I have to confess that there's a kind of running conversation among the "100 Words" contributors, and sometimes side-conversations bubble up where we conspire to post outlandish or blasphemous material.

I was expecting Andy to go on a Jesus-mocking kick with me, but it never panned out.

Oh well. I still had fun with my entry.

All young boys dream of flying, but Jesus really could.

That stuff really scared the crap out of Mary, Joseph, his brothers, and his sisters.

"Do you think we should tell him about the Son Of God thing?" said Mary.

"Absolutely not!" snarled Joseph. "We just need some bigger rocks to tie to his ankles."

Twenty years later, Mary watched helplessly as they nailed her son to a wooden cross.

She wasn't worried about him dying, though. She was just hoping the cross was heavy enough to keep him from flying around with the thing.

The spear wound brought relief.

I'm so damned.

Okay, so I had some fun with "mistake" and added to my mocking Jesus thread with Oh, Jesus.

"Barbaras! You're free!"

The soldiers cut Jesus down.

"But I'm not Barbaras," said Jesus.

"Get lost, Barbaras," said the soldiers.

"But... but...'

"GO!" they shouted.

Jesus ran for the hills.

---

"I'm Barbaras!" shouted the thief from his cross.

"Liar, Nazarene!" said a soldier, spearing him in the gut.

---

"I guess they got us mixed up," Jesus mumbled, rubbing his aching palms.

Jesus looked at his reflection in the pond. What a bloody mess.

"The guys are never going to believe this one," he said. "It'll be as if... as if..."

Jesus grinned.

"I came back from the dead!"

Laughter.

Andy and I have this odd obsession with Jesus-related stories on 100 Words Or Les Nessman. When he does one, I do one right back.

Around here, a crash in the middle of the night is usually a cat or my wife.

I roll over. She's still asleep. And all three cats are on the bed.

Another noise.

Great.

I pull my gun from the nightstand, flick off the safety, and walk down the hall.

I see a shadow. It moves, and I empty the clip.

A body falls.

I reach for the light switch, flip it on, and discover I've just blown away Jesus Christ.

"Maybe they'll blame Texans this time?" I grumble.

"Not a chance, Christ Killer," says my wife. "Nice grouping, though."

It never ends.

So, I'm in the fourteenth century and a UFO approaches? Well, I was thinking about a story set in Jerusalem and having some of the Muslim occupiers slit the throats of the aliens coming down... "We come in peace, we mean you know harm." "Yeah, that's what we said to the infidels, too... KILL THEM!"

Instead, I did a quick search and discovered that a certain holy relic has its origins in that particular page of history...

Pausing a moment during his weekly trip to the market to sell the abbey's wine, Brother Antwelm watched as the lights descended from the sky. BOOM! Every bottle in the donkey cart shattered! Then, a roaring dusty whirlwind surrounded him. When it stopped, a glowing dome appeared on the grass nearby. With a hum, the dome split and a tall figure emerged. Radiant... magnificent... perfect... And on fire! Brother Antwelm grabbed the donkey's cloth blanket and slapped out the fire. Sadly, the magnificent figure was crisped. But his image was fused on the blanket. Antwelm shrugged and continued to Turin.

I'm not sure where I picked the name Antwelm. I may change it to something sillier.

A red door, a red nook, and a pair of shoes. What to do, what to do...

If you want to come in Hell's Den, you need to play by the rules:

Leave your shoes outside. Your socks, too.

Cut the knuckles on your left hand with a silver knife.

Knock three times. Two raps, a pause, and then one hard knock.

Really hard. It's a long way down, and it's sometimes hard to hear.

Stand back. Door opens fast.

No saints allowed.

Only sinners.

Got diseases? Bad diseases?

Good. The more the better.

But when you come to Hell's Den, come alone.

Once you're inside, trust me, you won't be lonely.

Tell them Jesus sent you.

I was thinking of the Orchid Lounge and some odd times with Mark and a certain brain-dead gidget of a reporter that Wyatt was horning for.

