Luke 15:11-32

One time Jesus told this story about a rich dude who had two sons.  The kids loved their old man, but, like most rich kids (read: those polo-humpers on the lacrosse team) the sons were entitled little punks who’d spent their high school years test driving BMWs and hanging out at Hollister.  Especially the younger one (we’ll call him Chaz).

One day, Chaz got tired of stealing money out of his old man’s wallet and decided to go for the motherload.

“Look here, Pops,” he said.  “I can’t keep crawling to you for cash every time I need a new set of subs.”

“Does that mean you’re getting a job?” asked his dad.

“Haha, yeah right.  No, it means I want my inheritance and I want it now.”

Don’t ask me why, but Chaz’s dad caved quicker than a Chilean mine and forked over a briefcase full ‘o Benjamins.  With his cash crammed carry-on under one arm and his collection of Dane Cook DVDs under the other, Chaz booked a one way ticket to the Big Easy and took off to get rich or die trying.

Life was pretty sweet for Chaz in those early days and anyone who’s seen Dumb and Dumber knows why.  Life’s better when you have tons of money.  Chicks, drugs, parties, penthouses, pet midgets, more chicks, more drugs, a half-dozen Hummers: it’s like he was basing his life on Nickelback’s song Rockstar.

Chaz was spending money like a hoarder at a garage sale, and he never stopped to ask himself where it was coming from.  Before long, he found himself at the wrong end of the Biggie’s Happiness Theorum: “No Money, Mo’ Problems.” His career as a DJ/club promoter hadn’t really panned out for him.  Neither had his investments in his buddies’ cross-fit gym, bicycle rickshaw company, and Hooters franchise, respectively.

Finally, when his last “bro” had bailed on him and his last dollar had been pissed away on lotto scratchers and Swedish Fish, Chaz knew it was time for desperate measures.  He put in an application at White Castle, got hired, and was sent immediately to work the grill.

The dude was at rock bottom.  And we’re not talking “Hollywood Rock Bottom” where it’s all like, “waaaahh, Scarlett Johansson broke up with me!  I’m gonna sit here and eat Hot and Readies until I die!  Oh wait.  Look who’s here.  It’s Jessica Alba; my crazy-hot best friend who I’ve never realized was crazy-hot until this exact moment.  She’s come to cheer me up and we’ll now spend the rest of the movie falling in love.”

Not that kind of rock bottom.  Chaz was at deep, dark, depressing rock bottom – the kind only known by David Hasselhoff and Cubs fans in October.  It got so bad that one day he looked at the grease-saturated sliders he was serving to the pigs who eat at White Castle, and he thought to himself, “man, I could really go for some White Castle right now.”

Fortunately, he regained consciousness before he actually ate one.  “What’s wrong with me?” he said.  “Even Ignacio, the ginger-haired street urchin who shines my dad’s shoes, doesn’t have to eat White Castle!  Screw this noise.  I’m going home.  I’ll tell dad I’m a loser and see if maybe he’ll put me on the landscape crew or something.”

So Chaz headed home.  He was rehearsing his big speech the whole way up the driveway, but he ended up not needing it.  His dad practically flat-backed him with a flying bear hug bigger than any Chaz had gotten since his last time at AA.  Turns out, the old man had done nothing for the past year but sit on the front porch and swear at the neighbor kids while he waited for Chaz to come home.

When he saw his son walking up the drive, he went into full party-planner mode.  “Bring out Chaz’s lucky Pacman Jones jersey,” he said to a nearby servant.  “And his lucky Lacoste hat.  And crack open that 20-year scotch I’ve been saving, and toss that slab of ribs on the grill.  Let’s get after it!  My baby boy has come home and he didn’t bring any strippers with him!”

While all this was going down, Chaz’s older brother (let’s call him Brad) was laying sod out behind the house, and I mean that in the least sexual way possible.  He was coming inside for dinner when he heard Black Eyed Peas music blaring from the outdoor speakers.

“What, in the name of Eddie Van Halen, is that noise?” he asked Ignacio the Shoeshine.

“It’s your little brother,” said Ignacio.  “I guess he’s back from his year-long bender and your dad is throwing a kegger.”

Now I don’t have to tell you how pissed big brother Brad was about this, but I will anyway: he was super pissed.  He sat on the patio, pouting and chewing Copenhagen Long Cut, until his dad came out to beg him to come inside.

“I can’t believe you,” said Brad.  “Here I am, all day every day, busting my butt to keep this place running, and you’ve never given me so much as a DiGiornos to eat with my buddies while we watch Ice Road Truckers.  And now, what?  This little degenerate comes home with who knows how many different kinds of herpes and you throw a rager for him?!”

“Don’t be like that,” said the dad.  “You’re my boy.  You’ll always be my boy.  But your little brother was waist deep in hookers this time last week and now he’s come back to us!  Why don’t you come in and get your freak on with us?”

Brad spit out his lipper and followed his dad into the party.  He was pissed at Chaz, no doubt about that, but he wasn’t nearly pissed enough to pass up twenty year scotch.

The End.

(Editor’s Note: As you well know, we at The Holy Broble get a kick out of mixing the silly and the sacred, the holy and the hilarious, the canonical and the comical.  We believe this is a good and worthy pursuit, and we hope you’ve gotten a kick out of it as well.  But it does beg the question – where does one draw the line?  Our answer is, “Right here.”  Whether or not you gave up chocolate, meat, or swearing for Lent, you are no doubt aware that this Sunday is Easter.  With the possible exception of Christmas morning and Mother’s Day, this is the most significant date on the church calendar, and with good reason.  It celebrates the central event of the Christian life: the intercessory death and resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  This story is the core of our faith, and the culmination of God’s redemptive purposes for humanity.  Through it we have life, without it we have nothing. And – though we enjoy a good liturgical laugh as much as the next borderline heretic – the fact remains that we do not want in any way to diminish the sanctity of this event.  That said: we will be taking a break from our humorous posts this week to reflect on the majesty and mystery of the Easter story.  We’ll see you next week.)

