its closed wooden blinds letting slashes of
dust moted sunlight in, and its ratty little bed with its ratty little
covers and sheets, god JC don't you ever wash this stuff? No,
JC was too busy thinking up clever parables that made no
sense. Without the sex they would have ducked round the
corner if they had seen him coming--Jesus Hellzapoppin'
Christ!, it's Jesus and he's got a parable I can see by the heft of
his dick god damn he'll talk your penis off if he sees us, let's
vamoose and amscray.

So this is my love song, not clever or fine, but oh Jesus oh
Jesus won't you be mine? Or at least throw some out the
window sometime, cause I could sure use it.

And to prove there is indeed a God who loves us all very
much, believe it or fry, I have managed to make it through this
whole stupid story without even mentioning Jesus not coming
in 2000 years.

Damn.

Ok. There is no God. Have fun and go back and do what you
were doing to begin with.