Jesus Week continues with this fine little ditty which is all about me...

"Why hast thou forsaken me?" mumbled Jesus, twisting in agony. God looked down on his son and smirked. "You want to know why?" asked God. "You were showing off, kid." "Showing off?" groaned Jesus. "I was performing miracles. For your glory. To demonstrate your awesome power." "No," said God. "To demonstrate yours, not mine."

---

"Who is he talking to?" mumbled a soldier. "I thought he was talking to you," said another soldier. "Oh, just spear him and let's go home," said the first soldier. "You do it," said the other soldier. So, they rolled dice to decide. Obviously, Jesus lost.

Tune in tomorrow as Jesus Week on 100 Word Stories. Until someone picks a theme that is specifically "No Jesus" or something.

Jesus Week continues... now we're supposed to write about why you're feeling so tense.

The title is a rip from Repo Man.

Would you like to know why I'm so tense? I turn water into wine, but wedding guests complain that it's not a good year. I multiplied the loaves and fishes, but people whine about carbohydrates and mercury levels. The leper I cured didn't grow back any of the appendages that rotted off, so he's saying I did a half-assed job. After that, Lazarus whines that his terminal cancer wasn't cured, but he can't die from it now. So he suffers constantly. Bitch bitch bitch. Finally, I come back from the dead, and I miss the weekend. What a goddamned crock.

And roll the credits backwards!

Okay, so I promised not to do any more Jesus stories, but "Mass Confusion" was just begging for it...

Gregory preferred "Father" but they called him "Lieutenant." "How's your Arabic, Lieutenant?" asked the captain. "Um... not good," said Gregory. "Just two weeks during Basic." "More than I got," said the captain. "HQ wants Mass for indigenous personnel at oh six hundred." "But, that's in thirty min-" "You have your orders," said the captain. "Dismissed." Gregory genuflected, saluted, and left. That afternoon, a Major-Bishop watched as Gregory stuttered and stumbled through the ceremony. "Forgive us," he muttered. Later research by Papal Authorities determined that the wine and host had transformed into the body and blood of Roberto Clemente, not Jesus.

How I came up with Roberto Clemente, I'm not sure, but then my Arabic's worse than Father-Lieutenant Gregory's.

As the holidays approach, expect lots of holiday-themed 100 word stories of a very twisted nature.

As Joseph and Mary made their way back home, Joseph seethed at the memory of all those innkeepers turning them away.

He had begged and pleaded, but none raised a finger to help in their time of need.

"I will have my revenge," growled Joseph.

In modern days, hotels and inns have sprinkler systems and smoke detectors, but two thousand years ago? Not a chance.

Just as the Star of Bethlehem led the wise men to the manger, the trail of mysterious inn fires led back to Joseph's pasture.

Years later, Jesus forgave him for it.

Such a good boy.

It will get worse. Trust me.

When we go to space, we'd better watch out for what we bring with us.

As man reached space, so did the ministries.

It wasn’t on any cargo manifest, but along with the food and vacuum-tents were a collection of religions in the minds of every passenger.

Once the missionaries decided that Oothoulo had souls, they felt obligated to save them. So they taught the creatures all about Jesus, miracles, The Crucifixion, and The Resurrection.

A popped squeak here, a missed burble there - and the colonists woke up to a billion crucified Oothoulo.

And, no, they didn’t come back three days later. They just smelled worse.

What a shame. I heard they tasted great.

Since it's Easter, I thought I'd post up an Easter-themed 100 word story...

I know you've heard of the DaVinci Code, but have you heard of the Dali Code?

Just as the true nature of Christ is in a vault only reachable by following clues laid out by Leonardo DaVinci's work, Salvador Dali's work is a map to the Missing Fifteenth Station of the Cross.

Dali? Devout?

Of course he was. Why else would he paint Crucifixion?

Okay, so here's the secret: Between having his clothes stripped off and getting nailed to the cross, Jesus was slapped with a fish in a bowler hat.

