And God said, Let the waters bring forth the moving creature and fowl. And God created great whales, and every living creature that moved and every winged fowl. And God blessed them, saying, be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

"Tell me, what is your greatest achievement, your pride and joy, your 'greatest moment'?"

"Nurturing children," Jesus said, "but I'm sure I'd be arrested if I so much as looked at a child in your world . . . can you picture it? Jesus Christ in the child molesters' database?"

"No . . . Never!"

"Picture the headlines in the Washington Post: 'Cult Leader and his Twelve Disciplines Arrested for Feeding candy to a Multitude of Children,' The cops would chase us out of the country. Besides -" Jesus Christ laughed in that melodious masculine voice of his, "I don't look good in stripes."

"We switched to orange years ago."

Jesus laughed so loud that my parakeet rocked off his perch, slammed his head against the birdcage bars and croaked.

My laughter turned to tears. "I've had Bucephalus since he was an egg," I said. "I hatched him from an incubator I picked up at a thrift store for a dollar."

"My phallus costs a lot more than a buck," Jesus Christ laughed, but he sauntered over to the bird cage, lifted the bird into his hands and placed it back on its perch. "Bucephalus will be fine now, besides . . . next to aiding and abetting children and nurturing them as only a dad can, healing their wounded animas has always been my favorite thing to do."

"Sort of like Saint Francis?"

"Sort of," Jesus Christ laughed, "but it might have been sweeter if you had said, 'ah, so Saint Francis emulated your mighty work.'"

Yes," I blushed. "Christ. I didn't mean to de-deify you."

Jesus Christ rolled on the floor. "You are so fucking serious. One day you'll look back and appreciate spending a few days with-" Jesus Christ continued in a pontifical voice, "'the Savior of all Mankind' and you shall rejoice in the name of Me Myself and I and all that is therein, yadda, yadda."

"You're quoting Scripture again, aren't you?"

"Actually, I make it up as I go along. You should have seen the hour or so that Dad popped out the Old Testament. 'He'd say I think I'll create a scribe named Jeremiah,' Dad would laugh and scribble and scribble until he'd knocked out ten thousand words or so. 'Now I'll be . . . Micah. That's a name, isn't it? Or I can name him Formica' Dad and I laughed over Jeroboam and Rehoboam and loved the story of Jael! Oh Myself, that bitch was something else."

"I don't know the stories of any of those guys," I admitted.

"Micah and Jeremiah were prophets-and Dad created some awesome shit about them. Jeremiah predicted, Oh Myself, this is so fucking funny, Jeremiah predicted a wheel within a wheel . . .and you guys took it to mean there were flying saucers filling the sky . . . fucking space aliens coming from the outer limits of the universe."

"You mean there aren't?"

Jesus got up off the floor and rolled on the ceiling. "You're too much, you're just too fucking much!"

"How about Jeroboam and Rehoboam?"

"Rhymes. Nothing more. But clerics all believed-and I honest to Myself love that phrase you humans use: "'I believe in the King James Version of the Bible. I believe in the virgin birth. I believe in the resurrection. I believe in life everlasting.' Ha ha. And the funniest one of all . . . 'I believe in stoning homosexuals.' Fuck Myself, you people believe in more rubbish than FOX News."

"You mean none of it's true?" I tried to keep a straight face in my gay body, "You mean the Bible really isn't the sacred world of God-inspired from the very breath of the creator of the universe?"

Jesus Christ slipped off the ceiling and ended up lying on his back with his schlong scrapping the ceiling as he giggled on my yellow Formica kitchen table. "Do you hear how schizoid that sounds? Let's think this bon mot through, shall we? According to my Catholic followers not only was I was born of a virgin, but so was my mother . . . and her mother! Do you have any ideas how many virgins existed back then? Back in the 'Holy Days' when most men were lucky enough to find an unblemished camel?"

"Thousands?"

"It was a rhetorical question, but since you've made a stab at it, I'll give you the answer."

"None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Sixty-seven quadrillion times less than nothing."

"That's why I fucking worked with children-trying to protect their virginity until they were at least twelve years old."

"And that's when-" my voice trailed off.

"Only if they were lucky!" Jesus Christ said, "Only if they were extraordinarily lucky and could find a life of their own."

"So, my point is," Jesus Christ continued. "Thinking that any man was born of a virgin-or any god-for that matter is fundamentally ludicrous."

Jesus Christ said it. That settles it. I believe it. I thought.

"I get your sense of humor, Scot. I just wish more humans thought like you."

"Let me ask you a question," I said. "What's the biggest intervention you ever made in the history of mankind?"

Jesus thought about that for a long time. I could see the wheels spinning-it was like Daniel's prophecy-there was a wheel within a wheel spinning around my ceiling fan.

"Krakatoa," Jesus said. "I spent an entire month orchestrating the Krakatau volcanic eruption. That was the most exciting thing I had done since being crucified-and to tell you the truth-I wasn't very active during that scene-just a lot of screaming and moaning and begging the fucking Romans to ease up on the rusty nails."

