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Partying with Jesus
Jim Morrell III
The last time I hung out with Jesus I was at a party in North Seattle. It was
pretty chill, as I got there early, but by 10 p.m., the party was starting to
pick up. You could feel the electricity.
I was in the kitchen, hanging out by the keg, one of my favorite shindig spots.
Out of the living room came frantic commotion. Everyone moved in to see what was
going on. It was a girl on the floor, having a seizure and throwing up.
Someone screamed “I’m calling 911” from the other side of the room. Just then,
there came a knock at the door. Jesus walked in and said in a commanding tone
said “Don’t worry kids, I’ve got this under control.
Gasps and a hush fell over the party as the son of God himself strolled in
wearing his familiar white robe and athletic sandals. Jesus calmly went to where
the girl was and put his left hand over her heart while his right hand caressed
her face. The girl came out of it almost immediately, dazed and red-faced from
“It’s okay Jessica.” Jesus said in a soft, comforting tone. “You can’t combine
that medication you’re taking with any alcohol. That’s what made you’re brain go
In awe and disbelief, Jessica looked at him and thanked him profusely while
sobbing in his arms. Jesus helped her up and escorted her to her friends. The
room was so quiet; all you could hear was the soft sounds of AC/DC’s Highway to
Hell coming from the stereo.
Jesus left Jessica with her friends and turned to face everyone standing in the
room. He glanced at his watch, checked his cell phone, looked up at everyone and
proclaimed “Hey, what does a fella have to do around here to get a keg cup?
And that’s when the party went nuts.
It turns out Jesus likes to hang out with his fellow men and women whenever he
gets a chance. Brian, who was hosting the party, came up to Jesus with a
gigantic beer mug filled to the brim. Jesus took a huge gulp, downing half the
mug in one sip, then asked aloud, “What is this? MGD? Whatever it is, it tastes
like lamb shit.”
He strolled to the kitchen, where the keg sat next to a small group of people.
He surveyed the counter that was made up of liquor bottles, discarded keg cups
and empty plates. Jesus closed his eyes and pointed his hands to the sky. He
turned the MGD to Guinness and the Monarch whiskey to Maker’s Mark. And for his
big finale, a bag of generic pork rinds was turned into ten hot, fresh pizzas.
Truly, it was his finest hour.
Everyone lined up for shots with Jesus. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want to
throw a few back with the savior himself. He threw on a set of dark sunglasses
and was chillin’ just like everyone else. No preaching, no talk of sinning.
Jesus was just having a good time, cracking jokes left and right.
“Here’s my favorite,” said the son of God said in hysterics in front of a huge
crowd. “Please Jesus, save me from your followers!”
Laughter consumed the room.
And boy does Jesus have great party tricks. He took a three-foot bong hit like a
champ, sucked the whole thing down. Then he pinched his nose, closed his eyes,
and blew the smoke out of his ears.
Not to be outdone, he transformed the living room into the club from Saturday
Night Fever. The dance floor came alive with multi-colored lights and a disco
ball that sent sparkling shimmers across the room. Jesus threw on a white suit,
exactly like John Travolta’s, with a black, butterfly collared shirt on
He owned the dance floor, busting out all the moves. He knew everything under
the sun, but the best was when he spun several times (ala Michael Jackson),
dropped into the splits and pointed to the sky, disappearing into a puff of
smoke. People looked all around and couldn’t find him. Just then, a voice came
from the other side of the room yelling “clear the lane.”
From the backside of the party, Jesus did the centipede all the way back to the
middle of the dance floor.
The party went on and Jesus started getting a little tipsy. You’d try and talk
to him, and instead in engaging a conversation, he’d just talk about one his
miracles. Eventually, he corralled all the pretty girls at the party and told
them about some of the perks of being “the Savior of the world.”
I ran into a guy who said he’d partied with Jesus before and this was the
typical performance. He’d wow everyone with his tricks and eventually get a
little belligerent. Nothing too bad, but he’d start talking about how great The
Doobie Brothers were, how the ’61 Yankees were the best team ever, and
eventually, dying for our sins. But what could you do? You couldn’t argue with
him, he was the man. The Son of Man.
The party was getting a little too warm for me, so I decided to step outside and
get some air. Lighting up a smoke, I heard a phone ring. Discarded on a picnic
table amongst empty beer bottles and slew of dead cigarettes, a cordless phone
was beckoning for attention. Seeing as no one was around and I knew the owner, I
picked it up.
