by Jon Stewart
"Let me ask you something. What year is it?" Luke says. I know what he's going for but I play dumb. "What do you mean?" I ask innocently. You should have seen me, all wide-eyed and sheepish. Elijah caught my performance and said he was going to throw me a graduation party because it was obvious I no longer needed acting classes. "33 A.D.," Luke says. I just let it hang there. "Anno Domini? ... Year of the Lord," he says, giving the head nod over in Christ's direction. "You got me?" he says. So I turn to him real cool and go, "Well last time I checked my calendar it was still 3706." And then I snap my fingers and go back to marrying ketchups. Luke's jaw about hit the floor. Moishe turns and says, "Bathsheba one, Luke zero." It was really funny, but I wasn't just being a bitch. A lot of the folks at Jerry's did still use the Hebrew calendar. And besides, with that attitude those boys weren't getting any special treatment from me. Jesus slips his tunic over his head just like the rest of us; I don't care who his father is.
I do have to admit I was a little scared. Some of these apostles are pretty rough trade, the blue-collar Nazareth crowd. And I think the others work out. They were pissed. Luke was yelling at me, saying if they don't get their table right away, Jesus is going to turn all our Château Lafite‑Rothschild into low-grade zinfandel. "Do it!" I say. It's not like it's my wine.
Jesus' boys are in a bit of a frenzy, giving me the third degree. "What's your name?" "We want to talk to the manager!" "Fine," I say, "talk to the manager. Get me fired." I'm an artisan/poet. I'm putting up a night of spoken word in three weeks. I don't need to take shit from cult members. I should have gotten the Etruscan bouncer, Vito the Unreasonable. He'd have thrown them out on their apostles. So just as I'm about to hurl some sea salt in Peter's face, Jesus pipes up. "Boys," he says. "Please. The wise builder doesn't build on sand, but the foolish builder can't build on rock." I had no idea what he was talking about, but suddenly, the angry mob's all kittens and puppies. It's "Right, Rabbi." "Sorry, Rabbi." "Couldn't have put it better myself, Teacher." Please! They're so affected. Jesus could've said, "Hey, look at me, I've got a banana up my ass!" and they would've acted like they just heard the word of God.
Finally, everybody shows up. It's nine o'clock. It's my last table, and the kitchen wants to close. So lucky me has to try and wrangle their order. It ain't easy. Matthew "has" to sit next to Jesus but John is having none of it, because his birthday's Monday and Jesus promised. Simon's blowing into his hand and pretending he farted. Mark and James are pouting because I carded them. Thomas wants a Caesar salad but doesn't believe it when I tell him you can hardly taste the anchovies in the dressing. Paul says he's lactose intolerant and claims if there's sour cream in his borscht, it's coming out of my tip. Judas sits glowering because no one will split an appetizer with him, and the rest of them just giggle at my "ASK ME ABOUT OUR KUGEL!" button. The way they all behaved, I should have made them order off the children's menu.
If my ex-roommate hadn't just screwed me on last month's rent, believe me, I would've walked. I needed the shekels, but obviously none of these guys had ever waited tables. One of them actually snapped his fingers at me for a water refill. Not even to drink. He wanted to wash Jesus' feet! That's right, feet. Right at the table! It was enough to make Caligula nauseous. The only bev they ordered, one glass of house red. They all split it. Hello! Misers, party of thirteen.
At this point I think they saw I was getting pissed and realized I would be handling their food. If you think that kind of thing doesn't happen in good restaurants all the time, you're kidding yourself. We had a bartender, Isaac, who had a special drink recipe for rude customers. I'll give you a hint: The magic ingredient is yak piss. You think I'm lying? He's a Bedouin and believe me those people could give a shit.
After I got them settled down, everyone ordered the lamb, except John, who'd had lamb for lunch. You'd have thought we were feeding the lions the way they attacked that thing. I hope Jesus is planning some commandments on table manners. Anyway, we got through dinner but you can be sure I had Carlos prepare a fatty cut, even though they asked for lean.