"But Krakatoa. Oh Myself, that was the most brilliant thing I ever conceived."

"Which of the three of you orchestrated it?"

"It was the Spook's idea to begin with and Pop liked it, but he's senile now, just likes sitting on that damned vinyl chair in LaLa Land so the three of us voted and I ended up handling that hot potato."

"I had to visit Vulcan for over six months to get his okay."

"Vulcan?"

"Yep, you might know him as Pluto. He married Persephone and brother is a hostess with the moistest-but she only lives down below six months a year and I just happened to have hit it when she moved down below-kit and caboodle, so to speak, and all she did was cook and bake and bake and cook and I think I must have gained six hundred pounds by the time Ceres, her mom, came to rescue her. By then I'd worn down Persephone's old man: Vulcan, Hades, Pluto, whatever in the hell his name is now, and he agreed to fire up below and let Krakatoa rip! It was awesome."

"And that's it? That's the extent of the most fun you've had as a god?"

"Yep, more or less. Like I said, most of us just wait in line to sit in that Myself be damned vinyl yellow beach chair. Time seems to stand still while we're waiting there. I mean we don't even discuss the weather or the price of potatoes. Nothing. We just linger there, drooling over that chair."

"Speaking of potatoes, you remind me of my grandfather-he was Irish and could tell a story almost as well as you can."

Jesus replied, "I'm Irish, as well, don't you know-always have been-always will be-green through and through."

"I thought you were a Jew-isn't that what Christianity believes?"

"Not at all . . . I'm Irish, my mom was so short that the neighbors thought she was a leprechaun-but I'm as Irish as the day is long."

"So what brought a strapping hot young Irish lad to Bimini? Don't you like potatoes anymore?"

Jesus Christ laughed again and turned into shrill little fairy bell.

"I didn't know you could turn into something inanimate," I said.

"I AM THAT I AM," Jesus said, "don't forget the Scripture-merely because your scribes didn't make a big issue of it, there were countless times in the Old Testament when Pop turned inanimate-and, like Zeus and all the other gods, he could multi-form with the best of them. I've been sort of stuck here with this pierced-ass nailed body, but you could change all that. That's one of the reasons I wanted to reveal myself to you. If you and enough of you could picture me other than as a bleeding son of a bitch on a cross, I could be free of you all. Maybe I could be a coyote or a sassafras tree or a snowflake-anything is better than this ugly form."

"You are not ugly! You are anything but ugly!" I kissed Jesus until our lips seemed to merge into one face. I devoured him as though he would be my man, my lover, my husband, forever. "If you ever escape earth and LaLa Land, I hope you remember this week with me-and the one man on the planet who really loves you as yourself."

Jesus hugged me from behind, pressing his soft firm brown beard deep into my right shoulders, and I felt the tears roll down his face, bathing me. "You are the one I've always loved. I've found you countless times before but each time something horrible happens and you are whisked away from me and I'm shot back into LaLa Land and I have to linger there in that damned god-waiting line thinking of your hot kisses, your sweet smell, your hotter than hell tight firm ass, your sense of humor, your power, your majesty, your awe!"

"I'm not the god here," I said.

"Really?"

"Really," I said. "I am not the god here."

"You and all your ancestors created me-doesn't that make you the real gods and us gods mere toys? Mere baubles? Mere tokens for you to maneuver?"

"If that were true, I could rewrite the Bible in twenty seconds."

"It's been done before . . . many times."

"Do you honestly believe King James' version of the Bible is what Pop scribbled back in LaLa Land so many thousands of years ago?"

"Of course not."

"Each person who touched the Scriptures, touched them, if you know what I mean. Each hand changed a vowel or a phrase or a sentence. Indeed, many changed entire chapters, deleted sacred books, added others, mixed prophets and saints together. The bottom line wasn't to paint a picture of me or Pop or the Spook, it was to invigorate mankind-to make you feel superior by your inferiority. . . and sadly, to merchandise us-to fill your swamp with our blood, our tears, our femineity-for your profit."

I knew exactly what Jesus Christ was saying. I had felt that way for over a decade. The Bible, The Book of Mormon, the Koran, religion in general had nothing to do with beings above us or even below us-it had to do with how bad our heartburn was, how empty our pockets were, and how desperately lonely we were, so we created you as our puppets-to be bashed about like the three of you were superstars in a magnificent lifelong Punch and Judy show, when we felt 'inspired' to write down the mind of God. How insane, I thought, how totally insane that mankind, who still hadn't finished his basic evolution, had evolved an entire theory of Godhead and religion.

Jesus Christ continued cradling me in his arms, nuzzling my shoulder, kissing my neck, biting my ear, jerking my cock gently, then roughly, then lovingly and then kissing me from my neck down to my ass.

"Such a glorious asshole, Scot, so open and alive! Are you ready for-"

"Yes," I said. "Fuck me, Jesus, fuck me!"

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.


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