Every post that I’ve written up to this point has been about a situation or event that has really happened.

You decide if this is another one, but shame on you if you think I’m lying.

A man knocked on my door while peering into the sidelight.

I hate unexpected visitors, and I’d have never answered the door normally, but I happened to be right there in the foyer and I had pants on. He was looking right at me when my eyes caught his.

Rats.

He didn’t seem to have pamphlets or to be selling cookies or trying to get me to sign up for his grass cutting service for the summer or wanting to build me a deck like so many other solicitors. He showed me a couple of cold looking Bud Light Limes he was holding through the window and gave me a thumbs up!

This is odd, I thought.

So I opened the door and this guy is standing there in a white tunic looking robe thing.

He didn’t say anything for almost an entire minute, so finally I was like “What do you want?”

“I’d like to hang out with you today, Don.” said the stranger.

“Lot’s of people do, I’m pretty fun. What’s your story?” I asked.

“I’m Jesus.” said the man. “Jesus Christ.”

“From the bible?”

“Yup.”

“You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” I said. “I thought people were shorter in those days.”

“Well, they were, but I’m Jesus, so I can be whatever I want. I’ve chosen to be tall and 1/2 Italian with some Mexican and Irish blood also.” he said. He did have a nice olive complexion and dark, curly hair that any man would envy.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s a nice look. So this is like a second coming?”

“No, no, no! I come to people all the time. I mostly like to appear and hang out with homeless, crazy people though so nobody ever believes them when they say they met me.”

That struck me as funny because once, many years ago, when I was working as a cop, a homeless man I stopped because he was pissing on a public sidewalk told me that Jesus Christ had stolen his last 32 oz can of Miller High Life. He said Jesus looked like a handsome, Italian man and I thought this homeless man was just drunk or crazy.

“Did you once steal a homeless man’s last can of Miller High Life?” I asked.

He laughed a deep belly laugh and uttered “Aahhhhh, that’s funny, Don. Thou shall not steal, am I right?”

Then he put his fist out. For a second, I thought he was going to turn me into a cat or something, but he wasn’t about to do magic, he just wanted a fist bump.

I hate fist bumps, so this Jesus Christ guy was sort of starting to annoy me. Plus, his breath smelled like salami.

“Well, I don’t have any of the kids or the wife in the house, I’m all alone, so this is a good time to hang out I guess, if we have to.”

“I know.” said Jesus. “I did that!”

“Did what?”

“I arranged for you to be home alone today!”

“Nice work, Jesus” I said. “Having a quiet house to myself for a day is one of your finest miracles ever!”

“I knew you’d like that, my son.” he said.

Knowing that there are people out there who purport to be Jesus all the time, whether it be just for the attention or to get 50% off at McDonald’s, or whatever, I wanted proof that this man was indeed Jesus, or at least not totally bat shit crazy.

I told him to wait on the porch and that I’d be back in a few seconds.

I went into the pantry and got a loaf of wheat bread that my wife likes to buy, even though I hate it, because she says it’s good for you.

I brought it to the Mulatto looking man on my front porch and told him that if he were Jesus, then he could turn this shitty bread into wine, or at least into a loaf of Wonder White instead.

He nodded his head as though he understood that I was only being cautious and proceeded to turn that loaf of shitty wheat bread into a gallon jug of Lambrusco Wine.

“No WAY!! You are Jesus! I don’t really care for Lambrusco though and if we’re going to hang out all afternoon and drink, we should probably stick to beer. Last time I got all tanked on wine I told some bald dude that his daughter was a load that he should have put into a gym sock or something like that.”

“Ha ha, I remember that, Don! That wasn’t very nice of you to say, but she should have let you be after you passed out in the hallway of your own house. She forced you to come out and drink some more as though you were some college frat boy instead of a 38 year old man”

“THANK YOU, Jesus! That’s what I think, but still, she’s a sweet woman and I feel bad that I ever said anything so hurtful about her that didn’t involve her lifting weights or running on trails.”

“I understand, my child,” said Jesus, and he turned that gallon jug of wine into a 24 pack of Bud Light Lime.

“Now you’re talking, Jesus!” I fist bumped Jesus again before I even realized what I was doing. Dammit.

“Don’t you ever feel like a bit of a Nancy drinking this stuff?” asked Jesus.

“Oh, I did at first, yes. I used to ask the bartenders if I was the only heterosexual male who ordered this beer while hanging all over my beautiful wife to reinforce my heterosexualness! I got over it though.”