As far as Jesus goes, we'd all heard about the miracles he performs, but he actually seemed pretty normal. I've had friends who get a little success and immediately turn into assholes, but he was cool about it. My friend's sister caught him when he did two nights in Thebes. She said it was okay. He bent some spoons and guessed that one guy in the audience was thinking about changing jobs, but she said he was better when he was still with the Lepers. Jesus definitely did no miracles at this dinner, although one of the waiters who got his autograph said it cleared up his sinuses.
No real pearls of wisdom either. Once, right before dessert, Jesus said to no one in particular, "Why do people park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?" It was kind of funny. Truthfully, Jesus spent most of the time asking people whether or not a beard would make him look smarter. There was a bit of a scuffle when Paul liked the idea but Judas thought it was trendy. I say cut the hair. Please. You're not a musician and it's very B.C.
Personally, when I found out one of those guys had betrayed Jesus, it didn't surprise me a bit. You can ask David son of Phil. I told him that night, "I would not trust these guys if I were Jesus." It's so obvious they're not really his friends. They're just hanging around him because he's famous. You should have seen them scatter when I brought the bill. "Can you cover me, Jesus?" "I'll get you next time, Jesus." "I gotta go drain the staff, Jesus!" I don't know how Jesus puts up with it. Poor guy probably had to walk on water just to get some peace and quiet.
Not that it kept me up nights. Let's face it. Messiahs come and go. Just last week I had a creep on table five who claimed that if I followed him, I would enjoy eternal joy in a place called Utah. He said I could have as many wives as I wanted but not caffeine. Get real. Me? Choose women over coffee? Please. Still, I was sorry to hear what happened to Jesus. He was a good tipper.
• • •
Editor's note: After this piece was published it was brought to our attention that Avram's manuscript is not the only document pertaining to the life and times of Jesus Christ. A work titled "The New Testament" was sent to our offices along with a large number of other pertinent volumes. We regret this oversight. Also, upon great scholarly review, Avram's manuscript was found to be written in Magic Marker, an implement not discovered until the early nineteen hundred and fifties. Again, our regrets.
DA VINCI: THE LOST NOTEBOOK
DA VINCI'S LOST NOTEBOOK, known from 1477 to 1485 as da Vinci's Notebook, was recently returned by Interpol agents who caught fraudulent art dealers, posing as fraudulent baseball card dealers, trying to pass the notebook off as a signed Sandy Koufax rookie card. Although da Vinci is dead and can no longer use the notebook, art historians hoped its return would settle their longstanding dispute over the notebook's disappearance. Some had argued that da Vinci had originally misplaced the notebook in 1485 after being startled by the Black Death, others were con‑ vinced the great artisan had left it in the back of a cab. Da Vinci himself was despondent over the loss until his death and was convinced Mona Lisa had something to do with it, often complaining to friends, "Look at her face. She knows something." Da Vinci never abandoned the search for the notebook and on his deathbed was heard to remark, "The hall closet! Son of a bitch!"
The Lost Notebook is a significant find because it details much of da Vinci's early work. It gives a glimpse into da Vinci's mind when he wasn't yet an acclaimed genius, just a creepy guy who sat alone in cafes writing in a notebook. The notebook contains some of da Vinci's early inventions, grocery lists and numerous "notes to self."
THE CULT
CONSIDERING THE MANY feats of leadership in the twentieth century, from Churchill's morale-rallying speeches in World War II to Martin Luther King Jr.'s marches for racial equality during the sixties, the ones that I find most impressive are the Jonestown Massacre and Heaven's Gate. While Churchill and King inspired loyalty and devotion, they had the benefit of real issues and problems to play on. Getting peopl
e to buckle down during World War II or walk a couple of blocks with you on a sunny day in Alabama are impressive indeed, but getting people to castrate or kill themselves for no reason other than you think you saw something about it in a dream is unparalleled control. Not to mention the fringe benefits the leader of a cult enjoys with his subject's wives.
