I think that Jesus didn’t have children
Because if he had children then
He’d make them sandwiches, but they’d complain
“Daaad… pastrami and rise again?”
—————————————————————
On the other hand, Moses was famous
For his sandwiches. That’s what I hear.
In fact, back in Egypt I heard he was voted
The Nigev desert’s manna the year.
Filed under Poems
When Jesus was a baby,
Two or three years maybe,
He probably had a phase of asking “why?”
“Why was I born a Jew?”
“Why’re the sky and water blue?”
“Why don’t wise men ever bring me pie?”
And I’m inspired by Mary,
As her baby she did carry
For It must take considerable skill
To look at Baby God
With a motherly sort of nod
And answer him “Because it is your will.”
Filed under Poems
Silent bells, silent bells,
Silent all the way.
We’re not happy but at least
The priests don’t know we’re gay. Hey!
Silent bells, silent bells,
Silence for the win!
Here’s to seven weeks to stew
In our original sin!
…
Silent night, holy night.
Jesus ate not a bite.
Satan says “make that rock into bread.”
Jesus’s like “Naw, I’ll come back from the dead.”
Then he gave up Facebook!
(If you doubt it go read the good book).
…
On the first day of Lent
Jehovah gave to me…
Hot sand and misery!
On the second day of lent
Jehovah gave to me
No 🤬ing food
And some hot sand and misery!
On the third day of Lent
Jehovah gave to me…
(Use your imagination, we’ve got 38 more days of this 💩)!
…
Filed under Poems
Jesus’s phone rang, and so he asked “who dis?”
The voice told him “my name is Judas.”
Looking back on it now
Jesus needn’t’ve said “ow”
If right then he had fled to Barbudas.
It was a positive sign and a terrible truth,
A cross the week after, an x made of pink.
All her hopes and dreams were replaced by two lines.
Her destiny lay in the sink.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life,
But she knew precisely what she must.
It didn’t matter that she herself was a child
Or whether or not it was just.
All that mattered to her was an image
That sang and laughed inside her soul
Of the tiny unborn child
That had come to make her whole.
Seven months and a ton of vitamins later
She’d painted the bedroom blue
And hung a tiny mobile
And purchased the baby shoes.
All the while she sang and smiled,
And now and then she wept,
Her entire life an accident
That kicked her while she slept.
Thirty days and thirty nights
And the sun rose, orange and gray.
Thirty times more came the morning sun,
Rosy pink, each happy day.
Until arose the sixtieth sun,
And the mother’s sweet sixteen,
And the golden sky brought a bolt of pain,
And the hospital bed was clean.
The doctor came, all dressed in white,
The child’s hair was red.
And the words “his name is Brian”
Were the last her mother said.
And so the girl lived in the blue room
Amidst her mother’s love.
And an angel looks on her daughter Brian
From a happy place above,
And the angel never once considered
Her life to have been a loss.
And she smiles, remembering how she was saved
By that small magenta cross.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 