Thursday, April 26, 2012

Biblical Gaps: A Fill-In Story

The story of how a poor Israelite girl got herself in trouble: this was read at the Wheeler Centre Erotic Fan Fiction event, 26th April, 1012

Mary didn’t quite know how it had happened. She had been leaning on the bar in the Nazareth Hotel and Bistro when she saw Him, standing by the bandstand, swaying sexily to the band’s traditional Hebrew groove. He was the most beautiful creature Mary had ever seen – his shapeless white robe hung seductively from his shoulders; his toes protruded from his sandals with an impudent flirtatiousness; and his long white beard reached almost to his navel in a way calculated to get any impressionable young peasant girl’s juices flowing. And flow they did – she hadn’t felt this moist since the last public stoning. She had nearly squealed aloud when she saw that he was walking over to her, and when he spoke, she almost dropped her West Bank Cooler. Maybe it was the soft yellow glow surrounding him, maybe it was the fact that he was floating six inches above the ground, maybe it was the enormous robe-tent he was pitching, but somehow she had to have Him. Five minutes later they were in the alley outside, tongues writhing like serpents and His hands frantically exploring her forbidden fruit.
From there everything was a blur. She remembered things had got off to a rocky start, when he’d gotten over-excited in her bedroom and blasted a hole in the wall before she was ready. But after reassuring Him that this probably happened to gods all the time, and agreeing to His request that she call Him Father, things seemed to be going smoothly. At the time it had seemed slightly strange that He insisted she wear a pair of cardboard wings and bray like a donkey, but hey, she was a virgin, what did she know? Perhaps this was just what men were like. After all, Joseph could get pretty weird himself, with all his carpentry puns.
Oh, dear Joseph…what would he say? What would he say when he found out about that night of passion? What would he think of her when he discovered that she’d been riding the creator of the universe like a bucking bronco, screaming in ecstasy, “OH MY GOD!” and having him scream back “YES WHAT IS IT?” and then she would scream “OH NO I WAS JUST SCREAMING IN ECSTASY EVERYTHING’S FINE” and he would scream “OH I SEE” and she would scream “SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION” and he would scream “DON’T WORRY IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME” and she would scream “OH MY GOOOOOOOD” and he would scream “OH MARY” and she would scream “NO ACTUALLY THIS TIME I ACTUALLY JUST WANTED TO SAY COULD YOU MOVE TO THE LEFT A BIT YOU’RE ON MY FOOT”. And he would scream “OH YES SORRY SOMETIMES I GET A BIT CARRIED AWAY DON’T I?”

What would Joseph say when he heard all that? Would he be bored? She hoped not. She certainly hadn’t been bored as the ruler of all that is and ever shall be summoned angels to rub her feet, or when he lit up their lovemaking with a series of flashing thunderbolts, or when, slightly more crudely, he ate five loaves and two fishes out of her intimate portions. There were many words she might have used to describe these experiences, but “boring” wasn’t one of them. Well, actually, it was, but in a different context, less in the “watching paint dry” sense and more in the “you be the apple and I’ll be the worm” sense. She hoped Joseph wasn’t bored in either sense, despite the definite feeling that came upon her occasionally, when he was showing off his hand-carved doorknobs, that he could do with a really good hard boring now and then.

She wasn’t sure when it all started to go wrong. It was probably just after he’d yelled that he would “make a flood that would cover the entire earth”, and just before she asked him how he was managing to have sex with her while simultaneously standing outside having a smoke. It might have been the point at which he told her to get on her knees, and caused a rain of frogs to fall from the ceiling. But really, she knew the turning point was when she noticed two shadowy figures standing in the corner, high-fiving and giggling to themselves.

“Father,” she said, trying to ignore the violent motion and singing doves that He brought into existence with every thrust, “who are they?”

“What?” the Lord paused, mid-spank, and looked around. “Oh yeah, those are my crew.”

“Your crew?”

“Yeah, my boys. My gang. My posse.”

“Your WHAT?” Mary squealed over the sound of rhythmic heavenly thwapping.


“Oh. Sorry, I thought you said…never mind. Look, why…ooh!” Mary was briefly interrupted by a massive shudder of pleasure running through her entire body, as God moved in a particularly mysterious way. “Why are they here?”
“Oh, we kind of do everything together.” From the corner, the two men gave her the thumbs up. Mary tried to focus, despite the beard strands flailing wildly in her eyes.

“Is…is one of them…a ghost?”

“That’s right,” said God, creating a car battery out of thin air and hooking it up to his nipples with His mind. “The Holy Ghost”. The ghost floated over to the bed and shook Mary’s hand. She smiled politely.

“Nice…to meet you?” She looked back at the Lord, who had assumed – rather uncomfortably for his partner – the form of a burning bush. “What’s going on?” she demanded, slapping at her pubic hair with a fire blanket.

“It’s the Trinity baby – we do everything together. Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

“Son?” Mary looked at the third man, a young bearded fellow with a halo and large cucumber. “Come on – that’s just sick!”

“Sorry babe,” the Lord intoned, having abandoned his bush form and turned into a pillar of smoke, which proceeded to blow into some extremely intimate areas, “You do one of us, you do all of us.”

