Mohammed was on his hands and knees bowing before Christ and kissing his feet.

“Oh, forgive me, lord. I just needed to tell my stories. It got so lonely out in the desert stealing my neighbors’ camels. I had no idea people would take my stories so earnestly.”

“Oh, get up, Mohammed, get up. You know I don’t like others bowing to me. My stories were no more real than yours. In fact, I didn’t even write them myself. Some very impressionistic men wouldn’t stop following me around. I thought they were homosexuals and lunatics. So I taught them what I could. What was I supposed to do, let them wander off to some camel thief to be told how to think?”

“Very funny, Jesus.”

“I’m just fucking with you. Come on now. After all, didn’t I show them how to steal vegetables from the fields of farmers on days the farmers went to say prayers?”

“Ah, yes. That was a good one, Jesus.”

“Hey suse.”

“What?”

“I prefer the Latin.”

“Oh, ok. Anyway, how come you never wrote your own stories, Heysuse?” Mohammed giggled. “Haha, I see what you mean. It sounds funny. Reminds me of that song by the cowboy singer, Johnny Cash. You know, about the boy named Sue.”

“Oh him. I had a hard time with him, you know. He just refused to believe there wasn’t some character named Jesus he could reconcile with the idea he had in his head. Finally, I had to tell him ‘now look, Johnny, I can appreciate all the alcohol and drug problems you had but I had nothing to do with them. I didn’t supply you with all the alcohol and booze, nor did I supply you with willpower to stay away from them. You did it all on your own.” But he had swallowed so deeply that false humility shit that they teach in the religions that he couldn’t see that it was pride that led him to take credit for one side of the coin while turning his back on the other. They wear that shit like a badge of honor. Like a shaman who goes out into the drugged unknown to bring the fantasies back to his people as revelation. Like someone does when he denies himself food for so long, or light, or sleep. You know, ‘I have made this dangerous journey that gives me credentials to preach to you. I earned those goddamned credentials. Now listen to me.’ But if he also takes full credit for getting off that shit he loses estimation in the eyes of others, and it concerns him.”

With this, both Christ and Mohammed were speechless for a moment. Then Christ spoke, “isn’t that what you did, Mohammed?”

“Well, yes, now that you put it that way. But, if not me it would’ve been someone else everyone would’ve followed. Like you, what was I supposed to do, let them go off and seek the philosophy of some garden raider?”

“Yes, you are quite right,” said Jesus with a hearty laugh.

“All I wanted was to show others how to be creative; to do something with themselves instead of their petty useless bickering. Constantly arguing over which figment of the imagination is the real one. Most silly.”

“Yes, yes. And those elaborate regulations they made up in our names.”

“I wipe my ass with the Koran, Jesus. I don’t mind telling you. There is a reason why Ayman Zawahiri is called number two you know.”

“He isn’t a number one.”

“That would be less messy.”

“If he were like my popes of old he probably has a brainwashed boy clean after him.”

“With his tongue.”

“Yes, yes. As it has been with my popes in time past.”

“If it were only that, Jesus. The pathetic coward is hiding in the mountains, fantasizing about fucking little boys and brainwashing them into hating and killing. As if I would ever want my name on any religion that is taught by such cowards, teaching people they are useless unless they kill others who don’t believe as they do.”

“Now, Mohammed, you are going to work yourself all up again.”

“I cannot help it, Jesus. Goddamnit, motherfucking Christ!”

“Haha!!! I couldn’t say it better myself.”

“These hypocrites that want to be gods themselves, claiming their murders of innocent and defenseless people in my name; hiding like cowards in the mountains, slapping women around, raping their daughters and sodomizing boys. These insecure weasels think they can keep women from learning they are actually superior to these maggots that call themselves men. Those bastards are afraid of women because they don’t know how to fuck; when they do have sex with a woman they are cuming before they can even penetrate. They make laws to keep the women from marrying foreigners and finding out that these extremists are pathetic, lame motherfuckers. They can’t think, they can’t get along with anyone and they can’t fuck.”

“Boy, you sure are in a foul mood today, Mohammed.”

“Well you would be too if you saw millions of people using my name for hatred and killing and subjugating others.”

“Come on. Who do you think you’re talking to? What about my people? My people taught yours a few ingenious methods of killing. And don’t think your people have the market covered on brainwashing. If the Americans used some of the methods my followers used to extract confessions the entire Middle East would’ve confessed to crimes of terrorism.”

“At least your people had the Reformation. My people still live in the dark ages and blame the rest of the world that gains in science, technology and intelligence have come at their expense.”

“I must admit I find it hard to match you on that point.”

At this point Christ let a loud and thunderous fart.

“Jesus!”