By: S.M. Lockridge

The Bible says my King is a seven-way king….He’s the King of the Jews; that’s a racial king….He’s the King of Israel; that’s a national King….He’s the King of Righteousness….He’s the King of the Ages…..He’s the King of Heaven….He’s the King of Glory….He’s the King of kings, and He’s the Lord of lords. That’s my King. Well….I wonder, do you know Him?…. David said, “The Heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows His handiwork. My King is a sovereign King. No means of measure can define His limitless love. No far seeing telescope can bring into visibility the coastline of His shoreless supply. No barrier can hinder Him from pouring out His blessings. He’s enduringly strong….He’s entirely sincere….He’s eternally steadfast….He’s immortally graceful….He’s imperially powerful….He’s impartially merciful……. Do you know Him?

He’s the greatest phenomenon that ever crossed the horizon of this world. He’s God’s Son….He’s a sinner’s Saviour….He’s the centerpiece of civilization….He stands in the solitude of Himself….He’s august….He’s unique….He’s unparalleled….He’s unprecedented….He’s the loftiest idea in literature….He’s the highest personality in philosophy….He’s the supreme problem in higher criticism….He’s the fundamental doctrine of true theology….He’s the cardinal necessity for spiritual religion….He’s the miracle of the age…. He’s the superlative of everything good that you choose to call Him….He’s the only one qualified to be an all sufficient Saviour…… I wonder if you know Him today?

He supplies strength for the weak….He’s available for the tempted and the tried….He sympathizes and He saves….He strengthens and sustains….He guards and He guides….He heals the sick….He cleanses lepers….He forgives sinners….He discharges debtors….He delivers captives….He defends the feeble….He blesses the young….He serves the unfortunate….He regards the aged….He rewards the diligent….and He beautifies the meek……. I wonder if you know Him?

Well, my King….is the King….He’s the key to knowledge….He’s the wellspring to wisdom….He’s the doorway of deliverance….He’s the pathway of peace….He’s the roadway of righteousness ….He’s the highway of holiness….He’s the gateway of glory……. Do you know Him?

Well….His office is manifold….His promise is sure….His light is matchless….His goodness is limitless….His mercy is everlasting….His love never changes….His word is enough….His grace is sufficient….His reign is righteous….and His yoke is easy, and his burden is light. I wish I could describe Him to you, but He’s indescribable….He’s incomprehensible….He’s invincible….He’s irresistible.

Well, you can’t get Him out of your mind….You can’t get Him off of your hand….You can’t out live Him, and you can’t live without Him….The Pharisees couldn’t stand Him, but they found out they couldn’t stop Him….Pilate couldn’t find any fault in Him….The witnesses couldn’t get their testimonies to agree….Herod couldn’t kill Him….Death couldn’t handle Him, and the grave couldn’t hold Him. Yea!!!, that’s my King, that’s my King.

Father…”Thine is the Kingdom….and the Power….and the Glory….Forever”….and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever. How long is that? And ever…and ever…and when you get through with all the forevers, then…. AMEN!….AMEN!

Judges 4

You got any friends that are just perpetual screw-ups? The kind of person that just can’t get it right, no matter how many times they try? That was the Israelites. Somewhere between Wiley Coyote, Lindsay Lohan, and Michael Vick. The Israelites were perfecting the concept of being their own worst enemy far before that awesome Lit song inspired Charlie Sheen to try to dig a hole in his life to China with hookers and nose candy.

The Old Testament pretty much reads like this: God loves Israel. Israel loves God. Israel turns back on God, goes off the deep end, and becomes the inspiration for the show Skins. God gets mad and punishes Israel. Israel repents. God blesses Israel. Repeat until Jesus is born.

After Ehud the assassin shanked Jaba the Hutt like a champ, all was well in Israel for like, a year. Then Ehud died and it was like all of Israel figured that God had relaxed the rules on whoring and debauchery and what not, so they went back to worshipping foreigners and sleeping with idols. I mean, worshipping idols and sleeping with foreigners. Actually, nevermind. Probably both.

Because they had started approaching God’s laws like it was opposite day, God decided to give them over to Jabin, the king of Canaan. This dude was one bad mother trucker. He had a wicked army with 900 iron chariots that was commanded by an equally bad dude named Sisera.

“Sisera? That sounds like a girl’s name.”

You’re right bro, it does. That’s probably why he was such a douchebag to everyone, kind of like that Johnny Cash song “A Boy Named Sue.” His parents gave him a name that was one step away from Sissy and he decided to make the world pay for it. The Israelites had been bearing the brunt of his “I’m mad at my dad” Marilyn Manson anger for 20 years when they decided it was time to ask God for help.

(Note: 20 years? Seriously Israelites, 20 years!? They must have been seriously dense, or seriously slam hammered to have to take that long to figure it out.)

God put Deborah (a girl!) in power over the Israelites. She was pretty much the Oprah of her day. She had a direct line to God, helped all the people figure out their problems, had a place where everyone would line up to see her, and I’m guessing she probably gave away a bunch of sweet stuff. Donkey blankets, dreidels, nice clay pots – I don’t know what kind of schwag Israelites would have wanted, but I guarantee that Deborah didn’t mess around with gift cards or anything lame like that.

Now I’m not some kind of charismaniac weirdo or anything, but this has got to be some kind of prophecy: Deborah had a great friend whose name was (get this!) Barak! Seriously, I’m not kidding.  It’s in the Bible. She told her friend Barak to take the Israelites and lead them into battle against Sissy boy and his army of Stone Cold Steve Austin clones on their Harley Davidson chariots, pretty much like Oprah told Obama to run for president. This Barak said “okay, but only if you come with me.” Pretty sure that’s just like how Oprah is now secretly running the country by texting orders to Obama every day.

