(Humor) An Interview with Jesus

Bob “Scoop” Nelson was an internationally known investigative reporter with the reputation for getting interviews others couldn’t get. He’d been around the globe a few times in his 21-year career and wasn’t easily impressed by his famous subjects. But he had to admit getting Jesus Christ to sit down for an interview was the pinnacle of his career.

Scoop was nervous, curious, and excited at the opportunity. He had a slew of questions written down in his reporter pad in case he was too overawed to come up with spontaneous questions. He acknowledged the meeting would be a miracle despite not being a religious man. He thought to himself that it was about time Jesus came back. If there was ever a time humanity needed him most, it was the 21st century.

Talk of the Apocalypse is rampant across the earth and for good reason. Mankind now has the ability to obliterate all life on the planet thanks to nuclear bombs. Hot wars are raging on all the continents and the climate crisis gets worse yearly. Scoop was trying to decide where to begin the interview when Jesus spoke, “Peace be upon you Scoop,” and smiled across the table separating them. The room was empty of all distractions with only one window looking out at the picturesque countryside. It was Scoops hideaway on an unnamed island that he retreated to whenever he wanted to get away from so-called civilization.

SCOOP –Thanks for this chance to interview you oh Son of God.

JESUS – “You don’t have to be so formal. Just call me Jesus. What would you like to know my son?

SCOOP – (Forgetting to look at his notes) “Who’s going to win the World Series? No…no… I’m just kidding. Trying to lighten the moment it’s not every day I come into a holy presence such as yourself.

JESUS – “The Yankees!

SCOOP – “What the…?

Jesus – “Just joking. It’s not every day I talk with a Yankee fan.

SCOOP – (Picking up his reporter pad)Okay then. When will the final end come for all humanity?

JESUS – “Have you got a watch?

SCOOP – “Oh no!

JESUS –Relax! Just joking with you again. Touchy. Touchy. My boss doesn’t allow me to give an exact time, or date, when the final reckoning will come. He just wants everyone to repent right now and be ready for the big day.

SCOOP – “Gee… I’m not sure if my heart can take too many more jokes like that. Okay then. I’m an American. My question is simple. Is Donald J. Trump the spawn of the Devil, or the Devil himself?

JESUS –In the Bible I warned of false prophets. Trump is a cult leader, aka a false prophet, and a threat to your republic and the whole world. That’s the reason why I’m here with you today. The Big Guy and I decided to bless your efforts at educating Americans and the rest of the world about the cataclysmic consequences of letting Trump get re-elected. president.

Scoop put his reporter pad down on the bare table and bowed his head. For once he was speechless. He suddenly had a new mission in life. A new, and more noble purpose than making money and living like a hermit. When he looked up Jesus was gone and there was a piece of paper lying in the center of the table.

“Actually, I wasn’t joking. The Yankees do win it all this season!”

-30-

The Last Match

The wind hammered down the narrow Sierra Nevada Mountain trail, followed by hail and then a blanket of snow as the man looked for somewhere safe to go…


he was covered by his old slicker poncho pulled over his sagging hat and leather clothes, a lone traveler who was nearly froze, but who was able to walk even though he couldn’t feel his toes……

when the snow stopped and the night crept up like a rattlesnake, the traveler had a decision to make, if he were to survive, he’d have to find shelter to stay alive…

when to his relief he found a small cave in the mountain’s side, an opportunity to get warm inside, where his biggest desire was to start a fire so the heat could get to his frozen feet…

he gathered some twigs and leaves off the dirt and knelt down while drawing a little cardboard box from his shirt, that to his horror only contained one match…

that he could feel and dimly see, a wooden key to warmth and being frostbite free, he sat there for what felt like an eternity, hesitant to see if the match would be able to relieve his misery…

holding the cardboard box on its side he took the match and let it slide across the rough surface and suddenly there was a spark, he lit the fire, and chased away the cold and the dark.

