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Land Clearing Jesus

Land Clearing Jesus is a story created by the Mazybolton Writer's Guild. The color of the names below correspond with the color of the text above.

Order of appearance:
Rick F.
Joe King
Dan L.

Land Clearing Jesus

In anticipation of next year's arrival of the new millennium, the Lord and savior of all souls Catholic (sorry Jews, Muslims, Hindu, et al-you were all wrong!), Jesus, has settled in rural Arkansas where the Christian right has been buying up land...because when Jesus tells you to buy up land, you better damn well do it! Our story starts with Jesus riding the streets of Little Rock seeking the new disciples when a sure sign of the pending Armageddon appears as a vacationing Bill Clinton's limo is caught stuck in traffic directly ahead of Jesus' bulldozer.

Meanwhile, in a little bamboo hut in the dense Amazon rain forest, the sound of an AT&T cell phone pierces the primordial silence. BLEEEEP, BLEEEEP, BLLLLLEEEEEEEEEPPPPP......A hulking figure emerges from a swath of mosquito netting, flailing it's arms and thrashing wildly, trying to find the source of the infernal ringing.
"Helloooooo" The bleary eyed monster squinted its eyes trying vainly to adujust to the forest gloom....."Billy...I thought I told you to stop calling, no...we don't have time for a quicky...where are you calling from anyway? Your car? You're stuck where? least you're not stuck with that witch Hillary, right sugar....hmmm.....what time is it? Oh my god....I am late for my weight watchers anonymous meeting, after all that publicity the Enquirer gave me this is probably the last place on earth I might be able to hide and focus on my life's mission of being skinnier than Calista Flockheart.....what? What am I wearing? A grass skirt actually...hehe...does that turn you on? Oh Billy, we really shouldn't......" Suddenly Monica hears a loud shriek on the other end of the line and what sounds like glass crunching, then...just silence....
"Damnit"..she thinks.."Just like his majesty to fall asleep on me after it all..sigh..where is a good cigar when I need one, guess I'll just settle for this banana then....mmmmmmmmm....."
Back in Arkansas "Billy" has problems of his own.
A pretty blonde in a wedding dress had jumped clean through Bill's window barely missing the prostitute Bill had picked up about 30 minutes earlier and launching the cell phone into a drunken beggars lap. "What have I done?!!" she cried. "Whoa now honey what's the problem?" "I just won a contest." said the frightened woman. "Well that's a good thing right?" Bill asked as he shoved the prostitute out the door throwing her some spare change. "Well the money's nice but He said he loved me and I don't even know his last name" She cried while crunched down in the floorboard. "What kind of contest was this?" Bill asked while stroking her hair and thinking about the clothes she might or might not be wearing underneath the tear stained gown. "Who wants to Marry a Millionaire!?"
"I do," said Hillary as she bitch slapped New York mayor Rudy Giuliani around. "Bill, what the hell have you done now?" yelled Hillary, as Bill whimpered, "I DID NOT HAVE SEXUAL RELATIONS WITH THAT WOMAN."
Meanwhile, Jesus was having a showdown with Secret Service Agents. He Proclaimed, "I AM JESUS, you must move aside so we can begin to clear land for the new beginning."
"Yeah, and I'm Bea Arthur," screamed a secret service agent. "I'm calling the FBI in to begin negotiations."
Then looking out the window Hillary said, "hey, that guy looks familar. I think I dated him in high school. I'm gonna go see if I can get another vote. Hello, I think I might know you from high school maybe?"
Jesus responded, "Yes, Hillary, you do know me, and I know you also," as He gently laid his hand on her shoulder.
"I think maybe we can help each other," said Jesus in a soft kind voice.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in a farmhouse near the unpretentious town of Muncie, Indiana Herbert Seidensticker and his wife of 28 years, Marge, were finishing their morning coffee. Herbert looked at his wife, her graying brown hair in curlers and a halo of cigarette smoke from the half-smoked butt dangling from her lower lip circling her head. "She's still the sexiest thing this side of Kankakee. I'd love to take her right now on the kitchen table and treat her like the little vixen she is." Herbert thought to himself.
Marge suddenly looked up from the latest Jackie Collins trash novel, squinted her eyes suspiciously at Herbert. She hugged her faded brown terry cloth robe tightly to her large, pillowy chest and said, "Herb, you have the funniest look on your face. What are you thinking?"
"Oh, just that it's about time to clear the north pasture to get it ready for the soy bean crop," Herbert answered. "I think it's time to call Jesus. Do you know what I did with his phone number?"

Meanwhile, back at the land clearing, Jesus is held at gunpoint by several U.S. Secret Service agents.
"Do you not know that at my command a legion of guardian angels will come to defend me?" said Jesus, calmly.
"Oh, yeah, well I'd really like to SEE that," joked one of the agents holding Jesus at gunpoint.
"You want to see angels?" Jesus asked. "Why don't you just drop dead then?"
Suddenly, the agent fell down dead--stone cold dead before he hit the ground.
As the other Secret Service agents looked down in horror, the lead agent ordered his fellow agents, "Fire!!!"
As a chorus of guns rang out with shot after shot, Jesus looked up to heaven and said, "Father, defend me, for they know not what they do."

