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Jonathan

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About Jonathan

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    I am not a leet hax0r :(

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  1. I wanted to try writing a story in an American voice, and well, this is what I came up with...

    My name is Jimmy, and I'm Jesus's son. Yeah, that's right, Jesus, everyone's
    favourite Mexican magician, He's my dad. It might sound like a sweet gig, being the
    grandson of God, and sure there are a few perks, like doing miracles and the
    free wine, but mostly it's just a giant pain in my ass. I hear classmates tell
    me their families are a problem and I'm like, dudes, you have no idea.

    I'm studying a NYU, and being the son of the son of God means just about
    everyone knows me, and I get all manner of phonies trying to ingratiate
    themselves with me and skanky chicks throwing themselves in the direction of my
    bed. That last part might sound fun, but trust me it gets old real fast. Worse
    is that all the smart, classy, or interesting chicks won't come near me. They
    think I'm going to be some religious freak, or super self-important or
    something, just 'cause my family's supposedly a big deal. The crazy thing is,
    I'm not even particularly spiritual. If it weren't for my folks, I'd probably be
    an atheist, how nuts is that?

    It isn't just skanks after a prestige lay either, I also get creepy attention
    from the other end of the spectrum: The super religious girls, and guys. They
    all tend to be very mixed up, with all manner of parent issues, conflicted
    sexuality identity, repression and guilt. For some reason, they latch onto me as
    the solution to all their problems. For a while I used to command 'em to go out,
    get wasted and get laid. Figured it might do them some good. But then my Dad
    found out and went apeshit. Nowadays I just tell 'em to go away.

    To be honest, I don't see eye to eye with my Dad. Nowadays I only see Him when I
    go home for the holidays. We usually manage to keep the peace for about two days
    before we end up in some blazing row, usually over who spilt the milk or
    something dumb like that. Then it's a week or more of silence and simmering
    resentment, while Mom does her best to smooth things over, before I head back to
    NYU. I tell you, for a guy supposedly all about forgiveness, he sure stays mad
    at me for a long while.

    I should be more understanding, I guess. I think my Dad's pretty stressed out.
    His whole second coming hasn't really worked out like He expected. Turns out
    bringing the kingdom of Heaven to Earth is harder than you'd guess, and now He's
    got Grandpa on His back. I heard them talking when I was last home. It's weird to
    watch. It kinda seems like regular praying, but then occasionally you'll hear
    God talk back.

    Anyway Dad was complaining about all the problems He's got in the church and the
    trouble converting all the heathens blah blah blah, and I can hear Grandpa just
    muttering and going uh-huh a bit like He does when He's getting pissed. Next
    thing, I hear my Dad say, "Anyway, I'm thinking it might end up taking a third
    coming." Well, the old man just about flipped, or came as close as I've ever
    heard Him. Starts telling my Dad there's no goddamn *way* He's getting another
    coming. That the only way He's getting back into Heaven is by building it on
    Earth first.

    Dad was in a seriously sore mood after that little exchange, as you can imagine,
    and I steered well clear of Him. He spent the whole next day sulking in the
    garage working on his woodwork stuff. I feel sorry for my little sister, Mandy,
    being stuck in that environment, but she seems happy enough. Dad dotes on her
    though, He always has. I think He's always resented me, 'cause I was one of His
    first big fuck-ups and caused all sorts of scandal. I think Grandpa arranged
    some kinda shotgun wedding, where He changed history so Mom and Dad were married
    before I was conceived. I'm fuzzy on the details, 'cause the only time I ever
    hear about it is when Aunt Dorothy gets drunk at family events and starts
    spilling.

    I guess by the time Mandy showed up eight years later, Dad was feeling better
    about the whole situation, or at least He'd resigned himself to it. Anyway, I'm
    pretty sure He loves her more than He loves me. I reckon Mom loves us both about
    the same though. I wonder about her and Dad though. Sometimes I think they're
    both still into each other, and others I think it's all for appearances. I know
    she was one of His groupies, back in the early days. When I was in the attic one
    time I found an old photo from back then. It's weird. Dad was all in hippy
    robes, with long hair and this gay little beard, and He's standing on a little
    rock, teaching to this rapt looking group of stoners. Anyway, front row, there's
    Mom, staring up at Him like He's, well, Jesus.

    It seems like a pretty weird way to start a relationship, almost kinda
    exploitative on His part, you know? I've never had the guts to ask either of
    them about it though. Still, I sure don't see Mom giving Him any rapt looks like
    that anymore, most often she's telling Him to stop watching the Football and
    take out the garbage, or some such. That's where I differ from my Dad. If it was
    me, I'd just miracle the goddamn garbage bag into the trash can from the couch,
    but He actually gets up and does it. Says miracles aren't to be used for trivial
    stuff, or some such shit. I say: That's exactly what they *should* be used for.
    Using them for big stuff is way more likely to 'cause trouble. Like going around
    feeding thousands of people, and putting all the food vendors out of business.
    It's just one more thing we end up arguing about.

    Incidentally, the whole Mom and Dad thing is another reason I steer clear of
    religious chicks. Even when you get the occasional one who's cute and who
    doesn't seem messed up, I can't help but think at the back of my mind, would she
    even be talking to me if I wasn't the son of the son of God? And if we were
    making out or getting it on, would she be thinking about my Dad, or even my
    Grandpa? Ewwww. It's bad enough knowing that Grandpa is always watching me when
    I'm doing stuff like that.

