Jesus Was Broke
Stephen Schwegler
Jamie walked into her living room and stood there in shock. It was decorated with two hundred hot dogs tied to the ceiling with strings. She walked to the center of the room, the dogs hovering around her. The aroma of boiled meat was making her nauseous, though she had to concede it was strangely mouthwatering. That’s when Jamie noticed the floor. Two-thirds of it was covered in relish.
“All right. What the fuck happened in here?”
Jamie’s sister, Morgan, ran into the living room.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You don’t think anything in here is odd? Anything sticking out as weird?”
“No.”
“The fucking hot dogs!”
“Oh, those.”
“Why are they hanging from the ceiling?”
“I was trying to get in touch with my masculine side.”
“And you thought this was going to do it?”
“Pretty much,” said Morgan. “Any better ideas?”
“How about stop showering, watch the game and a porno at the same time while drinking a beer and scratching yourself.”
“Hmm, that does sound easier.”
“Just don’t do it when I’m home.”
“Okay.”
“And why is there relish on the floor?”
“The room didn’t flow.”
“Didn’t flow? What the fuck are you talking about? Do you know how hard that’s going to be to clean?”
“I needed something to contrast the chili.”
“Chili?”
Jamie turned around. Next to the couch was a three-foot mound of chili.
“Why not just use ketchup?” she asked. “Relish smells so much worse.”
“That wouldn’t work,” said Morgan. “How else would I have contrasted the cheese? I couldn’t use ketchup for both.”
“Enough. Shut up. I’m going to the mall. When I get back I want this shit cleaned up. Febreze the fuck out of this place, too.”
“Fine.”
An hour and a half later, Jamie came home to see a “For Sale” sign on the front lawn. She stormed inside.
“Why is the house for sale?”
“I figured that selling it would be easier than cleaning it.”
“How the hell are you going to sell this place with hot dogs stuck to the ceiling?”
“Maybe someone will think it’s art.”
“And Jesus will come and give me a puppy.”
“Could happen.”
“No, it couldn’t.”
“You never know.”
“For the last time, clean this place and take that goddamn ‘For Sale’ sign off the lawn. I’m taking a nap. You better be done when I wake up. If not, I’m calling mom.”
Jamie woke up two hours later. She took a deep breath and inhaled nothing but hot dogs. She walked through the house; every room now looked like the living room.
“Morgan! What the fuck did you do?”
“I thought this would be easier than cleaning. It was also a lot more fun.”
“I am so going to kill you.”
The doorbell rang.
“Did you invite someone over?” asked Jamie.
“No.”
Morgan opened the front door and saw a man standing outside. He walked in and began looking around.
“Can I help you with something?” Jamie asked.
“Quiet,” the man said. “I’m soaking it all in.”
He walked through every room and returned to the front door where Morgan was still standing.
“I love it.”
“You love what?” Morgan asked.
“The house,” replied the man, “it’s brilliant. How much do you want for it?”
“You want to buy our house?”
“Yes.”
“No,” said Jamie. “It’s not for sale.”
“Don’t pay attention to her,” Morgan said. “Let’s go into the kitchen and draw up a contract.”
The two went into the kitchen, ignoring Jamie’s continuing requests to get out. They came back fifteen minutes later, the man with a makeshift deed and Morgan with a briefcase.
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” Morgan said. “I sold the house to Mr. Larsen for six thousand dollars.”
“And he had the cash?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah,” Morgan said, holding up the briefcase.
“I’d hate to interrupt you two,” Mr. Larsen said, “but I’d like to be alone in my new house.”
“But all of our stuff is here,” Jamie protested.
“I sold all of that too,” explained Morgan. “It was all part of the deal.”
“What?”
“Mr. Larsen said that he needed it all for the piece to work.”
“The house isn’t art. It’s our home.”
“Mr. Larsen thinks it’s art.”
“I don’t care what Mr. Larsen thinks. Mom is going to kill you and then I’m going to kill you again.”
“Isn’t that lovely?” said Mr. Larsen. “Girls, if you don’t mind. Please leave.”
On the curb in front of what was formerly their house, Jamie turned to Morgan and said, “You’re so dead.”
Morgan didn’t respond. They sat there, silent, looking off into the middle of the street.
A man dressed in white walked up behind the girls.
“You girls all right?” he asked.
“No,” replied Jamie, still staring out into space.
“What’s wrong?”
“My idiot sister sold our house and all of our possessions for six thousand bucks.”
“Wow, that sucks.”
“Yeah,” said Jamie, briefly turning to look at the man before returning her gaze to the street, “I know.”
Jamie quickly turned all the way around for another look at the man.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“In the flesh,” Jesus said.
Both sisters stood up and said, “No way!”
“Way.”
The two girls just stood there, blinking in unison.
“You guys seem a little down. And with your house and stuff being gone, who could blame you? Here’s what I’m gonna do…”
Jesus reached behind his back, closed his eyes, said, “Abracadabra,” and brought his hands back around to the front, now holding a box.
“Take it,” he said, ”this might help with your problem.”
Jamie lifted the lid.
“A puppy?”
“Yeah, everyone loves puppies,” Jesus said.
Jamie began sneezing violently.
“She’s allergic,” Morgan said.
“Oh, sorry,” said Jesus. “I, um, have… to… hey, what’s that over there?”
Jesus pointed across the street and, when the girls turned to look, made a break for it. The girls turned back around to see a small cloud of dust where Jesus had been standing.
“Son… of… a… BITCH…” said Jamie, still sneezing.
“I’ll get him,” Morgan said.
She reached down, picked up a rock, and hurled it at Jesus, hitting him in the back of the head.
“Shit, Morgan. You knocked him out.”
“Oops.”
“Go see if he has any money.”
Perhaps. by Stephen Schwegler. Available now!
