Jonathan

I wanted to try writing a story in an American voice, and well, this is what I came up with...

My name is Jimmy, and I'm Jesus's son. Yeah, that's right, Jesus, everyone's
favourite Mexican magician, He's my dad. It might sound like a sweet gig, being the
grandson of God, and sure there are a few perks, like doing miracles and the
free wine, but mostly it's just a giant pain in my ass. I hear classmates tell
me their families are a problem and I'm like, dudes, you have no idea.

I'm studying a NYU, and being the son of the son of God means just about
everyone knows me, and I get all manner of phonies trying to ingratiate
themselves with me and skanky chicks throwing themselves in the direction of my
bed. That last part might sound fun, but trust me it gets old real fast. Worse
is that all the smart, classy, or interesting chicks won't come near me. They
think I'm going to be some religious freak, or super self-important or
something, just 'cause my family's supposedly a big deal. The crazy thing is,
I'm not even particularly spiritual. If it weren't for my folks, I'd probably be
an atheist, how nuts is that?

It isn't just skanks after a prestige lay either, I also get creepy attention
from the other end of the spectrum: The super religious girls, and guys. They
all tend to be very mixed up, with all manner of parent issues, conflicted
sexuality identity, repression and guilt. For some reason, they latch onto me as
the solution to all their problems. For a while I used to command 'em to go out,
get wasted and get laid. Figured it might do them some good. But then my Dad
found out and went apeshit. Nowadays I just tell 'em to go away.

To be honest, I don't see eye to eye with my Dad. Nowadays I only see Him when I
go home for the holidays. We usually manage to keep the peace for about two days
before we end up in some blazing row, usually over who spilt the milk or
something dumb like that. Then it's a week or more of silence and simmering
resentment, while Mom does her best to smooth things over, before I head back to
NYU. I tell you, for a guy supposedly all about forgiveness, he sure stays mad
at me for a long while.

I should be more understanding, I guess. I think my Dad's pretty stressed out.
His whole second coming hasn't really worked out like He expected. Turns out
bringing the kingdom of Heaven to Earth is harder than you'd guess, and now He's
got Grandpa on His back. I heard them talking when I was last home. It's weird to
watch. It kinda seems like regular praying, but then occasionally you'll hear
God talk back.

Anyway Dad was complaining about all the problems He's got in the church and the
trouble converting all the heathens blah blah blah, and I can hear Grandpa just
muttering and going uh-huh a bit like He does when He's getting pissed. Next
thing, I hear my Dad say, "Anyway, I'm thinking it might end up taking a third
coming." Well, the old man just about flipped, or came as close as I've ever
heard Him. Starts telling my Dad there's no goddamn *way* He's getting another
coming. That the only way He's getting back into Heaven is by building it on
Earth first.

Dad was in a seriously sore mood after that little exchange, as you can imagine,
and I steered well clear of Him. He spent the whole next day sulking in the
garage working on his woodwork stuff. I feel sorry for my little sister, Mandy,
being stuck in that environment, but she seems happy enough. Dad dotes on her
though, He always has. I think He's always resented me, 'cause I was one of His
first big fuck-ups and caused all sorts of scandal. I think Grandpa arranged
some kinda shotgun wedding, where He changed history so Mom and Dad were married
before I was conceived. I'm fuzzy on the details, 'cause the only time I ever
hear about it is when Aunt Dorothy gets drunk at family events and starts
spilling.

I guess by the time Mandy showed up eight years later, Dad was feeling better
about the whole situation, or at least He'd resigned himself to it. Anyway, I'm
pretty sure He loves her more than He loves me. I reckon Mom loves us both about
the same though. I wonder about her and Dad though. Sometimes I think they're
both still into each other, and others I think it's all for appearances. I know
she was one of His groupies, back in the early days. When I was in the attic one
time I found an old photo from back then. It's weird. Dad was all in hippy
robes, with long hair and this gay little beard, and He's standing on a little
rock, teaching to this rapt looking group of stoners. Anyway, front row, there's
Mom, staring up at Him like He's, well, Jesus.