-30-

Mountains With Secrets

majestic giants rising from the earth

mountains have pierced the skies

since their ancient birth

they all have secrets to tell

about human beings

seeking hell

in their dark interiors

in caves and tunnels

with craggy exteriors

but doorways nonetheless

to the nether regions

and the hot mess

of mankind’s myths

-30-

Wordy

they say I’m too wordy

and maybe that’s so

words drip from my keyboard

and I never know where they’ll go

I try to paint with words

like Pablo Picasso

wordy me

I enjoy sharing

history

and a good mystery

with words in a row

like ducklings

that know where to go

-30-

Growing Old

I still don’t recognize that old man in the mirror who stares back at me mockingly

I remind him that I’m still young… at heart

not some old warhorse pulling a cart

I’m still able to walk unaided by a cane

Froggie is still my knickname

in my mind’s eye

I see an entirely different guy

a basketball player and a fan

a very active young man

that stranger in the mirror

is vaguely familiar

a reflection of days past

that went by too fast

-30-

A Deadly Game of Blackjack

I nervously eyed the dealer as I settled into my chair. It took all of my will power to resist wiping off the ribbon of sweat that trailed down from my high forehead. I knew Frankie and Sal were watching me closely. Looking for signs of fear. Their boss, Big Boy Roy Zizzi was sitting at a nearby table sipping Bourbon and playing footsies with a red-hot blond who laughed shrilly at everything he said. I waited for someone to explain the rules of the game I was about to play.

Finally Big Boy Roy Zizzi got up and ambled over to me. His girth stretched the dress jacket to the point of tearing as he bent over and said,

Myron my friend you’re a lucky man. I could have shot you in the back of the head and your body deposited in the desert by Frankie and Sal. But we’ve known each other for years before our little fall out here. You were my number one soldier. But your greed got the better of you. When I found out you were skimming money from two of my casinos. I had to take some swift action. The rules are simple. You get 10 chips. Bet any amount you want. But if you lose those 10 chips you get a free ride to the desert east of here.

Wait a moment! How can I win and save my life?

“You have to double those 10 chips. Your dealer tonight is Belinda who just happens to be the best dealer in both of my casinos. She has a great sense of humor. So, let’s get this party started!”

I looked up and caught Belinda smiling. She seemed to be enjoying herself. I looked at the card shoe next to her hand. It held four decks. It was better than playing against one deck in my experience. Especially if there were other players at the table. But now it was just me and Belinda. I watched her quickly deal the cards. It was like watching water flow in one smooth movement.

My face card was a king. My down card was a four. She had an Ace. Her down card could be anything. Her hand hovered over the shoe as she asked me what I wanted to do?

“Stand,” I replied.

She flipped over her down card. “Eight!” she almost purred. I lost the first hand and found myself staring down at the nine remaining chips with a mounting fear.

For 12 grueling hours I managed to stay afloat but was down to two chips. After a few hours I grew to understand that she could have won every hand but kept giving me last-minute reprieves. Frankie and Sal were slumped down in two chairs by the wall and Big Boy Roy Zizzi – to his credit – was still going strong at the table with his blond bimbo.

I took a chance and bet my last two chips. I was exhausted from the tension. Belinda’s mysterious smile gave me hope. My face card was a 10. My down card was a jack. Her face card was a seven. When she turned over her down card it was a six. She drew another card. It was a queen. She busted!

Let it ride,” I told her. And I won the next hand. And the next. I was up to 16 chips and flush with excitement when Big Boy Roy Zizzi broke away from his blond bimbo and waddled over to our table. He looked at my 16 coins. Then at Belinda. He nodded. She nodded and smiled at me. I lost.

-30-

The Messenger

When I walked down the street with the sign people mocked me. I carried it for years from one major city to the next, enduring the laughing and crude language stoically.

It’s a hard thing to make people aware of what’s happening in the world and a harder thing to stick to one’s own beliefs when they stand alone. I don’t remember now if I had a vision or if it was calculated guess based upon world affairs. Or climate change. It doesn’t really matter now. Does it?

I was right.

As I stocked my underground bunker over the years, I tried to think of ways to get the word out. I was a solitary sentinel sent (by who?) to break the news. But people didn’t see me as a messenger. They saw a tired old man with a limp who should probably be committed to a nice safe asylum. Everyone was moving so fast back then. Cities looked like ant colonies with people flooding the streets in steady steams of humanity that flowed in and out of buildings that stretched on for miles. I lost count of how many cities I traveled to after sixty-six. If I’d had the means I would have traveled around the world with the sign. But I didn’t. I had to use what money I could drum up over the years to build my bunker in a national forest. It was the safest place I could create. I just want you to know I tried my best to share the message, but I was limited physically and financially.

When the end finally came the earth around me convulsed for days. Somehow my bunker survived the mighty tremors, but I discovered the escape hatch was blocked. My bunker became my coffin. I’d accumulated enough supplies to last at least ten years. I’m writing this to explain what happened to me if my tomb is discovered by (future?) generations. I’ll assume someone is going to read this someday and their going to wonder why those supplies I mentioned are still here. Turns out my air intake system isn’t working (no surprise) and I’m living on the last of the oxygen in this forty-foot by twenty-foot bunker.

