The Man Dressed As Jesus

 There is a town somewhere between Georgia and Ohio that was built unlike any other town in America. Every year, a man constructed a house on a 150 plot of land that included several wells which the man had dug. He furnished the homes and filled each with nonperishable food. He also left a note on all the tables which read:

DEAR FRIEND:

 For whatever reason that you need a home at this moment, I am sorry for your struggles. Please take this bed, food and drinkable water as a token of promise that I will return. 

 I love you,

             Jesus Christ.

 The man wasn’t Jesus. Far from it. He had taken out a loan from his Father-In-Law, promising to build an ice cream shop in Milwaukee. Instead, he left his family to build shitty houses for drug addicts, which he filled with stolen groceries. 

 Even this might seem slightly noble, but the man also built a road through the town. Once a year, he would dress up as Jesus and walk down the road, awaiting the praises of his community’s members.

 The first year when the man got to town, there was only one person living there. Another man, his name was Toby. 

 Toby suffered from schizophrenia and, up until finding the town, had thought he himself was Jesus Christ. Toby was a weird dude, but you would be too if you had schizophrenia and thought you lived in a town built by Jesus. 

 When the man dressed as Jesus started walking down the road, Toby ran up to him and began kissing his feet. 

 The man had not expected this. 

 “Aw, what the fuck dude?” The man said, he then turned back the way he came and left Toby staring into the distance. 

 The next year was a little more enjoyable. Toby had left to God-knows-where, and had been replaced by two gorgeous women. 

 The man dressed as Jesus made love to them both and then left again, promising to come back with more food and cigarettes. 

 A year passed, and the man returned. Both of the women had babies. One of them was a boy, and the other a girl. Seeing an easy way out of town and not wanting to commit to any families, the man promised to come back once a year with food as long as the children were left in charge. The women agreed and the man dressed as Jesus left. 

 The next year when he returned, the town had grown larger. Every house was occupied, and there were also huts set up in-between the houses, which were each also filled with people. 

 The man instructed everyone in town to continue to worship him, the two women and their infant children, and promised that he would return with more food. 

 The man had sex with all of the women and ate all of their Oreos. In the evenings, he would give drunken lectures to the men about why it was important to not let anyone leave the town. 

 One day a precocious young boy came up to the man dressed as Jesus in front of everybody.

 “Jesus, do you do anything other than drink alcohol and eat Oreos all day?”

 The crowd around Jesus fell silent he stared at the child.

 “Um, I built the house you live in for one thing you little assho- I mean, my child.” The man said.

 “Yeah, but that was a long time ago. What have you done for us recently?” The child asked. 

 “I bring you food! Are you not full?” The man asked, really basking in the fact that these people thought he was Jesus.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t bring food anymore. Would you like that, little boy?” The man continued.

 “NO! No!” Everyone shouted. The boys mother walked out and slapped the boy across the face. They left, and the crowd settled down.

 “I want both of them banished from here.” The man dressed as Jesus said to one of the people in charge of security. 

 The man left and promised to return with food, which was becoming more difficult with the increased amount of people. 

 Over the years, the man had come into contact with several black market grocery dealers who supplied him plenty of food in exchange for one person from the town.  Every year before he left, Jesus would take one “chosen” person with him under the guise of bringing them to heaven. Instead, the person was sold into the black market for human trafficking purposes. 

 The difficult part for the man was making eye contact with some of the smarter townspeople while he handed them brand-name foods while dressed as Jesus Christ. Eventually he realized a solution to this problem would be to sell the smartest villagers.

 But then one day the man was caught, dressed as Jesus, trying to rob a gas station on the way back from his sanctuary. The police pegged the man for several grocery robberies over the years, and threw him into prison. 

 Through hours of interrogation about where all of the food was going, the man dressed as Jesus refused to give answers. His town would stay safe, even if he could not reap the glory of being their savior. 

 Meanwhile, the people in the town were growing hungry. It had been 19 months since Jesus had last been there, and supplies were running low. The two children Jesus had put in charge were growing older, but they did not see the town the same way. 

 The girl, now a young woman named Zenith, believed that it was time to start growing food in order to prepare for the winter. The boy, now a young man named Rock, firmly disagreed. He believed his Father would be infuriated over the planting of seeds on sacred ground. In reality, the man probably wouldn’t have given a shit. 

 Eventually, war broke out. It was particularly violent, since no weapons really existed in the town. Around 17 people now lived in the town, and all but 4 of them died. Rock, Zenith and the two women. The houses and huts had been destroyed and the winter was soon approaching. It was at this point that the women told their children of the time before the town. 

 “Wait, so you’re telling me that there are other places outside of this town to get food?” Zenith asked.

“Possibly.” Zenith’s mother said sheepishly. 

 At this point, the four of them looked out at the bodies and rubble that had been created in the town’s war. They all looked back at each other and laughed. They each hugged goodbye and went their separate ways. 

 Both of the women died pretty quickly. They were both relatively old and stupid, and didn’t know how to find a local road. They both collapsed somewhere in the woods and drifted into death. 

