By Hillel Aron
By Joseph Tsidulko
By Patrick Range McDonald
By David Futch
By Hillel Aron
By Dennis Romero
By Jill Stewart
By Dennis Romero
Illustration by Mitch Handsone
Jesus of Crawford crossed the Delaware In a magical wooden boat, Then slew a billion soldiers Camouflaged in bright red coats. Then Jesus of Crawford rented a car And drove up from the plains With a case of strong Jack Daniel’s And a big blue ox named Babe. He planted apples, freed the slaves And drove so fast through Maine That he left a flaming vapor trail Of booze and rock cocaine.
“It’s easy,” he replied to those Who marveled at such things, “My father gave me super powers O’er other human beings.”
His father sold weapons to monarchs To label them later as threats He befriended bin Ladens for profit And to run up the national debt. When people complained to the CIA That the evidence was incomplete, “Weapons they’ve plenty,” brave Jesus replied, “Just look at my father’s receipts.”
And Rumsfeld, the one ’feld Who wasn’t a heathen Joo, And Wolfowitz and Cheney, And Rove big and brainy, Swore Jesus’ stories were true. Millions protested, but only worldwide In every city and town. But “Honor,” said Jesus, “is like freedom. Amerkins are freedom-loving people. People of dignity. And honor. And madmen. Are mad. And will kill us. And terror. Is evil. But war. Is good. And Amerkins are Good People.”
And Jesus of Crawford came down from the cross And spoke from the grassy knoll. In pilot’s garb, through teeth well flossed, The virtues of war he extolled: “American lives,” said he, “are worth More than others on this Earth. Dollar for dollar for ICBM, Everything comes down to Us and Them.” (And other things, ad hominem.)
Yes, Jesus of Crawford stared into the lens And read others’ words as his own, With meaningful silences Between words of violences In syllables more than one, About Kissinger’s plan of ’73 To conquer Iraq for its Texas Tea, How it took 30 years and a thousand excuses To liberate cash from the sand But at last Halliburton and Bechtel could build In that place the next Disneyland.
“Of Crawford Almighty we sing,” cried the whiteys, Taught to fear everything they were told. “Bad men are mean! So is Kerry! So’s Dean! The bad people must be controlled!” So: “Cradle my balls,” Jesus said to us all, “Work my shaft, stroke it hard, say my name. And then if you’ll swaller, There’s three hundred dollars In tax refunds for you to claim.” Then slew Man of Crawford the Weimar Republic With threats of Patriotic™ strife. “Democrats,” Jesus said, “are terrorists, too, Opposed to our Way of Life™.”
Jesus of Crawford called Ashcroft and Ridge And told them to round up the sheep And when they were done, All wars had been won, And the planet was in shit quite deep.
Now Jesus he loaded his musket And squatted down in the dark grasses. From black birds in skies calm Came fresh eggs of napalm To cleanse Earth of its last lower classes.
And looking up, Crawford boy Jesus Stepped down from the throne to the soil. So long it had been Since the Earth last touched him – At his birth he’d been baptized in oil.
And there were horses and thunderings And lightnings and blunderings And a third of the ocean ran blood, And Jesus danced drunk With locusts and gunk, And stomped cloven hooves with a thud.
“For I shall reign forever,” sang he, “I shall make war against the benign. I shall kill them and eat them and shit them with glee, Then Wal-Mart them for $2.69. The End.”
REFERENCE: The Book of Revelation MP3s