“Yes?”

“No. I mean Jesus!”

“No shit.”

“That’s good to hear. I was worried a bit.”

“No problem. I’m sure we could have one of our “martyrs” clean it up.”

“Oh, yes. Those fucking morons would do anything if they thought it was my wish.”

“No need. Mother Theresa doesn’t mind cleaning my dirty clothes. It happens once in a while. All those figs and locust beans. It’s hard to break old habits.”

“Tell me about it. Sometimes I cannot resist interfering in dreams on occasion to inspire some of those idiots on their knees five times a day to do something useful, like stealing their neighbor’s camels.”

“I always wanted to question you on that point, Mohammed. Stealing camels is somehow honorable?”

“Ah, you know, Jesus. If you declare a war first anything is acceptable.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. The war thing. It sure has a way of justifying things, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the only road to honor for someone who has no honor.”

“Come again?”

“When a man wants to ignore the fact no one around honors or respects him he must abuse them into respect and then he must lie to himself that the respect his captives give him is real.”

“I see. It’s too bad those fools down there have to believe in fairy tales. It’s too bad they don’t realize they are simply projecting the respect they desire into a fairy tale that in turn provides the credentials they so badly desire.”

“It’s your father’s fault, you know. He didn’t make them capable of sustaining magnanimity towards others who don’t hold similar beliefs or systems of judgments. They think the only way to have peace is for everyone to believe the same thing.”

“I believe you are confusing the beliefs of a few nomads whose ideology had an impression on you.”

“Have you heard the American politicians campaigning for office?”

“Touche.”

Christ looked at the effeminate features of Mohammed, the slender waist, thin long fingers, the soft skin on his freshly shaved face. “You know, Mohammed, you have a nice odor about you this evening. Do you have any plans?”

Mohammed’s desire caused sweat to break out on his forehead. “What did you have in mind, Jesus?”

Jesus bent over and kissed Mohammed’s hand. “I thought we could dine on pork entrails, baked catfish and barbecued snake. Then afterwards maybe we could go back to my place for a night cap.”

“Oh, how delightful. I will make sure to order an enema first.”

“Yes, please do. I do not like the smell of shit on my fingers when I take a piss in the morning. Now, where did I put that bible. Have to go take a shit you know.”

“Ah, reading material?”

“Heavens no. I get enough of those stories from all the people who see me up here and try to tell me they know me. I ran out of ass wipe and the paper is rather absorbent for a book.”

“What would they think if their “lord” was out of ass wipe?”

“I’m sure the scholars would give them some reasonable explanation.”

“As always.”

My friend invited me over to watch the game and smoke a couple joints. Since I was lonely I thought, sure, what the fuck. Maybe his hot wife will be home.

They had an open relationship, my friend and his wife. She was free to fuck anyone she wanted and he was free to watch. When he told me about this at work one day my whole body was energized, as if electric jolts were lifting me by the armpits. I immediately had an unrestrained desire to meet this woman who had so much control.

I found myself staring at the picture he had of her on his desk every chance I could. I emblazoned that image of her cruel smile in my mind and recalled it at all the way home, daily. I would hurry through dinner and rush to the bedroom with my lotion, fixating my mind on that beautiful cruel woman.

Every day my friend would tell me about his wife’s sexual conquests, and how he knelt at her feet while she embraced some poor sap who that he was getting an easy fuck. He would cook dinner for them, make the bed for them, be a footstool for his wife while her lover made love to her on the couch. He had grown used to sleeping on the floor next to the bed, and massaging Anita’s feet after she fucked her lover. And if he dared look at her without permission he would not be able to lick her pussy after she had finished.

In the morning, if she hadn’t banished her lover of the previous night, Matt would make breakfast as Anita ordered and then kneel at feet under the table, licking her toes as she and her lover talked and ate.

I was astonished that Matt said this relationship was liberating. That because of it he was no longer enslaved to the ideology of manhood and was free to experience his desire to the fullest. He felt an intense gratitude towards Anita, and he said he would do anything for her. Oddly enough, he said it also proved Anita loved him more than anyone else he’d ever known because she made no appeals to his ego, no demands that he conform. Hers was an unselfish love that no other woman had ever shown him.

When I got to Matt’s house I was not disappointed. I knocked on the door and heard Anita’s voice for the first time. “Come in.”

I slowly turned the knob so as to maintain decorum of respect and entered with my head bowed. I took a short glance over to the kitchen and saw Anita in a shimmering light blue nightgown, her beautiful long blond hair tied in back. Her sexy strong feminine arm rested on the table while she ate a bowl of cereal. Under the table Matt silently lay in a fetal position sucking on her toes.

“Say hello,” she commanded.

