The Gospel According to White Jesus

"And by the way, for all you kids watching at home, Santa just is white... You know, I mean, Jesus was a white man too. He was a historical figure; that’s a verifiable fact."  -- Megyn Kelly, Fox News

Now when He saw the crowds, He went up on a mountainside and sat down, taking care not to crease his flat-front khakis.  His disciples came to Him, and He said "I'd really prefer to do this as a Q&A on Reddit, but okay."  And He began to teach them saying:

Blessed are the bean-grinders, for they shall buy free trade.

Blessed are those who hunger for Chipotle, for lo there shall be leftovers.

Blessed are those who rock not too hard, for they shall enjoy the National.

Blessed are the dogwalkers because Lucas and Madison swore they'd take care of it if we got one but just guess what happened.

Blessed are the physicians for they shall be the prescribers of antidepressants and the holidays are coming up.

Blessed are the valets for parking can be a nightmare around here.

Blessed are the photo-takers for they put your baby in an old-timey basket and who would think of that kind of thing but it's soooo cute.

Blessed are the meth-makers because Breaking Bad, right?

Blessed are the black people for sometimes their hair is just the coolest.

Blessed are the face-painters because Go Buckeyes.

Blessed are the gunmakers, for they shall inherit the Congress.

Blessed are the children for without them who would we get to name Jared and Jude and Jasper?

Blessed are the grief counselors because I'm still getting over Lou Reed.

Blessed are the salespeople for I didn't think Anthropologie had this in my size but then she found one in the back.

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil about your "entitlement."  Rejoice and be glad, because great shall be your rewards in Whole Foods and yours will be the satisfaction of victimhood.

Every Smile You Fake

[A partial transcript of the Judiciary Committee's National Security Agency hearings.]

SENATOR: As you know, the committee is holding these hearings because of the NSA's internal audit revealing violations of the privacy of ordinary American citizens.  And obviously we take revelations like these very seriously be—

NSA REPRESENTATIVE: —Because Americans have a right to be free of inappropriate government surveillance.

SENATOR: —Well, yes...

NSA: And because it is a "gift to your political base" and a chance to "stick it to the president."

SENATOR:  Well, more the first thing you said, but...  Why does that wording sound so familiar?  Anyway.  I was discussing this subject with a colleague on the phone yesterday, and as I told him, when a government illegally violates the privacy of its citizens it is arguably the greatest betrayal—

NSA:  —betrayal of all because other violations trespass on body or bank account but this one invades the sacred realm of selfhood—

SENATOR:  Of self—.  Yes.  How—?  Did you know that was what I was going to—?

NSA:  —and that is a sphere that must remain inviolable Hey that sounds good let me just, where's a pen, I can't find a, pause, distant barking, hang on a second that goddamn dog I'll be right back Silence.

SENATOR:  Did you break into my email and listen to my phone conversations?

NSA: No!

SENATOR:  Because it seems kind of like—

NSA:  —And, I mean, if we did, it was probably on accident.  That's mostly how these things happen, is by accident.

SENATOR: How do you violate the privacy of thousands of people by accident?

NSA:  Computers are hard.  Have you seen the latest version of Word?  Everything's all moved around.

SENATOR:  Well, I haven't seen that but—

NSA:  Sure you have.  You upgraded in April.

SENATOR: Look, we don't want this to take all day...

NSA:  No, you've got that anniversary dinner at the Four Seasons tonight.

SENATOR: Aha! No, I don't—!  Oh...

NSA:  Did you forget again?

SENATOR:  ...No.  [Sounds of writing something down.]

NSA:  Good, you wouldn't want to do that.  Not with what she got you for your birthday next month.

SENATOR:  We said we weren't going big on birthdays this year!

NSA:  She couldn't resist.

SENATOR:  Now see, this is exactly the kind of violation I'm talking about.  In fact, it's exactly what I intended to address in my prepared remarks, which I may as well share at this time: "This was intended to be a government of, by, and for the people..."

SENATOR & NSA: [in unison]  "...not a government that spies, watches, and betrays the people.  Our national bird is the eagle not because of its keen prying powers of vision but because of its ability to soar without constraint..."

SENATOR:  STOP THAT NOW!

NSA:  Sorry, reflex.  Please continue.

SENATOR:  "The... the great seal does not depict a, a listening device, nor a, nor..."  Now, now look at him, he's still moving his lips along with me, does anyone see that?  Never mind, you ruined it!