So Deborah, in true emasculatory Oprah fashion, tells Barak that she’ll go with him, but the honor of killing Sisera will go to a chick. Ouch, Barak. Ouch.

Barak takes his army and rolls out to Mount Tabor for the fight.  Deborah comes with him, probably in some kind of veiled carriage thing that had ancient Jewish air conditioning and camel-leather seats. I mean, I can’t confirm that Deborah liked fancy things, but I think it’s safe to assume that she rolled like a boss.

Sisera hears on Facebook or something that Barak has his hairy Jewish army hanging out on Mount Tabor and gets pissed. He tells all the Steve Austin clones to fire up their Harleys and head out for what he probably thought was going to be like punching a child. Little did he know, the Israelites had gotten right with God again and the Big Guy was now doing all their heavy lifting.

Barak and his army literally killed everyone except Sisera, the leader. He got away and fled on foot, eventually stumbling into the tent of this femme fatale named Jael. The Bible doesn’t say whether or not Jael was a babe, but let’s be Hollywood for a sec and assume that she was. After all, what kind of story would this be if the heroine at the end was some frumpy mustachio? Know what I’m saying?

Sisera opens up the tent and is all like “Oh dude, I’m gonna die” or whatever, and Jael, not even skipping a beat, says “come right in, don’t be afraid.” A freaking black widow, this chick. So Sisera goes into the tent and he’s all like “Hey tutz, I’m thirsty from all of the running away and screaming that I just did. You got any Vitamin Water?” She didn’t, but she had some Muscle Milk and he settled for that. Then he was like “Thanks sugar, I’m gonna take a quick nap before I clean out my thoroughly pooped pants.  Would you mind watching the door and telling anyone who comes by that there isn’t anyone named Sisera here?”

“No problem, I’ll definitely do exactly that” she said.

Sisera crashed out in a big way under a blanket and immediately started dreaming about Ed Hardy shirts and other forms of douche baggery. While he slept, Jael got a tent stake and snuck up on him. She put the tent peg on his temple and hammered it through his head until it went into the ground. She literally nailed this dude’s head to the ground.

I mean, warrior fighter chicks are pretty hot and everything, but that’s a little too rich for my blood, know what I’m saying? She obviously knew that God wanted her to kill this guy, but you gotta wonder what God’s reaction was when she went with the “nail the brains to the floor” method.

“Whoa, whoa Jael. I mean, everybody knows I’m all about going big or going home, but wow, I just… I gotta be honest, that was a little much.”

After that, Jael went on to start the first roller derby league, a sport that hasn’t changed for thousands of years.

2 Kings 9-10

Parental Advisory: This Broble story is rated ‘R’ for rampant violence.  Seriously bro, this stuff makes Kill Bill look like a Pixar flick.  Children under the age of 17 should be accompanied by a parent when reading this story.

Not long after Elijah left earth on the express elevator to heaven Elisha, his replacement prophet, decided Israel was due for a new king.  He gave his summer intern a bottle of balsamic vinaigrette and told him to go dump it on the head of this dude named Jehu.  And just like that, Jehu became king.  As you can see, appointing a leader has become much more complicated over the past 3,000 years.

The balsamic bath might have made Jehu king in Elisha’s eyes, but there was one problem: Israel already had a king.  His name was Joram and if Jehu wanted to wear the crown, he’d have to pry it from Joram’s cold, dead fingers.  Fortunately, this is what Jehu was planning to do anyway.

King Jehu gathered his posse and headed to Jezreel where Joram was kicking it with his buddy King Ahaziah of Judah.  Joram and Ahaziah were always hanging out because they had a lot of the same hobbies like, for example, pissing off God and trying to not get conquered by Syria.  Something else they had in common was that they were both about to get murdered, like, hard.

King Jehu rolled up to the gate of Jezreel and Joram went out to meet him.

“Look bro, we don’t want any trouble,” said Joram.

“If you didn’t want any trouble you shoulda told Jezebel, that two-bit trollop you call a mother, to stop tramping around Applebees five nights a week,” said King Jehu.  (Note: This is history’s first recorded “your mom” joke.  Not bad for a first effort.)

When Joram heard this, he knew he was about to get Tupac’d.  He wheeled his Segway around and booked it back toward Jezreel.

“Run away, Ahaziah.  Run away!” he shouted as he blew past King Ahaziah.

Jehu didn’t chase Joram.  He stopped his chariot, pulled out his crossbow, checked the wind, crossed himself, and blasted an arrow straight through Joram’s heart from two hundred yards away.  (For more information on what this probably looked like, you can watch the movie Troy.)

When King Ahaziah saw his buddy Joram get kabob’d by Jehu, he pieced out in the opposite direction.  He didn’t make it far.  Jehu chased him down and Ahaziah got capped quicker than a busty blonde in a horror film.

Having settled his beef with his rivals, King Jehu headed into town to give Queen Jezebel a piece of his mind (aka stab her).  He rode into the palace and Jezebel started heckling him from her balcony.

“Hey, Ray Lewis, what do you want?” said Her Royal Highness of Whorishness, holding up her fists.  “Cause if you want to throw down in fisticuffs I’ve got Jack Johnson and Tom O’Leary right here.”

King Jehu saw a few eunuchs standing behind Jeze-bimbo.

“Hey guys,” he said.  “Who up there is tired of taking orders from a used-up curb server who’s slept with every guy from here to Hong Kong?”  Three of them raised their hands.

“Well, why don’t you reclaim your balls – sort of – and toss her out?”

So that’s what they did.  They threw her off the balcony and she splattered all over the ground like a chicken pot pie.  And then she got trampled by horses.  And then she got eaten by dogs till there was nothing left of her but a pair of knee-high boots.  And that, boys and girls, is why it doesn’t pay to be a parking lot panther.

