Tell Me About Your Personal Relationship With Jesus

So, it’s like, I got this amazing new super plush white sofa last weekend, and it’s so perfect, so fantastically super-plush smoothe that I’m afraid to even sit on it. Like, I can’t sit on it. All week, instead of sitting on the sofa, I’ve been sitting in my old brown recliner just staring at the damn thing every night, almost in awe of it, how super-plush and perfect it is. Like this is the one perfect thing I own, totally afraid I’m going to fuck it up.

And then it’s Friday night and I hear that goofy drumroll knock he always does on my door and I know it’s Jesus.

"Entre vous, bro" I yell and he floats through the door and when he sees the sofa he’s like, "Dude! That’s one sweet sofa bro. That looks so friggin super-plush! When’ja get it?"

And I’m like, "Last weekend. Yeah, the funny thing is I’m afraid to even sit – "

And to my horror he walks right over to it and plops himself down right in the middle cushion. He’s got his arms spread out across the backrest. He’s laying his head back and swiveling it from side to side. And for a minute, I’m standing there in stunned disbelief as he’s rubbing the backrest with his hands and going, "Man, is this nice or is this nice?" as he is smearing the blood from his Holy Wounds into my new super-plush sofa and poking holes in the backrest’s cushion with his Crown of Thorns and I’m like, "Jesus! Dude, what the fuck?"

And he’s like, "What?"

And I’m like, "Dude, you’re fucking bleeding all over the my new white sofa? That’s a $2,500 sofa you just smeared blood all over."

And he looks at me and says, "Chill, dude."

And then he swivels himself and gets horizontal on the thing, "Man, this is beaucoup comfortable. You’re going to get a lot of sack time…"

And he’s going on and on and, as he is, his Crown of Thorns is cutting the shit out of the armrest his heads on – not to mention all the blood – while the Holy Wounds on his feet are totally fucking up the other armrest.

"Jesus! What the fuck Jesus?"

"Huh?"

"Dude, you’ve been here like 2 minutes and you’ve totally fuckin’ destroyed my super-plush new white sofa is ‘what the fuck.’ Look at all that blood!"

And he sits up and looks at me without even looking at the carnage he’s wrought.

"Looks like I picked the wrong night to stop by amigo," and he gets up and starts heading for the door.

And I’m like, "Amigo? Amigo? Dude! Don’t amigo me, dude! Turn around! Look at that mess? It’s looks like a serial killer used my super-plush new white sofa as a kill table!"

And he smiles and says, "No worries. It’s all good. I got you covered bro."

And I look back and the sofa’s all white again, back to it’s super-plush, pristine state.

And he looks at me, waiting, like he’s expecting me to thank him.

"What?"

"You could at least say ‘thanks for the solid bro.’"

"’Thanks for the solid bro?’ Thanks for fucking up my perfect white super-plush sofa -"

"Dude, dude, dude. Don’t get hung up on things. What am I always telling you? Things are temporary. That thing’s going to be in pieces in a landfill someday. If not that, it’ll be in a storage locker someday and when they open up the thing, they’re going to look at it and say ‘What kind of fuckin’ asshole would buy this thing?"

And deep down I know he’s right, but I stare at him for a while, trying to guilt trip him.

"C’mon man. It’s Fish Taco Friday at Manny’s. Let’s choke down some fish tacos and then hit the scene."

And I think a plate of fish tacos would be pretty sweet.

"Fine, just let me throw on some different clothes," I say. "And whatever you do – DO NOT go near that sofa again."

And a couple of minutes later, as I’m heading out from the bedroom, I see he’s fast asleep on the sofa.

And instead of waking him up and yelling at him, I sit in the recliner and stare at him and wish I could be more like Jesus.

I end up ordering some pizzas and some sixes and after we chow down he lets me beat him at Madden a couple times before we head out.

And that ends up being the night I meet Debra, who hated that sofa the minute she saw it.

And twenty years later, I have no idea where that sofa even is.

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