It seems like a pretty weird way to start a relationship, almost kinda
exploitative on His part, you know? I've never had the guts to ask either of
them about it though. Still, I sure don't see Mom giving Him any rapt looks like
that anymore, most often she's telling Him to stop watching the Football and
take out the garbage, or some such. That's where I differ from my Dad. If it was
me, I'd just miracle the goddamn garbage bag into the trash can from the couch,
but He actually gets up and does it. Says miracles aren't to be used for trivial
stuff, or some such shit. I say: That's exactly what they *should* be used for.
Using them for big stuff is way more likely to 'cause trouble. Like going around
feeding thousands of people, and putting all the food vendors out of business.
It's just one more thing we end up arguing about.

Incidentally, the whole Mom and Dad thing is another reason I steer clear of
religious chicks. Even when you get the occasional one who's cute and who
doesn't seem messed up, I can't help but think at the back of my mind, would she
even be talking to me if I wasn't the son of the son of God? And if we were
making out or getting it on, would she be thinking about my Dad, or even my
Grandpa? Ewwww. It's bad enough knowing that Grandpa is always watching me when
I'm doing stuff like that.

Oh, and that reminds me of the absolute worst experience of my life. Listen to
this and tell me if any possible family bullshit you have can ever compare. I'm
thirteen years old, and I'm turning into a typically horny teenage kid. One day,
a guy at school puts a porno mag in my schoolbag, as a joke. They all know about
my Dad and think it's super funny to pull stuff like that. Anyway, I find it
when I get home, and I'm looking through it, and there's some pretty hot chicks
in there, up to all kinds of business. So, for the first time, I start to do
what comes naturally. Next thing, there's this flash of light, and my Grandpa's
voice booms out, saying "STOP THAT!"

Seriously, what the fuck, right!? Can you imagine the horror and mortification?
Even worse, He went and told my Dad, who proceeds to give me a lecture and make
me promise never to do it again. I promise, and of course a week later I'm back
doing it again. Another flash, another "STOP THAT!", and another lecture from my
Dad. This time I last a whole month, but of course eventually I break. This
time, when my Grandpa yells at me to stop, I yell right back. I tell him to quit
watching me and keep His perverted omnipresent ass out of my business and out of
my room. Well, that was the last time He ever bothered me about that, but it
still freaks me out something awful knowing He's probably watching whenever I
jerk off or make it with a chick.

At least at NYU I have a few buddies who pretty much treat me normally. There's
Chris and Isfaar, who I met 'cause we have the same major (Social and Cultural
Analysis). Chris is an atheist, so he doesn't care about my family 'cause he
thinks it's all bullshit. I mean, I've literally performed miracles in front of
him and he's like, nah bro, don't believe it. And Isfaar's Muslim, so he doesn't
care too much. He just thinks my Dad is an important prophet, by no big deal
compared to Mohammed. And squaring the circle there's Hannah, who we met at a
Vampire Weekend gig. She's short and she's loud and she's Jewish, albeit non-
practicing. Me and Hannah like to joke that if we ever got together, all our
parents would have a coronary apiece. Together, the four of us sound like the
setup to a bad joke, but we're a pretty tight little circle.

Anyway, they're all chill about my family situation. They'll give me shit about
my "groupies" when some religious floozy is hanging around me, but they do their
best to shield me from it as well, 'cause they know how much I hate it. We
decided to all rent an apartment together for our second year, which might have
been a disaster, but actually turned out great. We had an awesome party right
after we moved in. I filled up the whole bathtub with water and turned it into
beer. Chris got absolutely slaughtered because he drank about a gallon of it,
insisting it was still just water. The guy's committed to his beliefs, I'll give
him that. Nowadays we spend the evenings marathoning shows on Netflix, playing
XBox, and helping construct Hannah's weird installation art pieces.

I dunno why I decided to write all this. Maybe more for my own sake than for
anyone else's. I guess I wanted to communicate who I am a little better, both to
myself and to anyone else who might read it. Being Jesus' son is not something I
chose, and I often wish I was just part of a regular family, but there's nothing
I can do about it. Hopefully, what I've written might at least convince people
that while my family is a big, inescapable part of my life, it doesn't completely
define me. I want to carve out my own path.

I guess, what I'm hoping is that, when I die, there'll be something more on the
headstone than just "Here lies the son of the son of God". Is that too much to
ask?

Couple of days late, I know, but it is now two years since Mordeth last updated the Mordeth homepage. Not a particularly interesting fact perhaps, but I like to keep track of these things.

