Following Jesus Into Hell

I was patrolling the streets in search of sinners to save on Friday night, handing out tracts and warning night-clubbers of their impending doom in the fiery pits of hell, when I was confronted with a blasphemy of outrageous proportions. I was outside a club called Mercury – Lucifer’s Long Drop would be a better name. I was engaged in an intense defense of the Christian faith with a disturbed and inebriated young twerp who kept insisting that heaven is not hot enough for him, when the offending blasphemer pushed past me, loudly proclaiming that he was Jesus. I was mortified – it’s bad enough that the idiot I was preaching to would rather choose a hot place to spend eternity than the heavenly Jerusalem, but now someone was impersonating Jesus Christ.

I paid the fifty bucks to get in and followed the blaspheming heathen up the stairs into the foul-smelling bowels of Satan. The bouncer at the door should have done a better job of frisking me – he completely missed the gun holster strapped to my ankle. Good thing, as my mission could easily have required that I pumped some lead into “Jesus” to put an end to his blasphemy

The place was packed – apparently some band was playing. I pushed my way through the crowd, hot on the heels of “Jesus” and feeling like I was sinking further into the dark depths of hell with every step. I walked into the back of a long-haired bearded fella who looked more like Jesus than the imposter, but when he poured the remaining contents of his beer over my head, he morphed into a bearded demon instead. I was even more convinced I’d entered hell when I overheard a black guy calling the white fella next to him Buddha, who in turn called him The Teacher. And to add more wood to the fires of hell, another fella was addressed as Devil.

Hard to tell if I heard all this right over the deafening music, but I had to let it go – I had my sights on Jesus.

When I walked in I probably stuck out like a boil on a porn star’s backside, but being drenched in beer helped me blend in. This is the reason I didn’t give the Jesus look-alike a knee to the groin.

The band eventually came on … and I knew I’d descended five levels below Satan’s lavatory. It was Fokofpolisiekar – this was the third time I was face to face with these Satan worshippers! I had no time to scream godly curses at them before their loud guitars and foul lyrics hit me with the force of demonic flatulence. I was also hit in the left eye by a flying beer can and in the right eye by a flying ball of human spit. No matter how much my heart tried to tell my head that Jesus was also spat on and assaulted for the sake of righteousness, I just couldn’t take this abuse lying down. I can play the same game as pagans – I spat huge green slime balls and threw several beer bottles, hitting the Jesus look-alike in the back of the head, but narrowly missing the Jesus imposter. He proceeded to mosh his way to the stage and then prepared to stage-dive. I seized the heaven-sent opportunity and made sure I was beneath him when he leapt off the stage. I skillfully moved out the way and watched him hit the deck with as much force as the Indian mosher I saw collapse at the last gig. I know it’s not exactly fair play to kick a guy when he’s down, but if it’s a Jesus imposter eating broken glass, I have God’s full permission to make sure he never fathers another bastard son of Satan.

After stomping on Jesus a few times in the name of Christ, I decided to leave before more spit and beer cans hit me. He got off lightly – he can be thankful I never emptied my ammo into his sorry ass. I will be writing to the local papers about this evil den of iniquity, insisting that the authorities close it down on the grounds of allowing Jesus imposters to walk through their doors. Not to mention allowing a band on stage who tell the police to go fuck themselves. This would never have happened if we still had apartheid censorship. Or if I was President.

Fight the good fight.