Next on Jehu’s “People To Kill” list were all 70 of King Ahab’s kids.  (Note: say what you will about ole King Abab, the dude had some successful swimmers.)  Even though there were a bunch of them, these clowns went down easier than a 16-seed in the NCAA tourney.  First thing Jehu did was send letters to the mayors of all the cities where Ahab’s kids were living.  The letters said, “Get out your Glocks you sorry S.O.B.s.  I’m coming for you and hell’s coming with me!”

The mayors got these letters and were all like, “Oh crap.  Did you hear what Jehu did to Joram and Ahaziah?  We’ve got a snowball’s chance in Houston of beating him.”  So they sent Jehu letters saying, “No, it’s cool.  We surrender.  Do your thing.  We’ll just hang out.”  Jehu received their messages and sent out a second letter saying, “Well played, Mr. Mayor.  Now go chop off the head of whatever Ahab Jr. is living in your city and bring it to me tomorrow.”

Jehu woke up the next morning and found 70 heads piled up on his lawn.  He marked “Mail Order Massacre” off of his Bucket List and went out to pick a fight with the prophets of Baal.

“You thought Ahab loved Baal?” said Jehu to the people of Israel.  “Well I loooooooove Baal!  Compared with my love for Baal, Ahab looks like a Celebrity Rehab reject.  Go tell every prophet of Baal to hightail it to the temple cause I’m gonna make a sacrifice that will blow their minds like nothing they’ve seen since the end of Usual Suspects.”

Once all the prophets got to the temple, Jehu went in and said, “Thanks for coming down guys, but, uhh…just kidding!  Ya’ll suckers just got served!”  The prophets of Baal got executed like they were Facebook users in China, and their temple got turned into a port-a-potty.  (Yes, seriously.)

Once he was done doing them in, Jehu hung up his sword and retired from his life of genocide.  He reigned over Israel for 28 more years, but none were as fun as that first one.

Body Count:

Jack Bauer = 123

Jason Statham = 141

Bruce Willis = 200

King Jehu = 215+

Acts 12:1-19

The early Apostles remind me a lot of my boy Tony.  Tony’s a good dude – good friend, good brother, treats his Old Lady right, all that stuff, but, get this, the dude just cannot stay out of prison.  DUI, public intox, resisting arrest – you name it he’s done time for it.  Did you know it’s illegal to discharge a pistol at a Kid Rock concert?  I didn’t.  Neither did Tony.  (In his defense, it was in Vegas.)  Seriously bro, the guy’s spent more time in the can than anyone I know who is not currently a member of D12.  Great guy, though – just like the Apostles.

Take Peter, for example.  He was, by all accounts, a bang-up dude.  If you can look past the whole “Jesus? Who’s that?” episode, Peter was probably the big man’s favorite disciple – right up there with Scottie Pippen, Andy Richter, and Dick “Dick” Cheney in the Sidekick Hall of Fame.  He was also a multiple felon.  In fact, when our story begins Peter is once again sitting in the slammer; this time for the crime of “being a Christian.”

I don’t know what King Herod’s deal was – maybe his senior prom date left him for an FCA small-group leader, maybe his fiancé’s Baptist grandma wouldn’t let them have dancing at their wedding – but, whatever the reason, the head honcho of the Hebrews hated Christians even worse than he hated Keith Olbermann (which is saying something).

Herod had already arrested James (John’s younger bro) and paid a gangbanger to shiv him in the shower.  This got a buncha positive press from the Jew-folk, and word was out that our boy Pedro was next on the list.

The night before his trial Peterman was sleeping in his cell, chained up to two guards like he was some kind of flight risk, when this dude in a shiny robe started shaking him.  Peter jerked awake.

“Don’t tase me, bro!” he shouted.

“Shhhhhhh,” said the angel.  “Get your gear, dude.  We’re pulling a Shawshank.”

Peter thought he was hallucinating, but he knew better than to talk back to an acid trip.  He pulled on his orange jumpsuit and gathered up the Spice Girl figurines which he’d carved out of soap.  He tried bringing his ten copies of Catcher in the Rye too, but the angel made him leave them behind.

The two snuck past the guards in Peter’s cell, past the other guards outside the door, and past the Minotaur at the center of the prison.  Within minutes they were standing before the prison gate, and it flew open all by itself.  Some scholars have taken this to mean that the gate had a motion sensor (like the ones at Kohls), but a more realistic explanation is that Peter’s rescuer was actually Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Peter and the angel walked all the way down the street and then the angel peaced out.  Peterman looked around and realized he wasn’t dreaming.  He had just pulled a Prison Break and it hadn’t taken him four seasons on Fox to do it!

“Holy Count of Monte Cristo!” said Peter.  “Looks to me like the Good Lord himself came down here and sprung me from the stir before King Cruel-and-Unusual could go all Abu Ghraib on me!”  Then he ripped his shirt off and danced around in the rain, and everyone agreed it was a real special moment.

After his escapee epiphany, Peterman went straight to his buddy Mark’s mom’s house where he knew the rest of his crew would be hanging out cause it was a Thursday, and Thursday night was Catchphrase night for the early Christians.  He knocked on the door and the babysitter answered.

“Who can it be now?” she sang through the door.  Apparently this chick was a big Men At Work fan.  Don’t ask.

“It’s your Uncle Pete!  Now quick, open the door before the fuzz get here and start Rodney King-ing me.”

The babysitter was so excited to hear Peter’s voice that she ran off to tell the grownups and completely forgot to let him in.  Also, she peed her pants a little.

“Peter’s here!  Peter’s here!” she squealed, but no one believed her.

“Dadgummit, Rhoda!” said her father.  “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of the Four Lokos?  They got you seeing stuff again!”

“No, I’m serious.  It’s really him,” Rhoda insisted.

“I believe you,” said her Uncle John.  “But my tommy gun don’t!” Then he pelted her with some Nerf darts and everyone had a good laugh.

While this was going on, one of the other adults overheard someone banging on the door while shouting “five-oh, five-oh!”  He opened it to find Peter on the other side.  Both men were so overjoyed that they went straight in for a hug.

“I love you, man,” said the guy into Peter’s shoulder.  “No homo.”

