Jesus, you know I don’t like having these meetings any more than you do. But something’s got to change or you’re going to have to move out. And no, you can’t come back. Not tomorrow, not next week, not 2000 years from now. Never.
Yes, I know, you make dinner almost every night. But Jesus Christ, all you know how to make is fishes and loaves. And the fish are just, like, lying there. And what am I supposed to do with the loaf, make a sandwich? Make a sandwich with a whole fish? How about a hamburger once in a while?
By the way, I think the plural of “fish” is just “fish”. I don’t know where you got “fishes”. And why can’t you just say “bread” instead of “loaves”? It’s weird. Every time we go to the store it’s, “They’re out of my favorite loaves,” and “Excuse me, where are the loaves?”
Jesus, just say bread.
And would please, please stop turning all the water into wine. For one thing, we’re going through Brita filters like crazy — do you have any idea how much those cost?
And more importantly, I can’t come home from the gym and rehydrate with rosé. I can’t chug a Hydro Flask of pinot grigio while I’m out on a run. I can’t take one more bath in zinfandel. It was cool the first time, but it’s got to stop.
And about your friends. I mean, this is not a big apartment and we’ve only got one bathroom. I don’t understand why all 12 of them always have to come over at the same time. And with the robes and everything — I’m just saying, they don’t seem to have very good aim.
And Jesus, you have got to stop raising people from the dead.
When Mr. Rabinowitz keeled over in the laundry room, everybody knew he was deader than a mackerel and then here you come with your “Arise!” this and “Go forth and be healed!” that.
And then he kept insisting you were “just some hippie who lives on the third floor.” He didn’t even say thank you.
If you’re going to do miracles, how about picking your underwear up off the floor? That’d be a start.
And about your sheep — no, I understand it’s a “lamb”, but lambs grow up to be “sheep” and our lease says No Pets. So Mutton Jeff has got to go. I’m sorry. Maybe get a fish.
"You have got to stop raising people from the dead." Especially if they become zombies...
I hope Mutton Jeff gets a nice new home.
Really if you are gonna get stuck with some supernatural hippie who leaves birkenstocks laying around all over the place to trip over in the dark, you are absolutely right, it's time for a little come to Jesus commandment meeting. The least that son of a deity could do is get you out of that rat hole your stuck in and into a decent oceanside resort where your perfectly warm coffee and a lovely confection is wafting in the balmy morning ocean air. Your personal concierge ("could you work my tired shoulders please, thank you") can keep you informed of the days doings for Chrissakes!