Shoo, Fly. Don't Bother Jesus

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Jesus wept as he pushed his pushbike through Wollongong. Jesus was a pansy. "It's too hot and I swear I've got a bloody blowfly the size of a 747 dive bombing me," He sobbed into his mobile phone headset. "Can you hear it? Madge, I just wanna come ho-" But that's as far as Jesus got. We'll never know what he was going to say. Because at that moment, mid-word, he inhaled sharply into a sob and hoovered the 747 sized blow fly straight into his mouth and down his windpipe!

Oh mah lord, what a kafuckus. At first Jesus couldn't breathe at all. He dropped his bicycle, not sure whether to be pushing air out or sucking more in because nothing seemed to be moving in either direction- before long he started to panic. He would definitely be needing to breathe very soon.

Realising that he wasn't going to be much help to it in crunch time, Jesus' body began to think for him. His little clogged up throat sent a morse-code message to his lungs which began to squeeze as hard as they could, forcing Jesus to cough-and-clear fly carnage. Well, he coughed and he coughed and he coughed, and with a sickening snap he gave one final, violent cough and the fly flew from his throat without flapping its wings, and he could breathe again... But now something else hurt.

Jesus had gone and cracked a rib.

He was pretty sure that's what it was. It could account for the cracking noise and the rib pain and the crack in the x-ray picture of his ribs which the doctor later showed him. Sigh. A cracked rib. Now, Jesus wasn't in a tippy top condition financially. He was sharing some kids with Madonna and they'd cost him a fortune in Kabbalah water on an outing to the animal sanctuary on a hot day last week, so there was nothing he needed now like a quick fix at a low cost.

Jesus wept as he pushed his pushbike through Wollongong, wincing with the pain of his broken bone. He walked with a little pimp lean just to make sure no shardy bits could pierce his heart.

Before long Jesus had pushed his bicycle to a little shopping centre and in that little shopping center was a statue of a horse, and this gave Jesus an excellent idea. He would stick his ribs together with glue! He was a very intelligent man who lived with a firm belief in the deliberate order of things. So, he decided that, to precisely reverse the damage previously done he would have to retrace the steps of the broken bones- They got broke on expiration, so they should get fixed on inhallation.

And he chained up his bicycle and he walked with his little pimp lean right into the craft shop on the corner and got himself a bottle o' Clag. He removed the lid and he breathed deeply, thinking thoughts of purity and healing. With his mind he channelled the glue fumes directly to the crack in his rib. He was careful to inhale with a violent force one or two times to make sure the process was artfully exact.

And then Jesus got a strange headache. His pain ebbed away like a polite crowd from the vicinity of a silent fart and, in its place, Jesus found a feeling that felt like light. His head was light, his bike was light, even the light in the sky was light. The sun, that's it, the sun was light. Jesus felt like he could pick it up and swallow it down like a dollop of cream. Everything was just, so, light...

After goodness knows how long, Jesus was startled to find a v-shaped formation of wild, black horses galloping straight across the light in his world. Their hooves thundered and their wild manes shook as they whinnied through town, blocking out the sun with giant boat hats made from newspaper- And Jesus realised the glue had not quite held him together all the way. "Must be too humid out here..." he decided. "Glue fumes can't set in this heat."

And his pain came back.

And Jesus wept. And it was warranted.

Thank you, @TracieLeeLee @CarFullofBogans, for your pain and enlightenment.