“Yello?” I answered.
“Is he there?” chimed in a female voice on the other end.
“He?” I asked. “I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to be a little clearer than that,
there’s a lot of people here.”
“He’s a guy in a robe. Probably performed a miracle or two? Like the glass of
Guinness you have in your hand? He’s arguably one of the most recognizable
figures in the history of the world? Am I making myself clear? Or are you a
“Ohhhhh. Jesus? Yeah, he’s here. Who’s this?”
“Mary! Oh wow! First I meet the son of God, now his Mom. It’s great to talk to
you. Hey, what was Jesus like as a kid? I mean, he couldn’t have been perfect,
did he ever light anything on fire or spill wine on the…”
“Just get me my son.”
“Okay lady, I was just trying to make conversation.”
I strolled back in, a bit agitated, looking for Jesus. Swimming through the
masses, it took five minutes to get to the other side of the room. Finally, in
the corner I heard the voice.
“The Captain and Me is one of the greatest albums ever,” Jesus slurred. “When
people talk of the seventies, they talk about Zeppelin, the Pistols, the Stones,
Simon and Garfunkel, no one ever mentions the Doobies! Jeez, those guys had it
all, they are so underrated. Harmonies, horns, great rhythm, who could ask for
“Hey, J.C.” I yelled. “J.C. you got a call.”
“Thanks brother,” he replied taking the phone from me.
“Talk to me.” Jesus said.
“Mom! Why did you call me here? Call me on my cell, that’s why I got it!”
At this, the throngs of pretty girls slowly dispersed. He took out the phone
from his pocket and looked at it.
“Oh shit, I guess it is off. Sorry, Ma. Hey look, don’t even go there. I’ve been
doing a ton of house calls lately. You haven’t left heaven since the sixties!
Can’t one of the other saints go? Oh don’t even start with that crap, I’m just
trying to unwind a bit. Alright! I’m sorry. Where’s the next stop?”
I was trying not to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Newark?” Jesus replied to his next destination. “Man, that sucks. It’s across
the country. How much is the last minute fare going to be? And no one else is
available? Oh alright. Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”
Jesus stared off into the distance, visually frustrated.
“This your phone my man?” Jesus asked me.
“No,” I replied. “But I’ll put it away for you.”
“Cool. I tell ya it’s frustrating. You grow up, leave the house, die for mankind
and none of it matters, man. Your Mom is always your Mom. She still rides you
like you forgot to clean up the stable.”
“I hear ya Jesus.”
“Well, I gotta roll. Some 50 year-old in Newark is about to have a heart attack.
I guess my visit is a wakeup call for him. Turns out after eating grinders and
burgers his whole life and never exercising, his cholesterol is high. Go figure.
You Americans and your greasy food, let that be a lesson to you, exercise and
“You got it Jesus.”
“Hey, call me J.C.” he said apologetically. “Sorry, for preaching. I’m also a
spokesman for a cholesterol awareness center upstairs and the facts are scary.
But hey, enough of that. It’s been fun hanging out. Wish I could stay longer.”
“Me too. Will you be back in Seattle anytime soon?”
Jesus pulls out a palm pilot, inspecting his calendar.
“Looks like next March, I’ll be appearing at a church in White Center, but it’s
more of a Hispanic thing. Those Mexicans really dig their religion, so it’s the
least I can do for them. And man can they party. Those kids are alright.”
With that, Jesus and I firmly shook hands. He then got up on the coffee table
and quieted the crowd down.
“Hey look folks, it’s been great, but I have to save another life. Take care
all. And remember, be nice to your fellow man and eat foods low in cholesterol.
It’ll payoff in the end.”
A cloud of smoke exploded. Expecting to see him gone, Jesus was still standing
on the table. The crowd was perplexed.
“Whoops,” he said. “One too many shots of Jaegermeister. Let’s try this again.”
The smoke cloud puffed and the lights went out. The place was pitch-black. A
fast, awkward shuffling was heard right before the front door opened and then
Just then on the stereo, The Doobie Brother’s classic hit Jesus is just alright,
came blaring through the speakers, sending the crowd into a fury. The people
sang, laughed, and tears hit the floor. It was one hell of a party.
I didn’t see Jesus when he came back in March, because if you make one trip to
White Center, you’ve made one too many.
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