Rock got a job as a janitor at a church 25 miles down the road. He didn’t talk much to anybody. 

 Zenith, after realizing the size of the United States and the world she lived in, began to travel. She met lots of interesting people, including an old man named Toby who sold her mescaline. 

 The man who dressed as Jesus got hit very hard in the back of his head during a prison fight, which caused him to forget about the town and his schemes. He returned home to his old wife and family, and eventually built the ice cream shop with money left-over from human trafficking. 

Ramblings of a Burnout

I got a new room in Brooklyn. It’s on the other side of my building, and it’s two floors higher so I have a beautiful view out of my window, which is next to my desk. 

 If I look closely, I can see Laguardia Airport. Sometimes I’ll just stay up until sunrise watching the planes roll in and out. 

 I loved airplanes as a kid. I would watch them and think about all the people up in the air who were either coming home or going somewhere better. I would imagine getting on a plane and flying to Los Angeles or Tokyo or Kansas City. You know, all of the tourist destinations. 

 My Grandparents lived in Kansas City, and they had a pool. My Godparents lived in Los Angeles, and they had an ocean. Tokyo just seemed liked a neat place to go to, and it also had an ocean. Maybe that’s why I always associate flying with swimming. Nothing made me happier than swimming outdoors watching airplanes fly by. 

 I want to live my life guilt-free again. I want to have strange hopes and ideals because they fill my soul with joy and not because they’re a good financial decision. 

 I don’t want to be a comedian, I don’t want to be a philosopher. I hardly want to be a writer as much as I want to be someone who writes. 

 I just want to be. I want to drive around the country and fly around the world for no reason other than to see it. I want something other than my conscious mind to be a mystery. 

 I hate knowing that nobody knows what’s going on in the world. I feel as if we’re all so distracted by the drugs and the entertainment. 

 The old world seems so much better. I suppose they’ve been saying that for centuries now, haven’t they? And it’s not true. This world is one of the best we’ve had as a society. 

 So why am I not enjoying it? The nature is dying. By the time I’m 50, there will be no more flowers or trees or mountaintops. By the time I’m 50, the world that I know now will be a cruel joke that I’ll remember as a better, simpler time. 

 I want to learn, but everything I’ve been taught has been a lie. A man who is told nothing but lies all day will learn nothing but how to be a liar. I do not care what white men think. I am a white man, I know nothing, just like every other white man does. 

 But I keep trying. I keep striving for a better tomorrow and a hope that someday our kids will be able to understand the true value of existence better than I did. 

 Maybe I should stop going to school. Maybe I should start taking different classes. Maybe I should sell some stuff down by the airport, and make money that way. Who knows, man. Who knows. 

Superman Kills Everybody At The County Clerks Office.

Note: Watch out for those pesky spelling and grammar fuck ups!

Through a thick coat of saliva, the Clerk asks me my occupation. 

“Superman.” I reply. 

Shit, did I just say that or think it? For fucks sake. News reporter. News reporter, Kent. How many times do I have to remind myself? I can’t believe this is happening again. 

“Did you just say Superman?” The clerk asks, his throat now much clearer. 

“No. What? I said, uh, news reporter.”

 Why does this guy need my occupation anyway? It’s a hunting license, I won’t even be using it in Metropolis. This guy probably just thinks he can trick me into telling him I’m Superman like all the rest of them do. Hopefully I threw him off with my quick thinking. 

“No, you definitely said Superman.”

 Well now he’s got me cornered. But I’m not gonna cave like that bitch Wonder Woman. Jesus, you make one crack about an invisible tampon and she won’t talk to you for a month. Whatever, who needs her? Lois Lane is fine. There are plenty of perks to fooling around with a woman who you could literally crush with a twitch of your finger. It’s just not as good as screwing Wonder Woman. 

“It is you!You even look like him! When you came in, I thought ‘Boy, without glasses that fella sorta looks like Superman.’ But when you got up close, all I could think about was your glasses and I sorta forgot about it ’til you said ‘Superman.’ But it is you!”

“Buddy, you’re making a mistake-” I start, but he cuts me off.

“No I’m not! It’s you!”

This guy is good. I wonder if he’s a Super-villain. Maybe a henchman undercover. I read his name-tag. “Jeff Stint.” Fake name if I’ve ever heard it. I’ll have to look into this guy when this is all over. 

“Listen, Mr.Stint. You’re making a mistake. I’m not Superman, but you’re not the first person to think that I am. I was actually attacked once because people thought I was him.”

This story usually works. 

“Wow! What happened?”

“I fought them off.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Nobody had ever asked that before. I hope he doesn’t pry. 

“You fought them off?”

“Yeah, uh, as best I could. But Superman came and helped me out.”

“Superman was there? Did you talk to him?”

“No, can we move on?” I say, hoping the conversation ends there.

“What! You didn’t talk to Superman? Why wouldn’t you want to talk to Superman?” 

