Yesterday was my good friend Sean's birthday and as I do with all my good friends, I missed his birthday. I've known Sean nine years and I don't think I've ever managed to call him or send a card on his special day, so to make up for it, I'm honoring Sean in this post by reprinting a short-story I wrote for him and his partner, Robert, on their last anniversary. It's a little sci-fi story about gays, George W. Bush and, of course, his side-kick, Jesus. Enjoy!
Robby and Sean Celebrate Ten Happy Years
October, 2005
It had been a year since Robby and Sean last celebrated their union, and 11 months since the country accelerated toward its inevitable destruction and voted George W. Bush back into office. On election day 2004, Robby and Sean voted their conscience, and with a sure sense of resolute ethics, cast their ballot for John Kerry. They had personally campaigned hard against Bush, convincing a few of their friends who thought they might vote Republican to do the right thing and vote against the little cockeyed cowboy from Texas, the redneck-right-winger, George W. and to vote for a man the world could actually accept as president. Their efforts, no matter how noble and true-hearted, fell short. They underestimated the injudicious masses, and their false perception that being Republican somehow meant you were either successful or a good Christian, or both.
To shake off the events of the last year, where France and Germany formally called America “an enemy of the world,” where young men were called to draft, where women lost the right to chose, where gay bashing was quickly becoming politically correct, and where wearing solid black was seen as a liberal fashion statement, the two lovers decided to go to Las Vegas to celebrate the only pure thing in their lives, their love. Also, Robby was concerned that his long time dear friend Donna was having a nervous breakdown over the fact that a fascist had been reelected in a country she had previously thought was democratic.
They made the four-hour drive to Vegas in high spirits, ignoring the bumper stickers of Orange County republicans on their way to Sin City for the weekend. Bumper stickers that read: Jesus and W. Don’t Break for Liberals. Or: Jesus is My Personal Friend and W’s. Or What Would Jesus and W. Do?
The bumper stickers came as no surprise to Robby and Sean. In the last year, W had declared war on Iran and Syria, and had his sights on little Dubai just because Cheney wanted to open a branch office of Halliburton there. With the war in Iraq taking in excess of over 3,000 young American lives, and the addition of the new wars, plus the half-hearted attempt in Afghanistan, it seemed everyone under 30 was in fatigues and wintering in the Middle East. In this time of despair, rather than blaming themselves for voting in a cockeyed cowboy from Texas with large ears and a speech impediment, the country had turned full throttle to Jesus, who had suddenly become the new Britney Spears, who was the new Madonna.
Having a personal relationship with Him had become the new rage, and its leader was W, who had nightly conversations with Jmosthighest, as W called him, “Jmosthighest wants us to fight the Middle East,” W said in his one and only press conference during the past year. It seemed to bother no one that he was sitting on Dick Cheney’s lap the whole time, and that the neocon VP’s hand was resting in the middle of W’s back, or that as W spoke, the VP’s lips moved slightly.
“Watch out, they’re republicans,” said Robby as Sean passed an SUV with a bumper sticker that read, “Gamble on Jesus and W!”
“I hope we make it to Vegas,” Sean said. “I read a story about how republicans are pulling over gays on the highway and making them wear cable knit sweaters and teaching them how to swing golf clubs.”
“I heard the republicans have a gay slave trade in Scottsdale,” Robby said, shivering. They hold you hostage for years and make you cook and decorate.”
“And pray,” Sean said, nodding knowingly. “I heard that, too.”
They made it to Vegas okay, but when arrived and saw the state Donna was in, they almost wished that they had been sold into gay slavery in Scottsdale.
“What’s wrong with her?” Robby asked Roger, her near-deaf Kung Fu fighting husband.
“Strong? Yes, she is strong, especially for such a small woman, isn’t she,” Roger said, mishearing. “But I tell you, she hasn’t been the same since W was reelected.”
“Whores,” Donna said, her head twitching sharply and her eyes blinking rapidly. “Ties with the Arabs. In bed with big corporation. Whore minions to the rich.”
She wore a faded blue Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt. Her gray Korat cats, Sammy and Liza wore little cat shirts, matching hers. They sat on their mommy’s lap in the living room. Roger had slipped a blanket over her legs, and she stared out the window, makeupless, twitching, repeating invectives against the neocon stronghold. “Jesus is just a marketing tool. Whore minions of the Arabs and corporate America. Stole the first election.” Joni Mitchell played softly from the stereo.
“I knew it was bad,” Robby said, shaking his head, “I had no idea it was this bad. She’s listening to Joni Mitchell.”
Roger whispered to the two men, “She’s shut down completely. She doesn’t eat. I can’t even get her to drink red wine.”
They men slapped their hands to their mouth, appalled at what they had just heard.