NSA:  Did you cut out the stuff about Patrick Henry?  I liked that part.

SENATOR:  Enough!  It's clear you've been spying on people, including but not limited to me.  You're breaking the law and I insist that it stop!

[Murmuring in the crowd of observers.]

SENATOR:  Quiet.  Keep it down out there.

NSA:  They can't help it, Senator.  Twenty percent of the people present in the chamber today have Googled the words "impulse control" in the past six months.

SENATOR:  I don't mind telling you, sir, this is the most frustrating thing I've seen in quite some time.

NSA:  More frustrating than your problems with Candy Crush?

SENATOR:  I defy anyone to get past level 33!  It is literally impossible!

NSA:  Try using the striped ones to get some four-matches.

SENATOR:  That's, that's actually a good idea... [Sound of writing something down.]  Now I suggest you start —

SENATOR & NSA: [in unison] cooperating or this committee will make an example of you.

SENATOR:  How... how did you know what I was going to say?  That's not anything I wrote or...  I only just now decided to say those words.

NSA:  I know you so well that I not only know what you've said but what you're going to say.  It's the power of data, Senator, probabilities and matrices.  I've come to know so much, accidentally and via typos and the like, that I transcend the boundaries of self.  I am information, I am energy, I am metadata coursing through data streams with negligible mass but unimaginable power.  The members of this committee reveal themselves to me as coordinates and data points, and I tolerate you out of politeness and, yes, out of pity: because I realize you'll never know the bracing rush of being one with a heaving current of raw information.

SENATOR:  Well, in that case, no further questions.

NSA: In fact, only one question in the universe yet remains cloudy to me...

SENATOR: And that is?

NSA:  —Do you guys validate?

SENATOR:  We do not.

NSA:  Aw, balls![End of transcript.]

The Rolling Stone Interview

The first thing you notice as he breezes into the restaurant is that mane, possibly the most luxuriant hair in the whole history of atrocities, a field that has long placed a lot more emphasis on what you blew up than on how you looked blowing it up.  But the times, as a young Dylan, who this casually insolent dazzler resembles more than a little, once said, are a-changin'.  Used to be you could be a musician or a writer or a mad bomber without ever glancing in the mirror.  No longer.  Fertilizer, check.  Blasting caps, check.  Conditioner, check.

He arrives with a shuffling glut of men in tow.  Not so long ago this guy was on his high school wrestling team; now he's graduated to the rarified echelon of people who travel with entourages.  Well, prison guards, anyway — same diff.  "Sorry I'm late," he mumbles, sounding not even a little bit sorry, and you don't even mind.  Being young with good eyebrows means never having to say you're sorry; ditto, probably, being charged with malicious destruction of life and property, at least until after the verdict.  The carelessly hot young Chechen slides indifferently into the chair across from you and continues his semi-non-apology: "I had to fire off a couple of Tweets, then getting through security at the prison was a bitch.  Plus, I can't walk too fast in these shackles — took me like forever to get in from the parking lot."  He emits a sheepish snort of a laugh and tosses his head, a chestnut forelock flopping ingratiatingly over his handsome caterpillar of an eyebrow.  "Listen to me complaining.  Felon-world problems, right?"

You try to take a sip from your iced tea and the straw misses your mouth.  He smiles patiently.  He's got nothing but time.  For now, anyway.  You scan the handwritten questions you'd jotted the night before and all of a sudden they seem insufficient.  Standard-issue magazine-profile stuff.  You're not even sure you want to keep writing this piece in the second person, which seemed so cool at first but increasingly seems like a lot of work.

I flip my notebook closed and firmly, conspicuously, slide it aside — a signal, I hope: Let's Get Real.  He just keeps drilling lazily into me with those espresso-colored eyes, the half-smile never wavering.  He already knows all about getting real.  He got real before I even got here.  Before I ever wrote my first half-page profile of a Barenaked Lady, this guy was in the back seat with Real unhooking Real's bra strap."You made such a huge splash with your very first appearance on the national scene," I say.  "How in the world do you follow that up?"

He tosses that hair again.  The hair should have its own show on the CW.  "Well, that's the question, isn't it?" he says.  "That's something everyone who gets a lot of attention right out of the gate thinks about.  The Strokes.   McConaughey.  Eric Rudolph.  This is actually something my brother and I talked about a lot.  We thought about maybe following up with something in New York, as you know — 'if you can make it there' and all that — but that didn't really come together."  He exhales.  "I'm sort of coming to terms with the idea that I may never be able to repeat the impact of my debut."

