I am now a Christian. Here is a short narrative on how I became the very thing I always said I wouldn’t become.

Jesus Christ Superstar had the nerve to show up at my doorstep, at noon no less. I guess he thought he would just blow me away with profundity by showing up at the densest hour of day.

I let him into the house but it cost him dearly. I said, Jesus, are you a homosexual? When you were hanging on that stupid cross trying to impress everyone, lacking the discipline to be normal, tell me, scouts honor, were you thinking of pussy or cock?

He didn’t say anything, of course, but he never says anything, anything much, these messiahs always have low IQs. He just sat on my terribly ripped up brown couch and sat there looking like a dumbass—I spoke to him again, this time more forcibly I said, How about sucking my cock, Son of Man? Come on Jessie, why not? You’re the Son of God; you can do whatever you want.

The Son of Man isn’t too smart, as I’ve said, and, sure enough, he got up and walked over to me and unzipped my jeans. He sucked long and hard at my pristine white cock until the room turned the color of the finest alabaster ever emitted in this dimension of reality. We might call it a blue reality, for sake of clarity. The room was full of cum and I was drowning in my own jism until he commanded the cum to depart, and it did instantly, and then, in a puff of smoke, he ascended up the chimney like Saint Nick and was gone.

And this was how I came to believe in Jesus Christ, the Nazarene.