I imagine myself as the persuasive leader of a messianic cult. Somewhat of a stretch considering I have yet to be able to sell off a box of Amway products I ordered in 1986. Still, would I have the strength? Would I be able to overcome my fear of death, zealous crowds and death by zealous crowds? Would I be able to keep a straight face as I took command of people's lives with rhetoric I thought of when I was high? Would I understand the intricacies of forming a tax-exempt organization? The uncertainty of the new millennium will create unprecedented opportunity in the field of messianic leaders. Will I be up to the challenge?
• • •
We begin in the back room of my cult's compound, a .05-acre structure known as my rent-controlled one-bedroom. My subjects have congregated on this day to witness our salvation. I have foretold a vision of the Rapture. At 4:00 P.M., Captain Crunch will spring to life from his resting place on the back of a cereal box and deliver us to our eternal bliss. It is 3:56 P.M. I sit with my two lieutenants and await the miracle or a gigantic ass kicking. The time is nigh, and I am fast running out of snacks.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Leader.. What a glorious day for our deliverance!
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: I was just thinking that. I wish I had said it before you had.
ME: (distracted by the time) Yes, yes. The day is glorious, although they say tomorrow's pollen count will be moderate to heavy.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: What care we of tomorrow, when salvation is but four minutes away.
ME: I'm just saying I would hate to go to our salvation with red itching eyes.
LIEUTENANT MCSHANE: But the Captain will deliver us from our earthly afflictions. You said—
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: He knows what he said. Why must you always nag? He knows we—
ME: Fellas, please. With the air conditioning out, the last thing I need is the two of you making a ruckus.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Tell us again, for the last time, the story of Captain.
LIEUTENANT MCSHANE: Yes, Leader, tell us.
ME: All right. But then you both have to finish unloading the dishwasher like I asked you yesterday.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: We're sorry, Leader. We just thought that with the Captain coming ...
LIEUTENANT MCSHANE: We would have no more use for earthly dishes.
ME: So you want the Captain to eat off dirty dishes. Our savior of saviors, and you can't take the time?
LIEUTENANTS JOHNSON AND MCSHANE: Were sorry, Leader. Please forgive our sinful ways.
ME: All right, fine ... get up. (They begin to kiss my feet.) C'mon. You're embarrassing me, you ... (they get up) missed a spot. Anyhoo. The Captain was an all-powerful, benevolent leader. His people lived in a state of constant bliss, with a little sugar rush thrown in for good measure. One day, while his followers were being sinful and lazy and arguing with each other, a mean leprechaun accused the Captain of stealing his Lucky Charms. The leprechaun put a spell on the Captain, confining him until the righteous among us could pull the sword from the rock, showing the Captain we were worthy of receiving his good graces.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Leader?
ME: Huh?
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: I have a question. If the Captain is all-powerful ...
ME: Uh huh.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: How could the leprechaun put a spell on him?
LIEUTENANT MCSHANE: And what of the sword? I mean, I don't want to nitpick, but you never mentioned the sword before.
ME: You're gonna do this now? Huh? Three . . . two minutes to salvation and you're gonna do this now? Maybe you guys should have thought of this before you signed up, because if you're gonna nitpick I got aliving room filled with believers that would love to be lieutenants. Remember, at Salvation, the lieutenants get to carry the Captain's hat.
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: No, Leader. Please don't be angry. It's just ... I had never heard that thing about the sword before.
ME: Well, I just remembered it. Besides, you had no trouble swallowing the cereal box come to life part.
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: That's true.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: And when the Captain comes he will relieve our earthly afflictions?
ME: Bingo.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: This cursed cleft chin will finally be gone.
ME: I keep telling you. That's considered a positive feature.
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: And what of my leprosy? ME: Your what?
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: Leprosy.
ME: I thought that was dermatitis.
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: (Showing his arms) This is dermatitis. (Lifting up his shirt) This is leprosy.
ME: Oh my God (furiously washing any exposed skin). I hugged you in the Circle of Knowledge yesterday!
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: Fear not for me, Leader, for the Captain—
ME: Yeah, yeah. I get it. And I can do without the comforting touch on the shoulder, okay? And if you'd please just get off the chair, nothing personal. I just had them redone and it cost a fortune ... and I'll take the drinking glass, please ... thank you.