“Hello,” I said.

She gave me a severe look. “Not you.”

At the same time Matt said “how’s it goin’ man” I said “yes, ma’am.”

Anita stared me down. I could not bear to look at her. “You need to learn to speak when you are spoken to.”

I was too afraid to answer. I could only look down with an apologetic look of reverence.

“Look at me,” she commanded. And I gladly obliged.

“Matt tells me you are a good cook.”

The thought that news of my pathetic, insignificant existence had reached her ears sent chills to my scrotum. But I was afraid to acknowledge my cooking skills lest she be disappointed.

“I try,” I said with a weak voice and looking down at my feet.

“I certainly don’t let Matt stay around because of his ability to cook,” she said. “Make me an omelet. For once I would like a real breakfast.”

She saw my hesitation, but didn’t seek to reassure me. “Get going. The pans are next to the stove. You should be able to find everything you need. My kitchen’s no different than any other kitchen. There are no secret hiding places for eggs, vegetables, condiments or knives.”

I couldn’t resist a quick glance at her gorgeous face. But when I glanced to that lovely strong arm my gaze was suspended, and she saw it. And she saw my body start to tremble. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I quickly apologized. She studied me for an excruciating couple of seconds while my soul squirmed and my restless chakras stirred. Then she dismissed me with a wave her hand and I, grateful I hadn’t incurred her wrath, quickly skipped into the kitchen.

I managed a quick look over at Matt while I got a pan out, but he was intent on sucking on Anita’s toes while she silently read the paper.

“Get me a cup of coffee,” she said.

I looked down at Matt, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Matt’s busy. I’m talking to you.”

I looked over at the pan heating on the stove and then over at her.

“You can do two things at once, can’t you?” she said sarcastically.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and quickly took the coffee decanter over to her, my hand shaking as I tried to fill her cup.

“If you spill any I am going to be really pissed off,” she said cuttingly.

With all of the control my mind could muster I managed to empty the remains of the decanter into her cup without spilling a drop.

“Now don’t forget the omelet,” she said.

I quickly got back to work on her food, cutting up some green onions, peppers and potato.

“And don’t call me ma’am again,” she barked. But she didn’t say how I should address her.

“I have spoken to you,” she barked.

“Yes mistress,” I said.

Her silence told me she was happy with that. I served her the food and set to doing the dishes without being told. She had not said whether she liked the meal or not, but she ate everything. So I was pleased. When she had done she said, “okay, you boys enjoy the game.” And she got up and went to the bedroom and closed the door.

Matt, crawled out from under the table and said “nice job, man. She likes you. Good thing you can cook.” And then I realized that Matt had singled me out for a purpose. It was cool, though. I liked Matt and we had some things in common. Not the least of which was an appreciation for good smoke.

Matt motioned for me to follow him downstairs and he rolled a joint, put the game on the tv and put on the latest Lamb of God CD.

After a while Anita came downstairs and I immediately got up and bowed my head. Matt sat up and winked at me. Anita gave him a kiss and a hug and asked him if he wanted anything special from the store and he rattled off a couple items. Anita then turned to me with a warm smile and handed me a small photo album and said. “I want you to use these, and follow the instructions written on the inside front cover.”

I started to open the photo album and caught the quickest glimpse of Anita’s rippling abs when she scolded me. “Wait until you get home.”

I quickly shut the album and thanked her, and she could feel the energy waves from my heart, eyes and forehead.

“So, you like the new CD,” Matt asked after Anita had left, signaling we weren’t going to discuss her.

After the game I hurried home to masturbate while looking at the picture of her in the photo album, and following the instructions she had written, just at the time I was about to spew I concentrated on one of my chakras.

My mind had been captured by Anita and now her image, her voice, her words dominated my thoughts. I found myself hurrying home from work every day to eat, and then to masturbate while concentrating on the pictures Anita had given me. And then at bedtime I would repeat. Every Sunday hurried to Anita’s kitchen to prepare breakfast for her and chill out with Matt afterwards while she went out.

And I realized my mind was slowly being reprogrammed. It no longer made my heart beat furiously when some clerk was snotty, or someone at work made their stupid, judgmental remarks. My mind was losing that animal protective instinct. I felt a growing personal integrity that was too strong to be pulled into the fool’s game of confrontation. Everyone died countless times through the drama and the fiction their minds created and which their brains carried out. Ridicule and praise was nothing more than an audience’s reaction to the role they have assigned to you in their particular drama. I no longer cared enough to respond to caustic remarks or undignified treatment at the hands of others. The more furious others became the more calm I got. Anita made me strong. No one could ever crush my ego like Anita, and somehow knowing that reduced the threat of everyone else.