“No homo,” agreed Peter.

The other grownups came to the door and Peter told them to keep it down.  He had to get on the move again before the poh-pohs caught up with him.  He told them that a one-armed man had murdered his wife and that he was being setup.  Then he disappeared into the darkness.

No one knew what he was talking about, but they were all certain of one thing: they owed Rhoda an apology.

Joshua 7

Back when the Israelites were romping across Canaan like Ben Roethlisberger across a piano bar there was this bro-meister in camp named Achan.  Remember that rapper, Akon, who got yelled at by FoxNews a couple years back for grinding up on that 14 year-old girl?  Yeah, that’s not who I’m talking about.  But it might as well be ‘cause there are some weird parallels between rapper Akon and Old Testament Achan.  Just replace “freaked on a 14 year-old” with “stole from God” and “yelled at by FoxNews” with “stoned and set on fire” and you’ve pretty much got it.

By the time our story begins, the Israelites had already been out of Egypt for, like, fifty years.  They’d spent most of that time in the desert, fighting amongst themselves and walking in circles, until someone finally checked Google maps and said “oh, it’s this way.”  They arrived in the Promised Land and got busy throwin ‘bows and bustin noses like Chris Brown after the Grammys.  They worked the cities of Canaan over like a snitch in San Quentin and, within a matter of months, had arm wrestled the entire region into submission.

As you might expect, God was fully aware that his people were posterizing and pillaging their way across Palestine.  In fact, he had sanctioned the rampage.  To him, the Canaanites were no better than a bunch of marbles and his Israelites were some hungry, hungry hippos.  There was only one rule: God called dibs on all the shiny stuff.  Gold, silver, brass, sequined top hats – if it sparkled, it belonged to God.  Everything else was to be treated like a Harry Potter book or Golden Compass DVD and destroyed by ritual fire.

This arrangement worked well for awhile, but then this guy Achan went and ruined everything.  Achan was rooting through the rubble of Jericho one afternoon when he spied some shiny stuff under what used to be a Hometown Buffet.  This wasn’t your average, run-of-the-mill, salad-fork silver.  This was the good stuff.  A high school class ring.  A Cadillac hood ornament.  Even a bedazzled “Don’t Mess With Texas” belt buckle.  Achan had found the proverbial mother load, and he should have gone straight to church and put it in the offering plate.  But he didn’t.  He took it home and hid it under his bed next to the Skoal cans and skin mags.

The next day, Team Israel was scheduled to lay waste to the city of Ai.  Joshua knew Ai was weaker than a trombonist in a bar fight so he decided to send out the JV Squad.  He figured they’d handle their business, and give the starters a much-needed breather.  The Israeli bush leaguers ran up to Ai – all hopped up on manna and 5-hour Energy – and were soundly spanked by the Ai-ians (Ai-ites? Ai-anders?  I don’t know.).

Joshua couldn’t believe it.  “What happened, God?” he shouted at the Ark of the Covenant.  “One minute we’re walking over our enemies like Michael Phelps at a pool party, and the next we’re getting blown out by a scrub squad like Ai?!  This is gonna kill our street cred!”

God told him to get up.  “Here’s the deal,” He said.  “Israel stole some stuff that belongs to me.  Until I get it back, you guys are gonna be losing more games than an Ethiopian hockey team.”

“Any way we can make it up to you?” asked Joshua.

“Yeah.  Get everyone together tomorrow and tell them I’m pissed.  Call the tribes forward one at a time and I’ll tell you who’s got my gear.”

So that’s what Joshua did.  He called a mandatory team meeting the next morning and brought the tribes of Israel, one at a time, to the front of the room.  It was like a game of hotter/colder.  Benjamin…cold.  Rueben…cold.  Gad…warm. Asher…getting warmer!  Zebulan…burning hot!  Judah…YES! Once Judah got picked out of the lineup, they went through the same ordeal with the clans and then the families and then the individual men-folk until Achan, son of Carmi, son of Zabdi, son of Zerah got ID’d as the perp.

“You just got called out by God, son,” said Joshua.  “You wanna tell us what you did or do we need to get out the waterboarding kit?”

“Alright, alright.  You got me,” said Achan.  “I did it.  I was over by the Hometown Buffet and I saw some stuff that I thought would look sweet in my man cave so I kept it.”

Joshua dispatched some guys to Achan’s tent and they came back with the ring, the watch, and the buckle.  They also brought the Skoal and the skin mags which Achan thought was a little excessive.

“You done screwed up real bad on this one, bro,” said Joshua.  “You lost us that battle against Ai and you got us in trouble with the Big Man upstairs.  You got beef with God and now you got beef with us.”

The Israelites took Achan and everything he owned outside the camp and threw rocks at him until they were sure he’d never go klepto on God again.  How were they sure?  Because he was dead.  With Achan neutralized and God’s wrath satisfied, the Israelites set up a rematch with Ai.  This time they brought the noise.  They plowed through Ai like Tiger Woods through a fire hydrant, and everyone learned a valuable lesson about obedience, and the Israelites never disobeyed God ever again.

Hahaha.  Just kidding.

Luke 5:17-26

Jesus had this thing about teaching mind-bending stuff to large crowds of people, kind of like a non-crippled Professor X. Wherever he went, tons of people of all shapes, sizes, and Twilight preferences usually showed up. With Jesus there was no such thing as LOST fans or people that don’t hate themselves, there were just people. The religiously challenged people showed up to see him make a blind person see, the educated people came to see if they could outsmart him, and the alcoholics showed up to see if he’d turn more dirty water into wine.

So one day he was in this house hanging out and mentally pwning the Pharisees with theological jiu-jitsu like he usually did, weaving an intricate web of redemption and epiphanies.  See, the Pharisees were basically the Whole Foods shoppers of their time. They walked around with thin-rimmed glasses and ivy-league rowing team sweaters draped over their shoulders as they looked down their upturned noses at everyone around them.  They weren’t there to learn from Jesus, they were there to try to catch him in an error so they could loop it on TMZ for the next four days and prove that he wasn’t the bomb-diggity Son of God.