Okay, so he was a weird kind of devout.

Happy Easter, you crazy bastards!

Jesus is only semi-involved in this Oh Jesus story...

"God does not play dice with the universe," said the old professor, "He plays dice with the Franelli Brothers in the alley."

Joe, Luigi, God, and Tony were huddled around a pile of money, some beer bottles, a pizza box, and a pair of dice.

God picked them up. "Baby needs a new crown of thorns," he muttered, and threw.

"Why do you let bad things happen to good people?" I asked.

"Because they don't pay up," said Joe.

Luigi laughed and looked at God. "Is we forgiven?"

"Yeah, yeah," said God. "Pass the bones, Jack. I'm feeling lucky tonight!"

In what will certainly result in a popular series of cartoons, the truth is revealed about a certain famous individual's return from the brink of death...

"Ever since he came back, he's been a real dick," said Luke.

"We were out walking when we saw a boy with a crippled leg," Matthew said. "He begged to be healed, but Jesus broke his crutch and struck him lame in the other leg."

"Don't forget the wine!" said Timothy. "We were going to celebrate his return, but he waves his hands and poof! It's turned into water."

"There's no way we can make this church work with him screwing around," said Mark. "Finish him off?"

Everybody nodded, and they drew straws.

"We'll just say he... ascended," said Luke.

It's been a while since I last did a Western themed story.

*bang*

Bucktooth Billy lay on his back in the dusty street.

He sat up and felt his chest.

No blood. His Bible had stopped the bullet.

Billy held it up, laughing.

"Holy shit!" he shouted. "Lucky Bible! Jesus has saved me!"

The gunslinger walked up to Billy and looked at the bullet-pierced Bible.

"So He has," said the scowling figure. "Right up to Deuteronomy."

"It's a miracle!" shouted Billy. "I am reborn! I will fight no more and stand at the right side of The Lord!"

"Here," said the gunslinger. "Let me help."

The gunslinger shot Billy in the head.

One of my techniques in writing stories is to take famous quotes and twist them around or play with them until they shatter on the floor.

Since I'm not making much way with Abraham Lincoln, let's delve into Christian folklore.

Gabriel landed at Heaven's gates and screamed with agony, tucking into a ball and clutching his shredded, bloody sandals.

"So, did you find out how many of you can dance on the head of a pin?" asked Jesus.

"The head of a pin?" groaned Gabriel. "Wait... that's the round flat part of it, right? And not the sharp pointy end?"

"You're going to need new sandals, aren't you?" Jesus sighed.

Gabriel crawled to the Quartermaster.

Jesus pulled out God's Big Ledger Of Mysteries, wrote "It takes two to tango" in it by Angels Dancing On Pinhead, and snapped it shut.

Yet another bit of blasphemy for your enjoyment and outrage.

You'd think being Jesus Christ's roommate would be cool, right?

Wrong, man. The guy's seriously messed up.

First off, his pet goldfish. He brings his friends over, multiples the thing, and eats all of the fishes alive except one.

Sticks that last one back in the fishbowl for the next time.

Then there's the toaster. Sticks two slices of bread in the thing, thousands of slices pop out.

Crumbles it all up to feed the birds in the park.

I'd throw him out, but he keeps promising to cure my leprosy.

He never does, though.

Whoever chose the topic forgot that there's one lunatic who will do anything to have some fun with God and Jesus...

Tired with trying to figure out what He was thinking with the platypus, God decided to check the mail. He walked up to The Wall and pulled a note through the stones. "Oh dear god, what is that smell?" God stepped back and sniffed. Rotten... sweet... fish? "Jesus!" he groaned, looking at His son. "What the Hell is that crap you're wearing?" "Wearing?" said Jesus. "Oh, no. I was working on a Pad Thai and... I must have splashed myself with the fish sauce!" God grumbled, got out the hose, and said:"Now don't go turning this into wine, kid..."

I'm not very happy with this story, so I'll be tweaking and adjusting it until it's time to record it. I may shelf it for another try, though.