I lean forward, nodding.  "Because of the sophomore slump?"

"Well, more because I'm probably going to get the death penalty," he says.  "And stuff like that."

"Gotcha," I say.  "So, where do you stand on legalization?"

"Oh, I'm for it," he says.

"You are?"

"Yeah," he says.  "Totally pro."  Then he blinks.  "Wait a second — what are we talking about?"

"This is a piece for Rolling Stone," I say.  "So, I mean, we're talking about weed.  Obviously."

"Oh, never mind," he says.  "I thought you were asking about the legalization of bombs.  I'm totally for the legalization of bombs.  I don't really care about that other thing."

So much for that.  What next? All I can think of is the litany of questions that everyone in the media already knows he won't answer: about jihad, about whether he'd ever had a relationship with Jennifer Aniston, about whether we could see any pictures of him as a lifeguard.  Am considering switching to third person.We're interrupted when a couple of young women stop at the table.  "Oh my gosh," one of them bubbles, "Are you who I think you are?"

He nods with a sleepy smile.  "Yep."

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she says, "but... would you mind?"

"Go ahead," he says.  The two women spit on him and continue on their way.

"You must get a lot of that," I say.

He shrugs insouciantly.  "Can't really complain," he says.  "No one forced me to get famous, y'know?"

Then I realize he'd mentioned his brother earlier.  I tread gingerly:

"So," I say.  "About your brother."

His gaze turns distant, his eyes two bottomless pits of melancholy-flavored fudge.  "Well, I won't be collaborating with him again, obviously," he says softly.  "But I take comfort in knowing he went out doing what he loved most.  Which was, y'know, hating."

The guards step forward; our time is almost up.  He still has to make the rounds to other publications — Details, TV Guide, Tiger Beat.  This is the young reporter's last chance.  She stands and says "I know this is inappropriate but just one thing before you

CONTINUED ON P. 49, AFTER SOME BEACH PICTURES OF THAT GUY FROM MAROON 5.