So we drank the Bud Light Limes that Jesus had already showed up with right there on the porch and they were awesome!

“Wow, these taste better than my beers normally do, Jesus. What did you do to them?”

Well, it turns out he didn’t do anything. Jesus has a friend who works at the brewery in Jacksonville and he can get some of the beer that hasn’t been watered down for public distribution yet.

So Jesus and I drank some sweet, non-watered down beer and were ready to hang out.

He said he was a gamblin’ man and wanted to hit a casino and get shitfaced.

“Ok dude, you’re Jesus Christ, so I guess we’ll do that then.”

“Plus I have a Groupon that’s about to expire. I got $40 of pasta dinner for $20 at Cunetto’s House of Pasta.”

I sort of laughed to myself. Jesus is a lot lamer than I’d ever imagined. Groupons? Really? Whatever though, Cunetto’s is pretty good, so I was on board.

I told him that I wasn’t going to be seen with a man wearing sandals and whatever that robe thing was called, and asked him to change clothes.

He said he walked to my house with only the two beers and nothing else.

“Well what the fuck, Jesus? Are you exp…” he interrupted me and asked that I call him Steve for the rest of the day.

“What?”

“I like to be called Steve when I hang out in America.”

“Whatever, STEVE!” I said to the increasingly annoying Jesus person on my porch. “You can borrow some of my old clothes then.”

I found Jesus a tattered Def Leppard concert t-shirt I’d bought in 1989 and not worn since 1989 and was looking for some pants when he asked “Can I wear this?”

I looked over at Jesus/Steve and he was holding one of G$’s little velour tracksuit outfits.

“Uh, that’s my toddler’s outfit, Jackass, how do you intend to….”

“I’m Jesus!” he reminded me while rudely cutting me off. He proceeded to change G$’s little suit into a big boy velour tracksuit.

Jesus put the suit on and looked utterly ridiculous, of course. He looked like an Italian pimp. Worse, he looked like a Sicilian pimp!

So we went back to the porch and stood there for a minute before Jesus asked what we were waiting for.

“I assumed that you would just do something and we’d be at a casino, you know, like the Ghost of Christmas Past or something.”

Nope.

Jesus didn’t have a magic carpet or a broom or anything. We had to drive around in the goddam Xterra.

So we went to the River City Casino because Jesus likes to gamble with Bosnians, and there are apparently always plenty of Bosnians at River City.

He bummed $10 off of me after convincing a door person to let him in without his id (seriously, Jesus, it’s 2013, get a wallet already!) and proceeded to lose it in four seconds flat.

“What are you doing doubling down on two fours, Jesus?”

“I had a hunch.”

Well his hunches sucked all night long and he lost $3000 of my hard earned money before I could convince him that he sucked at blackjack.

I’d never lend that kind of dough to anyone for gambling except for Jesus Christ himself.

We were walking out of the casino, crestfallen, when I pulled a $5 bill from my pocket.

“Hold on Steve, I’m going to blow this last bit of cash in this Wheel of Fortune machine.”

I put the money in the machine and Jesus bowed his head as if in prayer. Before I could even touch the lever, the machine went crazy! Lights were flashing and bells were ringing! Holy crap, We just won $10000!

So we took our winnings and had some fantastic pasta at Cunetto’s with Jesus’s Groupon.

We went back to my place and drank a few more beers while watching some hockey.

“I don’t get this game,” Jesus said.

“Well, it’s a Canadian thing, Jesus,” it takes some getting used to.

We laughed and drank and talked about my family and his inability to find a steady girlfriend, even with the cool magic tricks.

I assured him that he’d do just fine and patted him on his back.

He snapped his fingers and the velour tracksuit was back to its original size.

Unfortunately, Jesus was now standing butt-ass naked on my porch.

“Wow, you really ARE half Italian,” I said, unable to look away from his giant pecker.

It was like a train wreck. Good God, Don, look away!!

I was brought back to consciousness by the sound of my beer bottle falling and smashing onto the porch.

Jesus was again standing in his robe and sandals and I shook his hand.

“I had a fun day, Jesus. Next time you drive.”

“I don’t have a license and I suck at parallel parking, Don, or I would.” he said while walking away from my house.

I watched him walk out of my sight, ecstatic to have been able to spend an afternoon with Jesus.

Then I was also pissed off because, once he was out of my sight, I realized that he never did repay me the money I lent him to gamble with Bosnians that afternoon.