Yes I did meet him, he was about fifty years old, smelled like a cats ear and had a beard that owls lived in but he said he was Jesus and I didn’t want to be the Doubting Thomas of my generation, mostly because I am not called Thomas and the other reason was -what if he really was Jesus and I called him a fucking smelly old bastard?
That’s wouldn’t be very welcoming to a man that came along way and expected a party on his arrival would it?
“I am Jesus the son of God” He shouted at me as I tried to squeeze plastic bottles into the recycling bin that husband makes me go to, every time I leave home I have to carry various plastic shapes and shove them into an unfeasibly small hole in the big green wheelie thing.
So I smiled and said “Hello Jesus, you must be glad to get shot of those sandals what with Glasgow being freezing?”
“Yes, I am glad, now have you any money for me?” he snarled through black teeth as a big squawking crow flew out of his beard (that didn’t really happen but I imagined it could, I was bored….Jesus is quite boring and demanding).
“No I am sorry, I gave most of my spare cash to the Catholic lady shaking a can at the end of the road, but since you are Jesus I did indirectly give it you” I smiled.
“She never gives it to me” he shouted and things that I am not sure of rattled in his big dirty over coat.
“Well that’s Catholics for you” I answered.
“She will give that money to the Vatican and they will buy gold shit with it” He growled.
“Yes, I suppose being Jesus that stuff must belong to you then eh? You should go to Rome and claim it back and buy cider with it or give it to poor people” I added.
“Buy cider with it” he confirmed and nodded his big woolly dirty head and rubbed his face with coal miners fingers, all black and grimy.
“They never give it to poor people and I don’t need anymore statues” He spoke as I finally shoved the last green plastic bottle in.
“Well I am sorry Jesus, I am saving all my spare cash as your birthday at Christmas costs lots of money and I need to buy a Playstation 3 for my daughter” I sarcastically threw into the conversation with our dirty Messiah.
He swung round and his dirty big coat let out a reek of piss and booze, he bowed elaborately, pointed one toe and then grabbed my arm and swung me under it singing “King of the Road” at the top of his voice.
People watched- shop keepers peeped through windows and old people crossed the road to avoid me and Jesus having a bit of a dance.
We stopped and I finally inhaled a breath (the smell was rotten; Jesus has very questionable hygiene habits). He kissed the back of my hand and ran down the road with his dirty coat flapping in the cold wind screaming “Fuck off, I want cider”.
Jesus must really like cider and there was us all believing he liked wine…who knew?
I hope he gets a bath before Christmas, he was a nice man, bit smelly and nothing like I imagined him to be, but at least I got to meet him.
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