    Oh, and that reminds me of the absolute worst experience of my life. Listen to
    this and tell me if any possible family bullshit you have can ever compare. I'm
    thirteen years old, and I'm turning into a typically horny teenage kid. One day,
    a guy at school puts a porno mag in my schoolbag, as a joke. They all know about
    my Dad and think it's super funny to pull stuff like that. Anyway, I find it
    when I get home, and I'm looking through it, and there's some pretty hot chicks
    in there, up to all kinds of business. So, for the first time, I start to do
    what comes naturally. Next thing, there's this flash of light, and my Grandpa's
    voice booms out, saying "STOP THAT!"

    Seriously, what the fuck, right!? Can you imagine the horror and mortification?
    Even worse, He went and told my Dad, who proceeds to give me a lecture and make
    me promise never to do it again. I promise, and of course a week later I'm back
    doing it again. Another flash, another "STOP THAT!", and another lecture from my
    Dad. This time I last a whole month, but of course eventually I break. This
    time, when my Grandpa yells at me to stop, I yell right back. I tell him to quit
    watching me and keep His perverted omnipresent ass out of my business and out of
    my room. Well, that was the last time He ever bothered me about that, but it
    still freaks me out something awful knowing He's probably watching whenever I
    jerk off or make it with a chick.

    At least at NYU I have a few buddies who pretty much treat me normally. There's
    Chris and Isfaar, who I met 'cause we have the same major (Social and Cultural
    Analysis). Chris is an atheist, so he doesn't care about my family 'cause he
    thinks it's all bullshit. I mean, I've literally performed miracles in front of
    him and he's like, nah bro, don't believe it. And Isfaar's Muslim, so he doesn't
    care too much. He just thinks my Dad is an important prophet, by no big deal
    compared to Mohammed. And squaring the circle there's Hannah, who we met at a
    Vampire Weekend gig. She's short and she's loud and she's Jewish, albeit non-
    practicing. Me and Hannah like to joke that if we ever got together, all our
    parents would have a coronary apiece. Together, the four of us sound like the
    setup to a bad joke, but we're a pretty tight little circle.

    Anyway, they're all chill about my family situation. They'll give me shit about
    my "groupies" when some religious floozy is hanging around me, but they do their
    best to shield me from it as well, 'cause they know how much I hate it. We
    decided to all rent an apartment together for our second year, which might have
    been a disaster, but actually turned out great. We had an awesome party right
    after we moved in. I filled up the whole bathtub with water and turned it into
    beer. Chris got absolutely slaughtered because he drank about a gallon of it,
    insisting it was still just water. The guy's committed to his beliefs, I'll give
    him that. Nowadays we spend the evenings marathoning shows on Netflix, playing
    XBox, and helping construct Hannah's weird installation art pieces.

    I dunno why I decided to write all this. Maybe more for my own sake than for
    anyone else's. I guess I wanted to communicate who I am a little better, both to
    myself and to anyone else who might read it. Being Jesus' son is not something I
    chose, and I often wish I was just part of a regular family, but there's nothing
    I can do about it. Hopefully, what I've written might at least convince people
    that while my family is a big, inescapable part of my life, it doesn't completely
    define me. I want to carve out my own path.

    I guess, what I'm hoping is that, when I die, there'll be something more on the
    headstone than just "Here lies the son of the son of God". Is that too much to
    ask?

    1. Show previous comments  7 more
    2. darknation

      darknation

      indeed, is hard to fully exorcise the britishness from diction. That said, I accidentally left the word 'lift' in the action doom narration and none of the Americans noticed and replaced it with 'elevator'. I have no problem with the word 'row' in this context... I think a pseudo-intellectual American college boy Jesus would use this in conversation no problem. I certainly passed over the word without it jarring me out of the text.

      if you really wanted to extend this premise into something more... realistic, the best model for the character might be a scientology baby. Just replace 'Jesus' for 'Tom Cruise' and you've got a solid base for all sorts of 'my father is god and everyone else is going to hell' related hijinks.

      and as for God speaking to people internally, schizophrenics and popes experience this phenomenon all the time. It generally leads to very poor decision making.

    3. Csonicgo

      Csonicgo

      darknation said:

      indeed, is hard to fully exorcise the britishness from diction. That said, I accidentally left the word 'lift' in the action doom narration and none of the Americans noticed and replaced it with 'elevator'. I have no problem with the word 'row' in this context... I think a pseudo-intellectual American college boy Jesus would use this in conversation no problem. I certainly passed over the word without it jarring me out of the text.

      if you really wanted to extend this premise into something more... realistic, the best model for the character might be a scientology baby. Just replace 'Jesus' for 'Tom Cruise' and you've got a solid base for all sorts of 'my father is god and everyone else is going to hell' related hijinks.

      and as for God speaking to people internally, schizophrenics and popes experience this phenomenon all the time. It generally leads to very poor decision making.


      They actually call them "lifts" in places like brooklyn and queens, where they were actually lifts with gated doors. so it fit.

    4. Processingcontrol

      Processingcontrol

      Csonicgo said:

      They actually call them "lifts" in places like brooklyn and queens...

      No they don't. I've lived in Brooklyn all my life and I've never heard someone here call an elevator that.

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