Jesus was in the center of this Messianic mosh pit, teaching like usual. The place was standing-room only, with people cramming in the doorways to hear what he had to say like a bunch of Southern California moms at a reading of The Secret. Just down the street a group of dudes were making their way toward the building, hoping to get in on the Christy healfest. These weren’t just a couple of dudes that came to get some Tony Robbins-style life coaching, these guys were total varsity level all-stars. You see, these guys were carrying their paralyzed friend on a mat, hoping to get him to Jesus so he could finally join their flag football team.

When they got to the place where Jesus was teaching, they saw that it looked like the DMV on a Monday morning. Normal people like me or any of the pansies that I call friends would have just turned around and walked away. Reminds me of that time I trusted a “friend” of mine who may or may not be named Jimmy to get my back after I won five rounds of Edward 40-Hands in his honor and instead I wound up naked in a kiddie pool in the garage, covered in stuff I didn’t even know could come out of my body.

Jimmy would have just looked at his paralyzed friend and said something like, “sorry dude, I guess it could be worse, right? You could be cripp… You could be dead?” But these guys were not Jimmy.  Instead of waving the white flag, they decided to take their friendship to the Special Forces level. I imagine the consensus at their bro-summit sounded something like this: “Impossible to get in? You say impossible, I say Jew-possible. We’re too circumcised for the front door anyway.  We’re going through the roof.”

Using some kind of crazy Jewish MacGuyver moves, the 6-man Ambrolance somehow got their invalid friend up onto the roof of the building without dropping him to an early death.  These ballsy bro-mmandos then Spidermanned their way over to the spot above where Jesus was teaching, and started ripping off roof tiles like a friggin F5 Tornado.

You’d think that from there the guys would’ve just yelled down to Jesus and asked him to swing by after the sermon was done. Nope. Not these guys.  These guys wanted their buddy to see Dr. Jesus and they weren’t gonna just drop him off outside the ER.  They lowered him down from the roof on his mat, right in front of Jesus.  I’ve got a brick of PBR that says these guys loved Mission: Impossible.

Imagine the reactions in the room at this point. Everyone is sitting there, intently listening to Jesus, hoping against hope that the fart they’re about to let loose is a silent one, when a paralyzed dude comes hovering down from the roof. I’m guessing the paralyzed guy just owned it and acted like nothing was weird about what was happening. “This is the handicap section, right?”

Jesus, being God incarnate and all, knew that everyone there was expecting him to bust out a sweet miracle and heal the dude on the spot, but he also knew… well, he was God so he knew pretty much everything else too. Instead of healing the dude, Jesus said “First of all, that was super cool. Props for innovation. Second, your sins are forgiven.”

Based on the gasps that followed that statement, you would have thought he’d said, “I don’t know, I thought Inception kinda sucked.”  Jesus could tell that the Pharisees had just crapped enough bricks to build an entirely new building, so he was all like “Seriously guys, I can’t believe the stuff you’re thinking. What’s the real miracle? Forgiving a dude’s sins or fixing his legs? But fine, just so you know I’m legit enough to forgive sins, I’ll heal him too.”

And he did, and the dude formerly known as “crippy” by his friends picked up his mat and crip-walked out of that place. If you needed a story about going big or going home, you just got it.

Genesis 3:1-24

“I guess the saying’s true, in the poker game of life, women are the rake.” –Ed Norton in Rounders

You’ve heard the story about how God threw the first dude a bone and hooked him up with this slammin honey named Eve, right?  (If you haven’t heard it, why don’t you get with the program and click here.)  Well this story is about her.  Now let me say from the get go that I got nothing against Eve.  She was always yapping her jaw during Mad Men episodes, and she only bought skim milk, but all-in-all, she was a pretty cool chick.  Plus, Adam’s my boy.  So if he’s into her, I’m happy for him.  And what’s he gonna do?  Hold out for a better option?  Yeah right.  One time I saw him spitting game at a snow leopard, and it was like watching Helen Keller on American Gladiators.  Brutal.

But all of that to say: something wasn’t quite right with that Eve chick.  I’m not gonna say she was gullible, but I will say that Adam used to take her snipe hunting, like, once a week and she never figured it out.  And I’m not gonna say she didn’t know her place, but she was always mouthing off to Adam with stuff like, “who made you the boss of me?”  And Adam would say, “God.”  And she’d be all like, “whatever.”  So yeah, Eve was good looking and all that, but she had some baggage.  She just – I don’t know – she just seemed like the kind of chick who could destroy everything good and beautiful in the world.  You know the type.

So one day Eve was walking through the Garden of Eden singing “The Bear Necessities” and munching on a coconut when she bumped into a giant, talking snake.  Now I don’t know if life was like a Disney movie back then and all the animals could talk, or if Eve had gotten into some magic mushrooms that morning or what, but for whatever reason, it didn’t bother her when the snake slithered up and said, “Hey toots, did The Big Man really say you guys couldn’t eat from any of these trees?”

“Silly goose!” said Eve.  “No, he didn’t say that.  He just said ‘don’t eat from that tree in the middle cause it’s bad for you and you’ll die.’”

“Die?!  Oh that’s rich,” said the snake.  “He’s just messing with you.  He knows if you eat that fruit you’ll be able to do math and will finally understand the ending of Donnie Darko.  He doesn’t want that.  Trust me on this: you’ll be fine.”

Eve fell for it like Kirstie Alley at a Las Vegas buffet.  She scarfed down some forbidden fruit, mixed up a nice fruit salad, and gave the stuff to her man, Adam.  He went for it as well.  They both agreed that this fruit was the best thing they’d ever tasted and were headed back to the tree for round two when they started noticing parts of each other they hadn’t seen before – butts and birthmarks and whatnot.  They were as naked as porn stars at a job interview.

