HA! Okay, okay, I totally let this slip my mind. Some time ago, I got tagged for this hilarious meme over on Schwartzy’s blog. She poses this question: What would you do if Jesus came to your house? (Wait, before you read another word, go read Better Living Through Bacon’s answer. My Little Pony and peen references get me everytime.) Now, take a moment, and think about who just got asked. Me. Right. Okay.
So, I thought it over. First, I’d be like, Ha! I knew you weren’t a white guy! I fucken knew it! as I made little air guns. Next, well, he is a nice Jewish boy, so I’d first probably call my straight, single j-grrls and tell them a single, world famous Jewish guy was chilling over at the Guthporium, so chop, chop, spiff up, put on a good bra and swing by. Maybe nothing would work out? You can’t just force a match if it’s not a match, right? I mean, we don’t even know that he’s straight! He could be gay! What? He could. Anyway. So, we’d make him a nice dating profile or two. He needs a nice MySpace profile, too, and, obviously an email address. I wonder what email address we’d pick out for him? email@example.com? firstname.lastname@example.org? email@example.com? We’ll have to see what’s available, won’t we?
Then, after being around so many Christians (What? He is.), he’s probably dying for a nice matzoh ball soup, maybe my super-delish veggie brisket (ToFisket?), maybe a little side of latke, no? (Har) Anyway, I’d make him a nice little something to have. Then, since he and Prezzie Dubya seem to be such good pals (Just ask Dubya, he’ll tell you), I’d show him my stack of George W. Bush playing cards, and hope he has a sense of humor– I did, after all, pull the Joker card out of the deck, slap it on my fridge and write “cockfuck” on it. You know what I’m saying. Just trying to be hospitable to my guest, yeah?
Um, let’s see, then I think I’d probably send him to talk some sense into that Ann Coulter and friends, but I’d send him off in style! As Baconey-doll pointed out, sandals and robes are so 2,000 years ago. Please. Ancient Holy Land-chic is totally out this summer. It would be hard to resist the temptation to dress him like a complete douche for my own entertainment, but I would, in the end, find a laid-back look for him. I mean, he’s JC, he needs to chill just as much as anyone else, right? I would try to get him to get a haircut. Even the shaggy Johnny Depp look would be better than all that nasty hair just hanging there, probably tangled to bits. Ew.
Then, I’d see if he could do a little something in the water-to-wine department. I mean, I do have a whole Brita pitcher on my counter, just sitting there. Wine never hurt in this house. Then, I’d send him along, forking over my train pass.Oh, but before he left, I’d call my friend Philthy, who is a pretty big fan of JC’s, and say, Philthy! You’re never gonna g-ddamned guess who is in my kitchen right now! It’s your pal JC! Could you DIE?!?! Then, I put JC on the phone and they’d have a grand old time. But, then I’d make that little wrap-it-up hand gesture and I’d be like, Yo, JC long distance doesn’t grow on trees, mmmkay? and send him along.
I don’t know who to tag for this. Tag yourself if you want to do it.
(Don’t give me any shit. It’s all in fun. )