The sharpshooter's act ended without bloodshed, so the ringmaster waved out the gymnasts. Seventeen agile Frenchmen pranced their way to the center ring, somersaulting and leaping with great skill. Just as they finished their Parisian Pyramid, the trapeze artists screamed... the rigging was giving way. The tent's canvas ripped open quickly, revealing a horrific sight: the stars were careening wildly around the sky like drunken moths. The astonished tumblers fell to the ground in a groaning pile, but the bearded old man in the audience began to laugh and applaud. "Splendid!" God said. "Best night I've had in eons! Bravo"

As Christmas approaches, there will be more Jesus-related stories heading your way...

Without the miracle, the wedding feast would have been a flop.

But now that the celebrants were drunk on the transformed wine and the party was coming to a close, it was time to clean up.

"Can you turn the wine back into water?" said Thomas. "The mugs need rinsing. Oh, and there's some vomit to mop up, too."

Jesus waved his mighty hand over the pitcher...

Nothing.

"It's still wine," he growled.

An hour later, the best he could come up with was milk.

"Well, that sucks," said Thomas. "I guess we'll just set this out with the coffee."

This one is about Moses, not Jesus. But it does fit the Broken Bible Stories motif...

Moses waited for the tablets to cool before picking them up. "Are you going to keep these," asked God. "or are you going to be a prick and smash them again?" "My blood sugar was low," said Moses. "And besides, you had some pretty bad spelling errors on that last pair." "It's not my fault you dumb Jews don't write down vowels," said God. "'Thou shalt spell Michelle with one L?'" said Moses. "What the hell is that about? Who the fuck is Michele?" "Hurry up, messenger boy," said God. "Your people are going nuts again." Moses bowed and left.

I've decided that it's time to shed all pretense and go all-out Explicit this holiday season.

The Three Wise Men took Joseph aside.

"This was a virgin birth?" asked Caspar.

"It sure as hell is," said Joseph. "That freaky bitch took it up the ass and in the mouth, but never where it counted."

Balthasar winced. "I'm not sure she's technically a virgin after that," he said.

"No, it's a virgin birth," said Melchior. "But she's a dirty slut."

All three agreed.

They were also tired of screwing their camels, so they asked Joseph if they could gangbang Mary.

"Frankincense? Myrrh? I don't need that stuff," he said. "But throw in the Gold, and she's yours."

Easter is right around the corner, so...

There we were, trying to eat a little breakfast before the daily crucifixions, when this big white rabbit shows up.

"Hey, kids!" he shouted.

Kids? We're Roman centurions.

He then pokes his nose into each bowl, splashing gruel all over the table. "Where's the cereal?" he asks.

"Halt, rabbit!" growled the unit commander.

But the rabbit wouldn't stop, and his furry feet kicked the bowls all over our uniforms.

"Where's the Trix?" he cried.

Later that afternoon, we nailed him up with the thieves and the loudmouth carpenter.

What a silly rabbit. Didn't he know that Trix are for Yids?

Another insane Creation tale.

God looked over His Wondrous, Unlit Creation and decided it was good.

Well, except for one thing: The Plans.

"Something not right, Boss?" asked an angel.

"Let me get this straight," said God. "I'm supposed to act like an asshole, drive people nuts for centuries, and then send down my kid to let them know I love them?

"Right," said the angel.

"And then they kill him," continued God. "But then he comes back from the dead?"

"Exactly," said the angel.

"I must have been really drunk when I wrote that shit up," said God, and He flipped the switch.

It was a great costume idea.

Joe would dress up like Jesus and we'd strap him to a cross on our porch. He'd hand out candy and blessings to all the kids that were brave enough to ask him.

When the big day came, we were a little drunk, so instead of strapping him to the cross at the waist, we went ahead and nailed him to it.

It took us a while to realize that Joe couldn't hand out candy in that condition.

So, we broke his legs, speared him in the gut, and shoved him behind a rock.