(From the other room a group chant begins.)
OTHER ROOM: CAPTAIN, WE ARE READY. 10... 9 ... 8 ...
ME: My watch still says 3:58. Fucking imitation Rolex. (I bang the watch on the table and then put it up to my ear.)
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Come, Leader, let us join the others so the Captain will see our solidarity.
ME: You guys go. I still have that ... thing ... in the oven. Wouldn't want the Captain's chicken to get dry.
LIEUTENANTS JOHNSON AND McSHANE: All right. See youin Nirvana.
ME: Right.
(They exit. The chant goes on. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. Then all is silent. Except for the sound of me trying to pry open a window. The silence endures . . . and then . . . the Lieutenants re-enter the room.)
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Uhh, Leader ... can we have a word with you, please?
ME: (coming back in from the window) Huh. Oh! In a sec. I thought I felt a draft. See this cracked rubber around the windowpane? ... Hey, how's the Captain?
LIEUTENANT MCSHANE: Everyone would like a word with you in the front ... now.
ME: Sure, sure. (They grab me and drag me into the front room.) Hey, everybody! What can I do you for?
FOLLOWER #I: It is 4:02. And still the Captain remains on the box. Smirking at us.
ME: 4:02. Right. Right ... Oh my God. It's Daylight Saving Time, isn't it? In the Land of Plenty it's still 3:02. Silly mistake. I can't believe I—
FOLLOWER #i: You lied to us, Leader. You took advantage of us.
ME: Now let's not start hurling accusations. I mean, who among us can really cast the first stone? Lying, taking advantage. Those are serious allega‑
FOLLOWER #I: You slept with my wife.
FOLLOWER #2: You slept with my wife and daughter. (A clamor arises from the followers.)
ME: All right now, settle down, people. Remember, I'm still the one making up the seating chart for the rocket ship (They quiet.) Good. Now, I'll admit, James—
FOLLOWER #2: Paul.
ME: Right, Paul. Paul, I'll admit you definitely took one for the team on that one. Heh, heh. Well. Are we out of onion dip? Let me run out and grab some quick, because the Captain's going to be here in about (checking watch) fifty-five minutes and you know he'll be hungry and ... (They stop me from going, and gather around me ominously.) Hey, c'mon. Why the long faces? The Captain's a little late. Christ. The guy's been on a box for—
FOLLOWER #3: You took all I had in the world. You destroyed my family. All I did was ask you for directions and before I knew what hit me, you had ruined me with your lies of a promised land of Crunchberries and honey ... and you slept with me.
ME: Whoa there, Phil. (Everyon
e begins to push in.) I categorically deny I slept with this guy.
FOLLOWER #3: Thursday night ... by the washing machine.
ME: Oh my God ... You've got soft hands.
FOLLOWER #4: Get him!!
(General mayhem ensues. Lamps break, blood is shed, feelings are hurt.)
ME: People, please! Settle down! This is a sublet. Now listen. I know you're disappointed that the Captain didn't show us the way to eternal salvation, but we still have cable till the end of the month, so let's show a little restraint here.
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Perhaps the Captain knew there were skeptics among us. Perhaps this is why he has forsaken us.
ME: Boom! Exactly. Couldn't have put it better myself. Damn skeptics. Maybe if you people hadn't balked at the bathroom tax none of this would—
LIEUTENANT McSHANE: A suicide pact will convince the Captain of our sincerity. A suicide pact led by our leader. To the medicine cabinet! The Leader will die and we shall follow.
(The crowd is aroused and moves toward the bathroom.)
ME: Whoa. Whoa. Slow down there, chief. I mean, suicide ... we could get in a lot of trouble for that. Besides, there's barely enough Valium in there to keep me calm when I fly. Hell, when I even think about flying ...
(The crowd moves to force the drugs into my system.)
LIEUTENANT JOHNSON: Suicide is the only Way!
ME: You never heard of a letter-writing campaign?
FOLLOWER #3: I Will join you!