“Can’t get an abortion anymore. Hate kids,” Donna yelped. “Bastard can’t say nuclear.”
“She just blurts out fragmented sentences. They were once complete statements, her battle cries against Bush,” Roger said.
“Cockeyed mother-f%^&*r Texan. Wears cowboy boots to state dinners.”
“She’s not making sense now,” he said, shrugging, a tear coming to his eyes. “I mean, did you hear her? She just said ‘black eyed peas are for spanking.”
“Laura and I . . .” Donna said, and Robby and Sean knew she was mocking W and his drawal. “Daddy, did I win yet? Daddy, did I win?” She laughed a secret laugh, and the three men looked at one another sadly. Sammy the cat looked up at his mommy and meowed, sounding scared. The humans didn’t understand Cat, but what he just said was, “mother-f@#$%&g republicans drove my mommy crazy and now she never feeds me. I’m hungry damnit, vote a Democrat in office, will you?”
Robby and Sean decided to go for a walk in the park near Donna and Roger’s house. They hadn’t gotten far, when they ran into Jesus. He was wearing his signature outfit, a white shapeless shift and flat sandals. His hairy legs looked pale and gangly peaking out under the hem of his shift. He was walking his dog, a Standard Poodle named Pontius Pilot, who Jesus had nicknamed Ponty.
“Jesus H. Christ, what are you doing here?” Sean asked.”
“Well as of last night, I was headlining at Caesars,” Jesus says. “I wrote and directed a play called ‘End Days.’”
“We’re actors,” Robby said. “Our last play was An Appalachian Hamlet, but it had to close because critics thought it was obvious and redundant that a guy from Kentucky would have something going on with his mother.”
“I saw that,” Jesus said, “Course, I see everything.”
“Really, because you’re omnipotent?” Sean asked.
“Oh no. I just like to go to all the plays.”
The men nodded, understanding and sharing an affection for theater.
“I sympathize with you on having to close your play. I just opened and closed ‘End Days’ last night.”
“Why?” The guys asked.
“People are pissed because they suddenly realized that I’m actually liberal. I guess my 1,500 hundred years of fame are coming to an end.”
Ponty barked, showing his disapproval of Jesus becoming a has-been overnight.
“Well, most people only get 15 minutes,” said Sean.
“Yeah, well being son of God, I got a bit more. Good thing I’m a nice guy. You know what they say, be nice to people on your way up because you have to see them again on your way down.”
They all laughed appreciatively.
“What does this do to your relationship with W?” Robby asked. “Has he forsaken you?”
“What? W? That cockeyed brat from Texas? We never had any sort of relationship.”
“But he said you were personal friends,” Robby said.
“Yeah, yeah. Like I’ve got time for him. I’m too busy helping the suffering victims he has waged war against. The soldiers, the citizens of Iraq. The French.”
“Donna said he was evil,” the boys said in unison.
“Evil? Hell, Satin won’t even have anything to do with him. W is Cheney’s lap dog and let me tell you, talk about evil, Cheney scares the bejesus out of Beezelbug.”
“Hey, can you work a miracle?” Sean asked. “Our friend Donna lost it when Bush got reelected.”
“Yes, she has lost her faith. I have heard her pleas late at night. She keeps praying for a recount, and for more Prada in her closet. I can’t help with either. Both are forces larger than Faith, though Prada and Faith are cousins. But I can help her restore her sanity,” Jesus said. “Come, my gay lambs, let us go so I can heal your friend.”
They were too late. Roger met them at the door, sweat matting hair to his forehead. “I was just coming to find you. Donna stole the keys to the Audie TT and she’s gone down to the Strip. She heard Bush was in town talking at a Conservatives Against Jesus Because He’s Liberal Rally.
“Good God, let’s go,” Jesus said.
“Okay, well that dog can’t stay in my house,” Roger said. “Dogs aren’t clean.”
“But he’s a dog of the Lord,” Robby said.
“A log and a board? What do you want with those?” Roger asked? “Oh, I get it, we’re going to bash Bush.”
“No, that’s what this story is about,” Sean said.
They stuck Ponty in the back yard, and he peered in through the window at Sammy and
Liza, who peered back, and told him in animal talk that their mommy had gone nuts because Bush used Jesus as a marketing tool and got reelected. Ponty said, “how do you think I feel? Jesus lost his fame because he was outed as a liberal.”
“Humans suck,” all three animals agreed.
Robby, Sean, Roger and Jesus stood in the stadium interest and watched a nightmare unfold: conservatives having their idea of fun. There was 20,000 of them en masse at the MGM auditorium. W and Cheny were center stage, whipping the conservatives into a frenzy.
“What are we?” W yelled?