“I’m sure he’s a pretty busy guy who doesn’t want to be bothered. The world isn’t the safest place, you know.”

The clerk laughs. Good, maybe now it’s over.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But it’s all we’ve got.” He says.

“The safest place would probably be my fortress of solitude where I keep all of my secrets.” I reply.

Shit. No getting out of that one. Fuck it, this whole place has to burn.

I shoot heat vision directly into the clerk’s face. Dead. The woman behind me in line screams, I squeeze her neck until her head pops like a zit straight up to the ceiling. At this point everybody turns and runs for the exit at the same time. Rookie mistake. I sprint forward as fast as I can, spinning my arms in a circle at 115 MPH. This creates a typhoon-like effect which swirls everyone into the air and grinds them all into a red, fleshy dust. I lock the door before anybody else can enter the building and use X-ray vision to spot how many clerks are left. 

 Only two. There’s one woman cowering in the corner, and a man in the office dialing the phone. I can hear the woman praying to Jesus. I can’t imagine he’ll want to mess with me again after what happened last time. The phone call poses a greater risk. 

I literally fly through the office window and grab the man’s skull with both my hands. As I land, I rip him into two perfectly identical pieces. I would most likely feel more guilty for these grizzly murders if they weren’t each so unique to the average human death experience.

 I grab the phone. 

“Hey fella!” I say.

“Superman?” The voice says.

“Correct. Who am I speaking to?” I reply.

“This is Officer Jones of the 45th precinct. The man was just in the middle of telling me that people were being violently murdered by some man in a suit. Is this true?” 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yes. But I stopped him. Also everyone is still alive.” I say.

“Excellent! Also, what happened to the guy I was talking to?” Officer Jones asks.

“He went to the bathroom, but the important thing is that you don’t send any officers. I’ll take care of this one.” I say.

“Well, that’s really against protocol, but I guess I can trust you this one time.” 

God I can’t believe my luck.

“We’ll discuss this later, I have to go stop Lex Luthor.”

“Wow, that sounds hard. Good luck!” The officer says. He sounds like an excited child. I hang up the phone. Always leave them wanting more. 

 I walk back to the crying woman. Even through all of this killing, my suit is without a spot of blood on it. My hair remained perfectly combed and, guess what? My smile and baby-blue eyes still match perfectly. I look at the woman, her heart instantly melts through a combination of lust and Stockholm syndrome. 

 I give her one of those sexy smirks I used to give girls in High School before I learned that I was Superman and couldn’t use my powers for evil. She smirks back and then stops, surprised at herself. 

“ Hello, Miss. I need to get my hunting license, but nobody has been able to help me yet. Do you think you could try?” I say, knowing that she will. 

 The woman stares at me for a second before she starts to stammer. 

“Maybe I can help you help me. Where are the hunting licenses?” I ask.

 The woman raises her hand shakily at the cabinet down on the other side of the hall. I turn around and slowly walk over to it. I pull out a license. I turn around and walk back to the woman, who is still frozen in shock. 

“Now do I need anything for this? Any stamps, or anything? Do you need to sign it?” 

The woman slowly begins to pull out a pen, her hands still shaking. 

“J-j-j-just your signature and mine.” She says. 

 I gave her the license and she signed it. Her signature, impressively, was pretty legible. She handed it back to me and I signed it too, then folded it and put it in my inside-breast pocket. 

“Those people were bad, you were right to kill them. ” She blurts out. 

I stare at her.

“That doesn’t sound very Christ-like.” I say with a smile. 

“Excuse me?” She said. 

“I heard you praying to Jesus while I was killing all of those people.” I said to her, still smiling. “Do you think he saved you, today?” I asked.

“I hope so, I won’t know until you’re go-“

 Wrong answer. Heat vision to the head.

The only person who was going to save her today would have been me. That chick was a phony anyway. No real Christian would’ve signed this hunting license. There’s no room for people like her in Metropolis. 

 The building is now covered in human confetti. The only way to clean it in an amicable amount of time would be to use super speed and other abilities to rapidly remove the blood, which is exactly what I do because I’m Superman. By the time I’m finished, it looks as if there had never been a murder committed there once. Before I leave, I shoot out all of the security cameras and grab the extra video.

 I leave the building through a back exit and fly home to sit and think about what I had just done. After a bit of soul searching, I switch to some criminal searching and do a background check on Jeff Stint. Family man, no criminal record. He had worked at the clerks office for 25 years and as 3 months from retirement. I felt super sick. 

 Around 11, the police call. I tell them I had been in space all day and the person they had spoke to on the phone was an imposter. They tell me what happened at the Clerk’s office and I tell them to meet me there.

 We do a quick swoop, and the detectives tell me their theories. Nobody is making eye contact with me because they know I was the one who killed all those people. But what are they going to do about it? If they call me out on it, all of those people will have died in vein. At the end of the day, the world gets to keep their Superman. 

The next day I go hunting with Bruce Wayne. I shoot a deer and we have it for dinner before making sweet love by the fire place.