Current mood: Cuban
That's right folks, I found Jesus. Grab your bible and a snack. I have a story to tell.
I thought it would be fun to interview everyone's favourite messiah for this month's edition of
Steve the Raven Interviews Dead People. You know, get up close and personal with the son of god and ask him a few poignant questions.
Finding the guy wasn't easy. Turns out I was looking in the wrong corner of the spirit world. I was looking in the upper realms where highly evolved spirits hang out. Silly me. When I started asking around I was pointed in an entirely different direction. 'Heaven.' I discovered, is the spiritual equivalent of Las Vegas. Located in the dense nether regions of the spirit world, I'm now convinced that the Christian heaven is Walt Disney's wet dream.
As I approached 'heaven' I saw a bright white light in the distance. When I got closer I realized that the bright light was actually coming from the legendary pearly gates, which were embedded with what had to be several million rhinestones (I saw no pearls) that shone and sparkled so intensely that one glance rendered you instantly stupid. I like shiny things, but this was disturbing.
Inside the gate I heard the welcoming sound of terrible, terrible music. I squinted my eyes and saw an overly enthusiastic Liberaci wearing a rhinestone suit playing empty music on a rhinestone encrusted piano. Holy shit, indeed.
I flew down a sparkling golden path past meticulously manicured gardens that were lined with marble statues of all the popes. I swear they were watching me. Fucking creepy.
Up ahead were the spirits of about ten deceased people chatting away excitedly. They were eating bright pink cotton candy and wearing Grecian-style white tunics. I asked them where I could find Jesus. They all turned to me and one of them said: "The good lord will be appearing at Caesar's Palace tonight!" Another added, "And Elvis is opening for him!" This statement was met with a series of high-pitched squeals and hopping. And then I said, "Get the fuck out." They looked wounded.
I found Caesar's Palace and made my way inside. The place was packed with a trillion Stepford Christians. Elvis came on (he looked like skinny Elvis but performed like fat, drug addicted Elvis) and everyone screamed and cheered, "God bless you Elvis!" "God loves you Elvis!" I don't know what those people were listening to because I thought Elvis sucked balls.
And finally, the moment I'd been waiting for . . .
The lights in the huge auditorium went down and the place was filled with the sound of trumpets. A flood of spotlights illuminated the domed ceiling exposing about 50 pasty looking androgynous cherubic angel-types floating above everyone's heads. Think: 'Cirque du Soleil' meets 'Up With People' meets 'Deliverance.' They sang the same saccharine-drenched phrase over and over again, "Hosanna in the Highest! Hosanna in the Highest!" The nightmarish images and sounds have forever stained my essence.
A single spotlight shone on the heavy red velvet curtains on stage. The room became completely silent. Eerily silent. Slowly the curtain opened revealing the emblazed figure of our blonde haired blue eyed hero. He was so bright I could barely make out his features. And then he spoke. With a deep booming voice that filled the auditorium, he said, "Bless you, my children."
Hey, wait a minute. I know that voice.
The holy saviour and redeemer continued, "Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in me will also do the works that I do; and Greater Works than These will he do."
The crowd's hands went up into the air and started swaying and shaking.
Yeah, I know that voice. It was Charlton Heston. "Oh come on," I said. "Charlton Heston? Really?"
My enrapt neighbours ignored me.
"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again."
I nudged the guy next to me with my wing, "Did you follow that? I didn't follow that. I think Moses might be inebriated."
Again, I was ignored. Damn dirty ape.
I needed a closer look. I flew up on to the stage and landed to the right of Jesus, being sure to remain hidden in the darkness. Boy, did I get an eye full. I saw the Man Behind The Curtain . . . the wizard himself. In what I'm confident is his best performance EVER, Charlton Heston, with eyes closed, was spewing famous Jesus quotes passionately into a microphone back stage. And then I wondered, Why would Jesus need someone to speak for him? Polyps? Bad teeth? Mange?
I hopped closer to Jesus and that's when the truth was revealed to me: Jesus wasn't real. His image was nothing more than glittery, iridescent paint on a piece of plywood illuminated by carefully placed stage lights. Could it be?
[Let's do the math: Jesus → son of god = false + idol + worship = hoodwinked
÷ wasted time = Christianity]
Before I could figure out my next move I was discovered by a group of papal thugs who pointed at me and yelled, "Demon bird! Demon bird!"
The crowd screamed like little girls being chased by zombies. Before making my escape I flew across the stage with talons outstretched and grabbed the good lord Jesus by the halo and knocked him over with a thwack. That should give them something to think about.
So the moral of the story is: I don't have an interview for you this month. Sorry.