A fatty followed me in the supermarket today. I think he must of entered just after me, whilst I was standing checking out the papers. I turned around and saw him. He was more than fat, he had gone far beyond simple fatness into some horrible obesity where his legs and arms and head seemed merely mutant growths upon the rotund blob that was his stomach.

As soon as I saw his corpulent mass heaving into view I thought, "Oh God, I bet that guy stinks". Sure enough as I tried to quickly pass his massive bulk, which occupied almost the entire aisle, I caught a whiff of a wretched sweaty musk emanating from the direction of fatso's armpits and God knows what other areas. Fighting the urge to gag I made haste to grab the few items I needed from that aisle and move out of the blobman's vicinity and smell-range. I figured that the level of food purchase needed to sustain that awful weight would mean a slow pace around the shelves, as he stocked up on every type of food he could.

I was wrong, little sooner had I turned the corner than his giant bulk came ambling around as well. A moment of sheer horror then, as I grabbed a pack of yoghurts from the shop fridge and hastened onward. And yet I could not escape the fatso. It was as if some kind of reverse gravity was pulling his gigantic belly ever towards me. I dashed around the shop, grabbing items and quickly stuffing them into my basket. And no matter where I turned, there was fatty, seemingly always at my shoulder as I raced onward, terrified of smelling that revolting stench again. I couldn't have been in the shop more than three of four minutes, yet it seemed like an eternity of blubber filled horror.

At last though, I seemed to have lost him. I carried my filled basket to the checkout, and was relieved to find one with no queue. I swiftly placed my basket down and began to unload the items, when I spied something in the corner of my eye. It was fatso, he homed into view like an oil tanker upon a mountain stream, blotting out the sun, and making small children cry and priests renounce their faith in realisation that no benevolent God could allow such an awful thing to be. My horror redoubled, was he following me? Had he noticed my attempts to flee his rotten odour, and was now pursuing me to inflict it on me threefold? What sort of sick mind lurked behind that jelly face? I struggled to quickly bag-up my purchases as soon as the cashier scanned them, even as I noticed that fatso himself had only bought a handful of items. How so? Had he been in such a rush to follow me that even his gross appetite had been put on hold, or perhaps, I wondered in dawning terror, could something else be on the menu? Could he really be planning to eat me?

Normally I would have ridiculed such cannibal paranoia, but the events of the past few minutes, and the terrifying sight and smell of fatso had left me clinging to mere shreds of sanity. I had to escape the mad fat bastard's clutches. I raced to pay, even as the toxic stench of the blob's body invaded my nostrils and brought me feel close to fainting. Not daring even to look upon the rotund thing I grabbed my bags and shot for the door, and freedom. As I passed through the anti-theft barriers and out into the world, I fancied I felt a movement in the air just behind my head, as if giant pair of jaws had reached out to consume me, and snapped shut just a hair's breadth short. I dared not look back, and strived to swiftly put some distance between myself and the store.

At last I judged it safe enough to spare a glance backwards and, seeing I was not purused, slowed my pace and breathed a sigh of relief. I felt the cool, clear outdoors air fill my lungs and cleanse them of the stinking fatty-sweat infected gases, it had been a narrow escape.

I jump on a busy server and have a pretty good game on zdctf11, even though the packetloss on my wireless lan makes it feel like I'm playing through a modem when my ping is ~50ms. The game ends, we win. Next map starts, somehow it's gone from 6v6 to 4v4, but whatever. I'm red, I grab a ssg and head for the their flag room. I kill a couple of blues on the way. Grab their flag and head off the opposite route I came, killing another guy on the way out. As I'm approaching our base I hear the familiar "red flag has been taken" message. I get into position and meet their carrier with a ssg in the face and return the red flag. Less than a second later I again hear "red flag has been taken" and I know it's over. I figure what the hell and steam into the flag room anyway. Predictably enough there's three blues in there and nary a red to be seen; I get wasted before I can get a shot off. Whilst their flag carrier heads off to score, I respawn a couple of times, only to get spawn killed by one of the three blues who are now just sitting in our flag room with rocket launchers spamming away at the spawn spots. I realise I haven't even seen another member of my team yet, I check the scores and none of them have scored a frag. At this point I remember why I got so fucking sick of ZDaemon ctf in the first place, and quit.

Just saw it. Man, that was a good movie. Does it say something about me that I was rooting for Tom Cruise's character right up to the end?