This wasn’t the best timing cause God was on his way down to the Garden for He and Adam’s daily racquetball game.  Adam wasn’t in their usual meeting spot so God hit him up on his cell, “Where you at?”

“Here I am,” said Adam from a nearby bush.  “I heard you coming and I hid cause I got nothing on but my birthday suit.”

“Who told you what a birthday suit is?” asked God.  “You been nibbling on the naughty tree?”

“It’s this chick you gave me!” said Adam.  “She fed me some of those bad apples for breakfast and now I’m cruising around down here in these shrub skivvies.  Also, she makes me drink light beer.”

If you ask me, Adam had every right to toss Eve under the bus for her little stunt, but she wasn’t about to take the fall for this one.

“It was the snake’s fault,” said Eve.  “He told me it’d make me a better driver!”

“Bad move,” said God to the snake.  “I’m taking back those legs I gave you, so now you gotta crawl on the ground and eat dirt for a living.  Also, women aren’t gonna talk to you ever again.  They’re gonna think you’re gross and their sons are gonna chase you with shovels.”

But he wasn’t done.

He said to Eve: “Guess what, honey?  No more storks for you.  You gotta start squeezing out babies on your own.”

“Won’t that hurt?” asked Eve.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” said God.

And to Adam, He said: “I’m pulling out all these money trees I planted.  From now on you gotta work for your cash.  Sometimes for eight or nine hours a day.  In a row.  And you gotta do this for, like, forty-five years.  And you only get 10 vaca days per year.”

“That sounds terrible,” said Adam.

“Sounds like someone’s got a case of the Mondays,” said God.

God could see that Adam’s tree branch man-thong was starting to chafe, so he made Adam and Eve a pair of leather onesies.  Then He sent them off for nine hundred years of morning sickness and morning drive DJs, respectively.

Fast forward 6,000 years and here we are today.  Ice caps are melting, stock markets are crashing, the Los Angeles Lakers are winning, and something called a Ladygaga is giving deaf people new reasons to praise their good fortune.  We let dinosaurs go extinct.  The Kardashians continue to reproduce.  And somehow, after romping and stomping around the globe for six millennia, we still don’t know how to fly!  Safe to say: things haven’t turned out like we hoped they would.

Some people blame the Freemasons for this.  Others blame Rosie O’Donnell.  Not me.  I blame that Eve chick.  (And Rosie O’Donnell.)

2 Kings 2

If you fools have been paying attention, I shouldn’t have to remind you what an absolute, balls-to-the-wall baller Elijah the Prophet was.  He was a fire-breathing, truth-spitting, corpse-raising, monarch-mocking, Jehovah-worshipping Gnarly Gnarlington.  He had tiger’s blood and Adonis DNA and if you borrowed his brain for five seconds your face would melt off and children would weep over your exploded body.  Yeah, he was sweet.

So sweet, in fact, that God decided that death was beneath him.  No decrepit old age or freak gasoline fight accidents for E-Jay.  When God was done with him, He’d just send a tornado of smoke and fire down to E-Jay’s house to pick him up and bring him to heaven.  If you can think of a cooler way to call it quits than that, I’d like to hear it.  (No, drinking fruit punch and then flying into space to meet a spaceship on the other side of a comet doesn’t count.)

Anyway, after Elijah had lived a long life of faithfulness and assorted acts of awesomeness, God decided it was time to send down his invite to the big Super Bowl party in the sky.  Elijah didn’t want the firestorm to cause a ruckus, so he tried to get some solo time when the big day finally arrived.  He told his buddy Elisha to hang back in Gilgal while he went down to bang around Bethel for the weekend.

“Not a chance,” said Elisha.  So they went together.

When they got to Bethel a buncha other prophets came out and said to Elisha, “You know God is closing the curtains on your boss today, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Elisha.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Then Elijah came over and said, “Alright bro, this is it for us.  I gotta go slap those jags in Jericho around a bit.  You chill here.  I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

Elisha was a smart dude and all, but when it came to taking a hint, he was as oblivious as Buddy the Elf.  He told E-Jay, “No, it’s cool.  I’ll come with.”  So they cruised to Jericho together.

In some kind of weird, déjà vu type deal, Elijah and Elisha ran into another group of prophets in Jericho and had the exact same conversation they had with the prophets up in Bethel.  You know your boss is blasting off to Abraham’s bosom, right?  Yeah, yeah, I know.  Shut up about it.  Blah, blah, blah.

By then Elijah knew he was about T-minus two hours from riding his righteous rocketship into the stratosphere so he tried one last time to ditch Elisha.

“Listen broheim, you know I love you,” he said.  “You’re a bro among bros. Brotankhamen. Broseph Stalin.  Brobi Wan Kenobi. You are Broseidon, lord of the brocean.  But, here’s the deal, I gotta head over to Jordan and you gotta stay here.”

“You can take that ‘you gotta stay here’ and cram it up your pie hole,” said Elisha.  “I’m coming with.”  And so he did.

(Note: Yes, this story is getting as repetitive as a Rage Against the Machine song, but bare with me.  Things are bout to jump off.)

Elijah and Elisha (aka E-squared) walked toward the Jordan together.  Things were pretty heavy on that final stroll.  The Bromance was drawing to a close and Elisha was more bummed out than he’d been since he found out that Lance Armstrong was a juicer.  There wasn’t much to say.

When they got to the Jordan River, Elisha rolled up his jeans and got ready to start swimming, but Elijah told him to hold off for a second.  He took off his jacket, rolled it up into a rat-tail, and popped the river with it.  Did I mention that Elijah was the best rat-tail roller this side of a junior high lock-in?  Cause he was.  He popped the Jordan River with his jacket and the water split like a French person at a bar fight.  The two cruised across on dry ground.

When they got across the river, E-Jay asked Elijah if he wanted anything before he left.

“Yeah,” said Elisha.  “Make me twice as powerful as you.  Also, I’d love an iPad 2.”