From there, things went rapidly downhill. Mary had already been slightly put off by God’s constant cries of “Thou shalt not stop” and habit of turning her breasts into piles of salt and back again; but that was nothing compared to the Holy Ghost, who was so insubstantial she could barely feel him, and simply sort of wafted over her making “woo woo” noises. Mary was also made uncomfortable by the impression that she was having sex with the Grand Wizard of the Klan.

If anything, the Son was even worse when his turn came around. Every time she moved, he drew a cross in the air and said “I forgive you”, and he kept breaking off to wash her feet, but what she found really creepy was when he finished and told her he couldn’t wait for her to be his mum. What the hell was that about? He also made a lot of a jokes about the Second Coming that she didn’t really understand.

And now, here she was. She hadn’t heard from God since that night – not even a phone call – and all she could think about was Joseph. He wasn’t going to take this well. He was a conservative sort of guy at the best of times. She did not imagine that he would react well to being told his fiancée had been gang-banging supernatural beings. But Joseph just didn’t understand what it was like to be a young girl, flooded with hormones, wanting to rebel, and easy pickings for any slick stranger with a full beard and a cheap source of wine. He didn’t understand how hard it was to resist a man whose tongue could literally cause earthquakes. He didn’t know the amazing feeling of having your Red Sea parted.

She heard the door open. “I’m home, dear!” Joseph shouted as he walked into the room. “And look – I’ve got wood!” he cried, waving a piece of four by two in the air jauntily. Mary rolled her eyes. Both Joseph’s carpentry, and his erectile dysfunction, had ceased to be amusing long ago.

She stood up and drew a deep breath. “I have some news for you, Joseph,” she said. “I’m pregnant!”

Joseph stared at her. The wood dropped from his hand. “Pregnant?” he gasped. “But…you’re a virgin! That’s, like, your thing!

Well, there you go,” Mary replied somewhat superfluously.

Joseph was aghast. “Who’s the father?”
This was the hard part. Mary knew her story was both hard to believe and absolutely disgusting, but she had to face the consequences of her actions. “It’s God, Joseph. God is the father of my baby.”
“God?” Joseph’s face lit up. “You mean, God has miraculously blessed you with child?”
“Not really. We just had sex,” Mary explained. “Like…a LOT.”

“Ah,” Joseph nodded. “You mean, he filled you with his holy spirit…”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “He filled me with his holy penis.”
Joseph’s face fell. “You mean…he nailed you?” He held up a small nail to illustrate, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Even woodwork seemed bitter and hollow now that he knew what his fiancée had been getting up to.
“Oh, Joseph!” Mary collapsed into Joseph’s thin, womanly arms. “I feel so…so dirty! I lost my head, I think it might have been the wine, or possibly it affected my judgment when God put his hand inside my brain. He used me, Joseph, and now I’m just a story he can tell to his buddies.” Little did she know that this was exactly what God was doing at that very moment, sharing a beer with Vishnu and telling him the whole story with accompanying hand gestures.
“It’s all right, Mary,” Joseph muttered. “I forgive you. Even without placing your sins onto the head of a third party who is then tortured to death in order to absolve you of responsibility for your actions, I forgive you, and we shall get through this together. We’ll raise this child, and he will work with me, making tables and little toy hippos on wheels whose mouths open and shut when you roll them along the floor, and we will be happy together, and he will never have to know he is the result of his mother’s wild night of bizarre kinky group sex with a trio of incorporeal perverts.”
“How did you know all that, I didn’t tell you – ”
“That’s not important right now!” Joseph cried. “What’s important is the future. We shall be married straight away, and our family shall be happy!”
“But Joseph, what about God? Every week when we go to the temple, He’ll be there…leering at me from above. I…I can’t take the humiliation!”
“Don’t worry Mary. You’ll never have to see that creep again. We won’t go His temple anymore. As of now, we’re converting…to Islam!”


Doug Quixote said...

What does one say to that?

It may seem like nitpicking, but it was supposed to be the Holy Ghost that did the deed with the selected virgin.

Which is all very strange, since much is made of the descent of Joseph from the House of David - hardly relevant if the impregnation was done by the Holy Ghost, I would have thought.

But since this is all mythical, I suppose it hardly needs to make sense, or even be vaguely coherent. Gospel writers John and Mark wisely avoided discussing the pregnancy issue, leaving it to Luke and Matthew to struggle with it.

Ben's story is about as credible as the Gospels, though without the benefit of being 1900 years old and "reconciled" by the Council of Nicaea and subsequent ecumenical councils.

On another level, truly hilarious Ben.

BartyLobethal said...

Gabriel did not reveal the holy truths to Muhammad for another 610 years, so there was no Islam to convert to.

I find no further theological or cultural inconsistencies or errors in this otherwise fine essay.

paul said...

Let me preface this first by saying I often really enjoy ben's writing. He is the witty clever one indeed.

But this piece, for me, got tiresome after the first paragraph. Written cleverly yes, but the subject matter, the theme, has been done to death, over the years, by comedians, TV shows and sketches and movies already.

I knew what was coming, I knew the tone to expect, I knew the incongruous characterisation to expect. And that ruined it for me - sorry ben, it just did.

But still a favourite wordsmith of mine. Just not this piece. Too predictable, and done to death elsewhere in one form or another, as I mentioned.

( PS and I'm not a religionist of any kind, and I don't fancy myself as a writer either, if that makes aidfference )

paul said...

And when I say ben's 'the witty clever one indeed', I mean it sincerely. ( just want to clarify that )