Some people in Latin America think it’s nifty to name their sons Jesus. Reflecting as I do on a Sunday, especially this ultimate of holy days, Easter, about spiritually profound things (as dalais tend to do while gazing from mountain tops at nothing in particular) I can’t help wonder how things could get a bit weird having a boy named Jesus running around the neighbourhood.
Pedro: Papi, papi *sob* Jesus he keek me in the nutsack and … and … *sob* then Jesus he steel my lunch.
Papi: That leetle preek! I will — I will steek Jesus with a giant preekly cactus next time he hurt my leetle Pedro’s testeecles!
Apologies for the cultural stereotyping. I mean, everyone knows Jesus was a Jewish kid, not Latin.
Naming your kid Jesus and causing people like me to run really close to the blasphemy wire is one thing, but some dude in the Congo took it up a notch, to the ultimate notch, and named his kid God. According to Tim Cahill, whom I’ve recently discovered and find nearly as entertaining as Bill Bryson, God grew up in a remote village where his father heard educated people speaking with great respect about this person called God. So he named his son God. And God eventually found out, far too late, that people are generally offended or amused by the name.
If your name is God, people are going to be asking around for you all the time — Have you seen God today? — and you in turn are going to get even more pissed off than God himself every time people get kicked in the nuts and yell out, “Oh my fucking God, that hurts!” Actually, they’ll probably just double-up on the floor whimpering and maybe say that an hour or so later when their nuts fall back into their sack.
Then again, you could have some fun with the name God and confuse the hell out of everyone: “I am God! I am come to kick your nuts and steal your lunch, lady bastards.”
“Oh my God etc …”
See what I’m saying? It just gets weird and a bit confusing. And then someone kicks God in the nuts and steals his lunch. What the hell does God say? Ouch, that hurt? Forget it, when your nuts are violently abused, whether you’re religious or not, you have a basic human right to bring God into your personal pain. But it just sounds ridiculous if you are God. In which case, feel free to cry out, “Oh my dalai fucking moron, my balls are hurting so much right now!” You’ll feel better almost immediately.
Namaste, morons. And be careful what you name your leetle ones.