The sounds of fup, duh, fup, and thik hung in the air as the body made its descent to the ground as if in slow motion. Four of the five bullets connected with precision. It was obviously a brilliant kill.
"Bill!" Jesus' voice rang out.
The president's lifeless body lay spread eagle on the ground. Secret Service men scrambled around the scene like ants disturbed by a four year old's stomp near their hill.

Marge's body jolted like someone was beating her chest in with a baseball bat.
"You okay, Hun?" Herbert asked. "You bite your tongue or something? You act like you’ve seen the dead or something."
Marge sat in a death like trance for what seemed to Herbert to be forever before responding.
"It's Bill," Marge mumbled back. "Bill and Jesus."

"We've got a big problem here, people!" screamed the senior agent. "Holy shit, where'd he come from anyway? Jablonske, call Dallas! Damn it, Hartman! Webber! Get the friggin' body in the trunk before some unlucky do-gooder comes snooping out the shots! Cramer! Sweep the area with that fallen branch to get rid of our footprints! Mel! Go get donuts! And I want sprinkles this time, you moron! And where in God's name did Jesus go?! SPREAD OUT!"

Tom Clancy slowly leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes. Sometimes the words just flowed forming concise, gripping prose. Then there were days like this, when his thoughts were all over the place and nothing made sense. He shook his head wearily. His ambitious attempt to combine politics and religion in his new novel just wasn't working out. He stared angrily at the computer screen. "Geez, what a mess," he said to no one in particular. Jesus clearing land, Monica in the jungle, the Secret Service, and hicks from Indiana...what was he thinking? Maybe he didn't have it anymore. After all the bestsellers, the money, the adulation...maybe this was it. He poured out the last few drops of a bottle of peach brandy into his stained plastic coffee cup. He was at wit's end. "God, I need help," he moaned. If only he knew what to do--where to turn for inspiration. Just then, there was an ear-splitting noise as the huge metallic blade of a bulldozer crashed through one side of his den.
The next thing Tom remembered was waking up in the intensive care unit with his mother, cousin Adrianna, and ex-girlfriend. They were watching "Maury Povich" and eating vending machine donuts. Before his "posse" knew he was alert, Tom became aware of the enormous amount of tubes connected to him and the astonishment of not knowing what kind of shape his body was in. He did know one thing though, he wasn't ready to talk to "them" yet. He quickly shut his eyes and gave himself some homemade privacy so that he could think in peace. He wasn't sure how he had ended up in this disinfectant-smelling, fluorescent lite, cubical, but he sure was glad that horrible nightmare was over. It seemed like that dream had literally gone on for days. He woke up just as the bulldozer was breaking through his den wall. He was even more grateful to have escaped from the awfulness of writing such a looser book, than the eminent danger of being injured by heavy machinery coming his way.
Just then he heard what sounded like a doctor enter the room and begin to talk with his mother.
His mother's annoying voice pierced his skull with its whine. Why didn't the bull dozer run into the room she was sitting in? Why had he been so mamed and disfigured? The agonizing questions rumbled around in his head.
Slowly he opened one black and blue eye. The doctor looked down at him, smiling, "Its ok, Mr Clancy, the press has eaten you alive, but we've saved a way out for you........You can die a heroes' death and hide for the rest of your years."
Tom managed a weak, "What are you talking about?"
"Your book. Come now, Tom. Surely you remember that demented little book you were working on when the accident happened? The press had a field day. It was said about you in the "Times"....." that wasn't writing, that was typing."
Everything went black again.

Where the story should have gone
(as told by Rick and Islandgirl)
((you can't hold those two back))


Rick's Message board causes a lot of trouble in my life.
I wouldn't have let him participate in the story if he hadn't started begging from the day I mentioned I planned to get it going.

Go to the site that made Islandgirl famous.

She says that's not her car.
Funny, I hadn't noticed a car until she mentioned it.

If you're out slumming anytime soon, drop by
BABE's Bar.
The jukebox is free!

BABE gave me this award the night I helped her sweep up the place after a big fight.

If there is something you'd like
to know about the US of A, just
click here on Scottey's page

Scottey is a famous radio personality.
(A close friend of Art Bell's)

LanzaMarie has a weekly survey that you will enjoy checking in on every day.

See the bikini photo that caused a scandle!
See Lanza dressed as a buxom wench. Read about her brother's upcoming marriage

This link will take you directly to Joe's life story.
My favorite part starts around 1978

Is Joe really the father?
Will the famous actress ever admit it? Are movies really based on his life?
Why didn't Joe accept the part of 007?
Answers to this and other intriguing questions
are waiting at the click of a mouse.

Funny guy, Dan L., has an interesting site,
but watch your language - he made it family friendy.

I grew up to be the most beautiful woman in all of Mazyboltonland
Chante's Soap Box
I grew up and birthed Papi's children.
Let me tell you about that kind of stuff.

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