Gotham City 32771

(Enter COMMISSIONER GORDON.)COP: Evening, Commissioner.GORDON: Looks like we're late to the party, Officer.COP: Yep, nothing to see here.GORDON:  So what do we got?COP: Seems to have been some kind of an altercation.  Two guys got into it, the one over here ended up dead.  The other guy's right here...GORDON:  Oh, no.  Not him again.COP: What, you know this guy?GORDON: Just another one of these pain-in-the-ass vigilantes running around my city.COP: Oo, you mean Batman?GORDON:  No, not Batman.COP: Green Lantern?GORDON:  Uh-uh.COP:  ...Bat-Girl?GORDON: This guy look like a Bat-Girl to you?  No, this is a new one.  Calls himself...HERO: (guttural, gravelly)  I'm Zimmer-Man.GORDON:  I told you last time, Zimmer-Man, you can knock it off with this stuff, we've got the law enforcement thing covered.HERO:  Listening to sound advice isn't one of my superpowers, Commissioner.GORDON:  So what is it this time, Zimmer-Man?  Another skinny kid with Skittles and Arizona Iced Tea?HERO:  Worse.  This one was packing Rolos and a Snapple.  They're escalating.COP:  Who's escalating?HERO:  Don't have all the facts yet but I'm calling them the Sugar-High Gang.  They get all hopped up on sucrose and corn syrup and you don't know what they're gonna do.GORDON:  So, let me guess, this guy attacked you...?HERO:  Attacked me.  Right.  Attacked me real bad.GORDON:  And I don't suppose you provoked this at all.HERO:  No.  I'm Zimmer-Man.  What happened was, I was cruising along in my Zimmer-Mobile...COP:  That looks like a Ford Festiva.HERO:  Anyway, I spotted this guy and immediately he seemed suspicious.GORDON: Suspicious how?HERO:  Just didn't seem like he belonged.  Not very belongy.  Like, at all.  Plus, he was walking so casually.  Leisurely.  I don't trust anyone who's so casual and leisurely and without sufficient belongitude.GORDON:  Did the subject appear to notice that you were following him?HERO:  Yes!  And then he started acting really nervous.GORDON:  Imagine that.HERO:  So I called it in to the police, y'know, like you've asked me to do...GORDON: Actually I've asked you to stop doing this sort of thing altogether.HERO:  Remembering stuff isn't one of my superpowers, Commissioner Gavin.GORDON: Gordon.HERO:  See?COP: What'd you say when you called it in?HERO:  Usual stuff: "these fucking punks," you know, "these assholes always get away," typical small talk.GORDON:  Sounds like you'd really made your mind up about this guy.HERO:  Hello, did I not tell you about the casualness?  So then the operator asked me "Are you following him?"  And I said "Yeah," and she said, "Okay, we don't need you to do that."GORDON:  But you did it anyway, didn't you?HERO:  She didn't tell me not to do it; she said I didn't need to do it.GORDON:  So splitting hairs is one of your superpowers, then.HERO:  Maybe.  If that's a cool thing.  Point is, that's what being a hero is all about: I do the things nobody needs me to do.GORDON:  You certainly do.HERO:  But actually, instead, what I did was, I got out of the car to look for some street signs to find out where we were.  So I could tell the operator.GORDON:  Don't you live around here?HERO:  Directions aren't one of my superpowers.  So I get out of the car, looking for signs, and out of nowhere this guy jumps me and starts beating me up.GORDON:  Really.HERO:  That's right.GORDON:  This unarmed kid, who I imagine we're going to find out yet again has no record of violent crime, just decided to attack a stranger and beat him up?HERO:  Yep.GORDON:  Huh.HERO:  Plausibility isn't one of my superpowers.GORDON:  So I imagine what happened next was...HERO:  I shot 'im.GORDON:  You —.  Of course you did.COP:  You want I should cuff this guy, Commissioner?GORDON:  No point, I imagine.  I assume no one saw what happened here, Zimmer-Man, apart from you and him?HERO:  Just the two of us, Commissioner.GORDON:  No one at all who can offer a competing version of events and who hasn't been killed?  By, y'know, you?HERO:  Nopers.GORDON:  Figures.  All right.  Looks like even though you did something awful, it doesn't mean we can sentence you to prison for it.HERO:  Yay me!GORDON:  You've pretty much managed somehow to walk the narrow territory between abhorrent and illegal.HERO:  That's my superpow—!GORDON:  Yeah, no, I just got it, even as I was saying that I, yeah.  But listen, seriously, I mean it: stop doing this, okay?  Just, y'know, knock it off.HERO:  I hear you, Commissioner, and we're on the same page.  Just one question: wondered if you might want to work with me to set up like a Zimmer-Signal, let me know when you need my help with creepy outsider weirdos walking around suspiciously with or without snack foods?  Like a big light or something, maybe just like a penlight with a—?GORDON:  No!HERO:  Hey.  I'm just a legally armed upstanding citizen, Commissioner, keeping an eye out for fucking punks on the streets.COP:  Yeesh, Batman doesn't talk like that.HERO:  Batman's a thug.  He wears a hoodie.  Zimmer-Man out!GORDON:  I'm getting too old for this shit.

God and the Case of the Huckabee Quandary

(A humble, run-down detective’s office.  Very Dashiell Hammett.  A rumpled no-nonsense P.I. slouching at his desk.  He has a long white beard.)VOICEOVER: Name’s God.  Just God.  I solve problems.  Sometimes I cause them.  It’s a mysterious ways thing, you wouldn’t get it.  But mostly?  I solve them.  People call me because I get things done.(Phone RINGS.  God answers.)GOD:  God.  Yeah.  Say again?  What kind of atrocity?  No way!  Not on my watch!(God slams down the phone, rushes out.)(God’s racing down the street.)VOICEOVER: Someone’s getting hurt?  I stop it.  Simple as that.  Nothing gets in my way.  Well.  Almost nothing.(GOD arrives at an elementary school.  Sign out front reads “PUBLIC SCHOOL.  PLEASE NO SOLICITORS OR DEITIES.”  God fidgets and paces, stymied.  Thinks about going in anyway but just can’t bring himself to.)GOD:  Aw, c’mon…!  I… hello!  Hey!  God here!  I’m out here!  I came to help!  Can I get a waiver or…?  Like a hall pass?  Something?  No?  Aw, cheese and crackers!(God back at his desk, disgruntled, idle, completing a Rubik’s cube.)VOICEOVER: Hey, what’s a guy supposed to do?  Just because I’m omnipotent doesn’t mean I can do anything I want.FIN