How I hornswoggled the high priest

Dear diary,

Alright, so, now I head over to the house of Caiaphas the high priest. And all my legions of angels mingle with all of his scribes and his elders, who happen to be assembled there, heavily armed and waiting for our visit.

And let me just note that my most dipshit disciple, known as Peter the Dunce, came and crouched in the corner of the room, to spy on our meeting, so that he might learn how to turn a profit from this business of religion. And we all knew that he was there — he’s not hard to spot, as he’s rather corpulent — but we pretended that his presence was truly stealth, because we knew that he wouldn’t understand an iota of what we’re discussing.

So the high priest’s sorcerers cast false accusations at me, and I die (truly, this time) but then I resurrect. And all my angels have a laugh.

Now some fool enters the room holding a model of the Holy Temple of God; and affixed to this replica is a label reading “Exhibit B-4”. The intruder sets this thing directly in front of me on the supper table, and, in the process, slides away the plate that I’ve been dining from; therefore, now, in order to access my poultry, fish, venison, ham, and goose meat with eggs, I must lean to the right and reach around the miniature mockup. This inconvenience is annoying.

Then I quip, very loudly so that the whole room can hear me, nodding toward the Toy-sized Temple: “What is this thing, some sort of birthday cake? But where are the candles? — maybe I should insert a few and then light and blow them out.”

All my angels double over, guffawing, while Caiaphas the high priest’s lawyers sit stiffly and remain stone-faced. So I retrieve four wax candles from the pocket of my suit coat, and I force them into the holes at the top of the Temple — one at each corner — then I ignite them with a standard butane lighter. Now I inhale deeply and snuff out their flames with my wind. Then I smash my fist down onto the replica, and it flattens; and the lawyers all gasp. Snapping my fingers, I say: 

“I command you, O Holy Temple re-fashioned in miniature, to bake yourself back up and rise, using the leaven of these Pharisees, so that you become whole again and have no more need of physicians like me.”

Then the crushed toy temple begins to glow red while it expands like an inflatable castle; and, after three days, it returns to its former shape. 

I clap my hands to regain everyone’s attention and announce: “I told you so! Look how I was able to destroy the LORD’s summer home and build it back in just three banking days.”

Everyone groans, since I reminded them that they’re all probably late for their morning meeting.

Then Caiaphas the high priest arises and shouts unto his mobs of religious lawyers and other governmental scum: “Answerest the man nothing? How much must I pay you to assassinate this flibbertigibbet!?”

And they reply in unison: “We already did that, but he kept on resurrecting.”

So Caiaphas yells: “Then do it again! What are you, quitters!?”

So they murder me an umpteenth time, yet I spring out from Hell; but then I find that I’m too tired to speak or stand without noticeably wobbling, so I fall back into Hell and remain there for more than two thousand Christian years.

Then, on my third (and truest) coming, Caiaphas the high priest seems more than usually bothered. He is watching a play that is being performed by his household unitards, when I arise; and, since I say nothing, he stammers: “I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell me whether thou be Christ or Antichrist.”

(Caiaphas thinks that I’m legally bound to tell him the truth on this matter, just as plainclothes cops must blow their own cover, if questioned politely.)

I say: “Can’t you take a hint? Don’t you see me standing here, right where you last expected and least wanted me? — You should know by now, since I told you a zillion times: I am the Abomination of Desolation from Matthew 24:15. Thus the answer is both and neither christ nor anti. The only difference is that now you and your goons helped me beat the previous world-record for successive resurrections, so this is the third time I’m back in your living room, sitting on the right hand of power and coming in the clouds from outer space.” And at this point a hand reaches down from the sky and slips itself under me, so that I can sit upon it; while wispy, vaporous mists from heaven caress my blue body.

Caiaphas now turns to his legal army, who are all fornicating with my legions of angels (for my angels have seduced them, as was our plan — because angels can change their gender at will, so they can find a way to fool any erotic preference, even the weirdo perversions of corporate lawyers), and he sez: “What plan of attack do you suggest that we implement to solve this murder-mystery!?”

And the Law Team sez unanimously: “Kill him again.”

And Caiaphas sez: “Yet again!? You can’t be serious! Is this some sort of joke?”

And they nod. So he does so:

After addressing me as “Caiaphas” to my face, as if I’m a looking glass, and then buffeting me, I shatter for real.

§

When Dawn extends her rosy middle finger, all the lawyers bury me. And the governor shuffles forth and says pleasant untruths, by way of a eulogy: “Bryan was a good egg, etc.” 

Now my earthly mother who betrayed me, seeing that I am finally decomposing with forbidden fruit flies swarming me, sez to the high priest and elders of the church: “I have sinned better than ever, in that I have betrayed exuberance in favor of serving prudence. Take back your salvation, I do not want it.” And she casts down the glowing Orb of Life Eternal from the SUN GOD that the priests and lawyers and elders had offered her to desolate this Abomination that she had neglected to abort.

Then my mother spins a tangled web and hangs herself from the branch of the Tree of Knowledge, using some gossamer and just a dash of deception. — In her last prayer, she begged the Lord to forgive all her sins. But, long ago, God had stopped listening to my mom’s prayers, because they were so blah; therefore, instead of ending up in Heaven, my mother’s spirit landed in Hell, where she remains forever and ever. 

But I myself went to Paradise, where I met my best friend Blake. (I have many best friends.) And all the lawyers as well as the high priest took back the Orb of Eternal Life from the SUN GOD that my mother unwisely returned, and they all ended up in Heaven as the easiest Effables (the opposite of Ineffables), available eternally for everyone to fornicate with under common knowledge.

Yet Caiaphas the high priest had a wife who was a virgin to none but him, and, when she saw how his lawyers were treating me on Earth earlier, before Heaven suckt them up to get effed for aye, she sent unto her husband, saying, “Do not torment that strange man: for I have been lapping pleasures from last night to this day, in a dream, because of him.” But Caiaphas didn’t listen. So I let down a golden rope and lifted his wife into heaven without her needing to expire, and she’s my most current Magdalene of the Month. Just like Enoch, who walked with God — I mean, because of the not-dying part; for God swindled death by beaming Enoch up, and he became Metatron, who is not among my Magdalenes. (Recall the role of Enoch was played by Joseph Smith in my production — he has a sizable harem of his own: he doesn’t need to be part of mine!) The point is that things are really working out well for me, in the Christian afterlife. — “Why did I not believe in this religion when I was an earthling!” I often remark to myself, after angel-coupling.

And the United States tried to aim a cannon at me from spacetime, so that they might hit my heavenly mansion with a nuke bomb; but I dodged it, because there wasn’t even a projectile but only a flag that came out of the barrel, which read: “THIS IS FOR BRYAN KING OF THE WHIM THAT IS NOT OF OUR WORLD”, which, when translated, officially anoints me The Emperor of Ice Cream.

And there were magi who came and visited my new hill, and they introduced themselves and Moses and Elijah. So, as a blessing, I had my Angelo Michael make these magi into statues. And I displayed Moses prominently in my front yard; while no one has yet discovered where I put Elijah.

Now, after all the above had transpired, behold: a ghost came screeching by and bore children to everyone. And I caught this shade by its tongue with my dream-grabber mechanism, which looks sort of like a fly-swatter with opposable digits, and I wrapped the thing in a clean linen cloth.

Then I tossed the cloth in a hamper, and I think my maids washed it.