The Gaza Incident, part III

The search for the teenage Jesus

The game was up. The good bad Lucille now knew Jesus had fallen for her.

I finished my bone.

One has, after all, to get one’s priorities straight. It was too late to stop Jesus from putting both his sacred feet all the way into his most most holiest of mouths; and although I sensed there would have to be reporting back to the Boss, lots of it, and probably AT ONCE, I decided to confer not with God, but the Universe, on the wisest course of action.

Just to avoid the paperwork if at all possible.

When I caught up with it the Universe was hanging by the Sphinx. It always likes to hang there when it’s in Egypt; it says they have an affinity for one another what with both of them being symbols of eternal mystery and all that. Personally I could never see it; the Sphinx is a haughty, stuck up statue and never said even so much as a word to me, even though there are—at least theoretically—lots of things incredibly ancient stone statues and brave little white dogs have in common. Molecules, for example; and a perception of sand as the ultimate enemy.

The sphinx has remained silent and for millennia refused relationship.  Not for lack of trying on my part mind you; I’ve barked at it at great length, and in multiple lifetimes, to no avail. Of course my owners always think it’s just their little dog going nuts barking at nothing; but what they don’t know (few do) is that the Sphinx is conscious and totally aware of me and is just snubbing the f*k out of me. Probably because it’s jealous; it is, after all, stuck right where it is in the middle of what is basically a giant cat litter box and can’t even move or so much as fart if it needs to.

Anyway I lead a rich and varied life whereas it just sits there being inscrutable. And it supposedly holds all the secrets of the Universe—at least it says it does, fact is the Universe has never actually stored any of its secrets there, it’s way too small—but it’s jealous all right because I’m a dog and can move around and fart. Occasionally I make a point of doing that right in front of it when I get the chance, but if there is one thing that’s certain it is that the Sphinx does not allow itself to be provoked. Even when farted at loudly.

Anyway ‘ol Universe and I met down by the Sphinx over a cuppa Joe, and I told it all about how good bad Lucille the Devil’s daughter was about to “gonna go get Jesus and seduce him real good.” I put it in those terms so that the Universe would understand this situation had all the makings of a truly trite country song and we couldn’t possibly allow Jesus to be featured in cheesy country songs, at least not at this point in the curve. Country music, after all, had not been invented by Satan yet.   

“So what do we do?” I asked it.