“Arrogant!” the crowd yelled!
“Do we feel superior to liberals?”
“You bet!”
“Who do we hate?”
“Flip flopping liberals!”
“Who else do we hate?”
“Jesus!”
“Why do we hate Jesus?”
“He’s a liberal!”
The crowd roared with their own self-approval. Bush smiled his cockey, smug grin and Cheney parted his lips, unsure of what joy looked like. All of sudden, Donna rushed the stage in her Kerry/Edwards 2004 t-shirt and jumped on W’s back, her hands wrapped around his eyes.
“Guess who, you cockeyed cowboy? I’m your worst nightmare. A liberal on your back!”
Cheney screamed and ran off the stage. He hadn’t avoided Vietnam five times just to get into a fight with a girl in Vegas. Bush started screaming, “Daddy, Carl Rove, Daddy, Carl Rove, Help!”
Carl Rove rushed to the stage to pull Donna off of W. Robby, Sean, Jesus and Roger made their way to the stage, Roger kicked box secret service agents who tried to block their passage. Jesus raised his hand and parted the crowd.
Meanwhile, Donna punched Rove in the eye. “I know your marketing tricks, you hobag.
I’m in marketing, too. I see what you are doing. Using Jesus as a marketing tool! You’ll burn in hell with the likes of me, republican!”
The guys made it to the stage and Jesus put his hand on Carl Rove’s forhead. Immediately, a demon stepped out from inside Rove and the body of Rove fell to the ground in a melted heap.
“I’ll get you Jesus!” the demon hissed. He looked like a cross between Bill O’Reilly and Ann Coulter.
“Hell isn’t good enough for you, demon,” Jesus said. “Off to Texas you go.” And with that, Jesus banished the evil one to Tyler. “He’s confined to a house in the suburbs,” Jesus told the crowd, “where he has to listen to Toby Keith for eternity.”
The stunned crowd gasped to silence. Donna was still on Bush’s back, sputtering phrases like “Arab minion whore.”
Jesus his hand on Donna’s head and said, “Calm down, child.”
“Give me my president,” Donna said. “I want my president.”
Jesus waved his hand and Al Gore appeared on stage. “My fellow American,” he said to Donna.
“Not him. My president,” Donna said.
Jesus nodded, understanding. Another wave of the hand and Jimmy Carter appeared on stage, replacing Bush, who had disappeared back to Texas. “I’m going to triple federal park land, again,” Carter told Donna. That calmed her only slightly. “I’ll ensure that every woman has the right to chose.”
She calmed a bit more.
Then he brought out the big gun. “From here on out, every American must wear only Prada. And Prada must be affordable without losing any quality.”
She fell to Carter’s knees. “Thank you, oh kind one.”
“Let’s go have some peanuts,” Carter said, “Afterwards, I’ll read you some of my poetry.”
“I can talk in complete sentences again,” Donna said. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“My pleasure. Go, articulate to the world the atrocities caused by conservatives. The bad clothes worn, the poor taste in music, the blandness they have spread across this nation like mayonnaise on a Wonder bread sandwich, oh, and don’t forget that they’ve chipped away at civil liberties and legislated morality .”
“You truly are a liberal holy one,” Donna said,
“We all are, except Allah. He’s just nuts,” Jesus whispered to her.
Later, Robby, Sean and Jesus sat in the casino bar at Caesars drinking martinis.
“Here’s to another ten happy years,” Jesus said, raising his glass to the guys.
“Amen,” they said.
“Hey look, I’ve decided to take ‘End Days’ on the road. My two main actors quite, though, because I’m liberal and they think that’s not very Christian of me.”
“Republican actors? I thought that only happened to former Nazi’s,” Sean said.
“I know, just my luck!” Jesus agreed. “Anyway, I’m going to reopen my show in France. They think I’m a stitch over there. All of a sudden, I’m the new Jerry Lewis. You guys wanna star in my show?”
Robby and Sean looked at each other. The last ten years had brought many changes in their lives. They had supported each other through good times and bad, through the happy Clinton years and through the dark age of W. Now that Carter was President again, there was peace in the middle east, though gas prices were higher than ever. Most importantly, everyone was wearing Prada, and it was affordable. You couldn’t have everything, except a good wardrobe. It was the beginning of better times.
“We’re in this through thick and thin,” Robby said.
“Through Republicans and Democrats,” Sean said.
“Through right wing and left wing,” Robby said.
“I get it, you’ve been through it all. So do you want to move to France or not.”
“Okay, but we have to be back in three years,” Robby said.
“In time for the next election,” Sean added.
Jesus, the all-knowing nodded. “I understand. You want to come back for Hillary’s campaign.”
“Praise God,” Robby said.
“Thank you,” Jesus said.