Having trouble breathing...

The Last Lighthouse

Ajax carefully climbed down the circular stairway inside the lighthouse until he reached the ground floor.

His seventy-year-old bones creaked with the effort as he opened the heavy oaken door to look out into the night. A choppy sea illuminated by bright stars and the moon went on for eternity. He sighed. Nostalgia washed over him like the restless surf outside as he considered his solitary existence. He looked up at the sturdy stone tower that had stood since ancient times silently guarding the coast. Watching. Waiting. Warning ships at sea.

Memories like shadows on the shore darted across his mind as he recalled 63 years ago when he and his father escaped the cities and found the lighthouse unhabituated. The war to end all wars had finally come. Mankind was nearly extinct. Ajax’s father died twenty years ago. He hadn’t seen another human since. But, in his heart, he felt there had to be more survivors somewhere on the planet. The thought helped him wake up in the mornings after dreaming about making contact again with another human. It stopped him from sporadically screaming in frenzied fits like the early days after his father died. Without this last hope he would have walked out into the turbulent breakers and disappeared long ago.

Ajax started a diary two years after his father passed away while sleeping in the lighthouses crude bed. He was nine years old at the time. His father had taught him to read and write and he was an eager learner. He started with observations after going on long walks along the rugged coast. After a year he started sharing inner thoughts and desires. The diary took on a life and he held many in-depth conversations with it. The years were scattered across numerous notebooks that he stacked up next to his bed on a bench. The writing was small in order to conserve space.

The notebooks came from what was once a school about a mile from the lighthouse. Inside the rubble Ajax found blank notebooks, boxes of pencils, chalk, and small jars of acrylic paint. He wrapped his loot up with a torn and faded American flag from a classroom that was still standing and walked back to the lighthouse with a light step. It was a good day.

Food was never a problem. His father who was a master forager and gardener had discovered a patch of fertile ground inland within easy access. He planted potatoes, vegetables and wheat and they always had something to eat. There were no animals to hunt. They too had disappeared. It was a good diet that helped them to stay healthy. The storeroom was always well stocked.

The lighthouse was a beacon of hope for Ajax. He lit the fire in the dome every night with wood gathered along the coast. He imagined someday someone would see it and sail to him. Guided by the light. And during the day he looked out the thin windows at the panorama that stretched for miles, disappearing into a mountain range that always had a blanket of snow on the top. It was graced with green fields. Lush rows of berry bushes. It was full of trees and streams, but without any life that he could see. Despite that he looked out every day hoping to see movement. Any sign of life.

One-night hours after setting the blaze in the tower Ajax was gazing at the dark purplish horizon when he saw some lights flicker momentarily! A steady row of lights appeared shortly afterward, and he felt his pulse race with excitement. They had to be ships. Not one, but three were moving steadily in the direction of the lighthouse. His heart was racing as he scrambled down the circular staircase and stepped outside the door. He wasn’t worried about how he looked. The rags that hung on his slim frame were fine. He doubted the new arrivals would make much of his long beard and tattered toga. He felt giddy that his dreams appeared to become real and that in a matter of hours he would be talking with another human!

Meanwhile.

Ahoy, captain! A lighthouse ahead!”

Captain Igor Malinski grunted in satisfaction. His warship, an old battleship from the eastern bloc, had destroyed every lighthouse along the entire coastline as ordered. Or so they thought until a scout ship reported Ajax’s lighthouse.

As the sun rose slowly over the horizon Ajax woke up and could see three ships. He was too excited to get something to eat and stretched his skinny arms upward, eyes upward, welcoming the light. He didn’t see the huge cannons pivoting towards him.

Fire!” the captain shouted.

THE END

An Empty Theatre

the wind whistled through the rafters of the theatre, producing a symphony for the stars

who no longer danced on the wooden stage below

where dramas and comedies once would flow

ghosts of performances long gone gathered in the rickety seats to watch their lives unfold

their personal stories never to be told

only the playwright’s stories will never get old

Laughter and tears

dominated for years

then the bombs came

and nothing was ever the same

Let Me Off At The Next Corner

You don’t even have to slow down the car

I’ll jump out wherever you are

the trip has been long and hard

and life has left me scarred

I saw things I shouldn’t see

leaving me with PTSD

now all I want to be

is history

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