“Wow,” said Elijah.  “I was thinking, like, a balloon animal or something.  But alright, I’ll play along.  If you can keep your eyes open when my holy hurricane blows through, you’ll get what you’ve asked for.”

It’s a good thing Elijah said this when he did, cause right when he finished a team of flaming horses with a flaming chariot came hauling up behind them.  Elijah got thrown in the cart and he shot off into the clouds in a whirlwind of fireworks, flames, and phantasmagoria.

Elisha remembered what Elijah said about keeping his eyes open, so he watched the chariot of fire as long as he could.  It disappeared into space and, just like that, Elisha was a “one man wolfpack” again.  He picked up Elijah’s coat, which had fallen on the ground, and walked back to the river.

Elisha rolled up a rat-tail and said, “Alright God, I know Elijah was your boy, but you and I are friends too, right?”  He smacked the river with the coat and got his answer: the waters parted like a bad haircut.

Those prophets who had been busting Elisha’s balls earlier were all hanging out on the other side of the river, and they’d seen Elisha’s little rat-tail river-parting.  All were duly impressed.  They promised to watch Elisha’s back in the same way that they’d always had Elijah’s back, which basically meant “not at all”, but Elisha thought it was a nice gesture anyway.

Genesis 11:1-9

One of the great things about God wiping the whole world out with a flood (Note: see Jars of Clay or Steve Carrell for more info on this) was that you didn’t have to travel cross-country to see your crew anymore.  I mean, I love a road trip as much as the next guy who just finished On The Road, but sometimes I don’t feel like sitting in a Jeep Grand Cherokee for 15 hours just to watch my bro get hitched to some broad I don’t even know, you know what I’m saying?  Sure you do.

The flood solved this problem.  For starters, most of your bros would have been dead.  Yeah dude, it sucks, I know.  Let’s pour one out for our lost homies.  Whoa, whoa, whoa not too much, dude!  Geez bro, Boone’s Farm doesn’t grow on trees you know.  So anyway, yeah, a buncha your boys bit the dust.  That’s a real banger.  But the good news is: the bros who hadn’t died all lived within walking distance.

See, after the flood, Noah’s grandkids kinda skipped over the whole “fill the earth” part of God’s command.  They treated the Middle East like it was a Chicago suburb: they walked until they came to a place where there wasn’t a house and then they built one there.  This made for some killer block parties and you never had to go far to find an above ground pool, but it wasn’t how God meant for people to live.

Something else you should know about the post-flood populace: they all spoke the same language.  The Bible doesn’t tell us what language, but it was probably English since it’s the easiest.  This setup worked out great for everyone since it made it a ton easier to give instructions to the lawn guys, order chicken chow mein, and do other multi-cultural stuff like that.  Also, the lines at the DMV moved way faster.

With so many people living in the same place, speaking the same language, and watching the same randomly-hot local news weather lady, it wasn’t long before someone decided they use their combined powers to do something crazy.  Now if it had been me I would have said, “let’s invade China” or “let’s elect the first black president” or some other silly thing like that.  You know, some stunt that only works if you have a whole bunch of poor people speaking the same language.  But these people were a bit more practical than that.  So they decided to build a skyscraper to heaven.

The idea was, “if we build the tallest building in the world, we could probably talk Travis Pastrana into parachuting off of it.  That’ll turn into a Red Bull commercial and at least 4 million hits on YouTube.  We’ll be famous!”

“Plus,” someone else added.  “If we’re all working on the skyscraper project, no one will ever want to go to college out of state, and we’ll be one big happy family forever and ever.”

So they got after it.  Bricks were baked.  Mortar was mixed.  Lunches were packed and mustaches were grown.  Quicker than you can say “Hola mamasita” downtown Babel was overrun with Mexicans and racist high school dropouts, and it started to look like a real construction site.  Scaffolding, backhoes, union bosses, beer guts – it could’ve been a jobsite down the street from my place; the only difference being that no one was speaking Spanish so it was easier for the guys to tell dirty stories about their common-law wives and/or live-in girlfriends.

The whole “same language thing” also made it a ton easier to get stuff done around the site.  Since no one was wasting time looking for an English speaker or miming instructions using hand puppets, the skyscraper started coming together so fast you’d have thought it was a montage from an 80s movie. The skyscraper was halfway there (“waaoooh, living on a prayer”) after only a couple weeks of construction.

Round about this time God was rolling though the region and he noticed something fishy going on over in Babel.  When he saw the building, he got downright surly.

“You kidding me with this?!” he said to Jesus and the Holy Spirit.  “We gotta do something about this.  Today they’re climbing a stairway to heaven.  Tomorrow they’ll be, I don’t know, landing on the moon?  Where will it end?  Mars?  The sun?  Infinity and beyond?  No.  We’ve gotta put an end to this.  Let’s go mess with the way they talk.”

Right when he was saying this, there was a conversation going on down at the jobsite that went something like this:

Foreman: Hey, Jorge, run this stack of drywall up to the fourth floor.

Jorge: Que?

Foreman: What?

Jorge: Que?

Foreman: Take this drywall upstairs.

Jorge: No hablo ingles.

Foreman: What?

Jorge: Que?

And the same thing was happening all over Babel.  One minute two guys were laughing at a joke about a Jewish gynecologist and the next they were shouting at each other in German and Russian.  One guy was trying to order off the Roach Coach in Portuguese while the dude taking his order was yelling back in Pig Latin.  It was a hot mess.

Within fifteen minutes of God’s proclamation, progress on the tower had stalled out worse than Ted Haggard’s dating life.  Everyone was pissed and nothing was getting done.  Rather than going round and round forever like some retarded Three Stooges sketch, the workers decided to bail on the building and go their separate ways.

So the people of Babel left the skyscraper looking like the Death Star in Return of the Jedi and wandered off to different parts of the world where they could buy Hello Kitty merchandise, worship cows, and wear sombreros (respectively) in peace.