(OOC: Sorry, I'm having a hard time getting my schedule oriented so I can write all three necessary pieces for this coming Shove-It. Subsequently, I'm starting with the easiest one to write for me 'Sole Survivor', then working my way backwards. So it isn't confusing when all three are up, I'll bump this one so they all end up looking like they're in order on the RP board. Hope you enjoy this one, it's a little different than my usual style)

http://www.themuslimtimes.org/wp-content...536858.jpg

Close-up shot on Mary, Jesus’ mother. Only thing visible in the frame is her face. She is somber, speaking very seriously, with an almost angelic calmness. Wearing a blue and white robe, a lovely halo resting over her head, the blue just before a night sky behind her.

Mary: Jesus of Nazareth. You rose from the grave and ascended to your father’s kingdom. That was almost 2000 years ago.

M:…

M: When are you going to move out of your father’s house?

Frame zooms out to Mary, looking over Jesus’ shoulder. Jesus is on the couch, not obese but a little overweight. Wearing a wrinkled, filthy white robe on his body and a layer of Cheetos dust on his lips. A bottle of label-less Mountain Dew sitting on the table. The liquid inside might be Mountain Dew. Like 50/50 chance. Jesus sighs and changes the channel with the remote that he can’t seem to lift, seeing as how his right hand is sitting on the couch, palm turned up with the channel changer resting atop it.

M: When are you going to move out of your father’s house, Jesus?

Jesus sighs, rolls his eyes and changes the channel, from QVC’s worthless products to NBC’s worthless daytime television programming. Mary’s voice switches from an angelic calling of destiny to a nagging Jewish mother. Which isn’t offensive to say. Since Mary is in fact a Jewish mother who is currently nagging Jesus.

M: Jesus, when are you going to move out of your father’s house?

Beat. Jesus changes the channel again. Now, ESPN Sportscenter, replaying activities that pay certain marginally talented athletes millions of dollars for doing something that helps literally no one.

M: Jesus. I’ve really tried to be sympathetic. You were executed. Via crucifixion. That’s a hard thing to bounce back from. I figured 700, 800 years, you’d try it again, be ready to hit the ground running. Everybody needs a cushion to land on and your father and I were both happy to be that for you. That was 66 AD.

M: It has been almost 2000 years. And you haven’t done a thing, Jesus.

J: I’m working on the Rapture, mom. It’s my passion project.

M: A Passion project I loved!!! When I heard about it 1700 years ago, Jesus.

M: Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for us? On a PR front? You… EFFED… a lot of people that were counting on us, Jesus. You made Pat Robertson wrong. You made Harold Camping wrong. You made all of the Aztecs wrong. Do you know how many calls your father had to make? To AZTECS, Jesus? Hat in his hand. Apologetic, Insisting he pay for the long distance charges that come up when making calls to Hell?

Mary scratches her halo, itching behind her ear. Trying to recall the calmer words she had practiced that morning, but naturally reeling towards fury over this FUCKING tumorous lump that’s decided to take residence and grow bulbous on her GOD DAMNED COUCH.

M: You just had to show up, Jesus. Send up 60 million people to Heaven. Set the world in never-ending Hellfire, consuming the non-believers in your wrath as they… Sorry, Sorry Jesus, I don’t mean to lecture. You know what you’re supposed to do.

Beat. Mary bites her lip, then gets even madder than before, her hands raising in the air.

M: Which is why I can’t understand why you’re having these difficulties, Jesus?!? You’re such a clever boy! You’re so good at your job, impressing the mortals with your nifty ‘close-up magic tricks’ and your ‘nifty swifty switcheroos!’

Jesus rolls his eyes.

J: They’re called miracles, ma.

M: And they’re very good, Jesus. You fed… a lot of people that one time. And that time you pulled a quarter from behind that blind man’s ear? That was amazing, Jesus. I know they cut it out of the Bible because that blind man was stoned to death later that day, since something that wouldn’t have been invented for over a millennium was found in his ear. But… It was good…Jesus, I know you might be
nervous about going back to Earth. You…

Mary finger quotes.

M: Bombed… As the Kids say.Look, You don’t have to jump back onto Earth. Just get out of the house a little here and there.

M: You could do… just… so many things, up here. You could get a job with your pal Peter by the gate. Or
use that fancy Master’s Degree in Carpentry, make your father a nice chair. He’s older than time, like
literally billions upon billions of years old. He might like to sit every once in a while. Wouldn’t that be
nice? Doing something nice for your father? Wouldn’t you like that Jesus. Doesn’t that sound nice, Jesus?

Long beat.

Mary smiles, waiting. An optomisitc gleam in her eye. Patting gently on the Prince of Peace’s shoulder…

Just as Jesus turns up the volume on the television.

Mary digs her fingers into the couch.

M: Jesus CHRIST, YOU PIECE O-

God enters the room from the kitchen. He’s an ancient old man in a white robe, bearded down to his chest, bald as a baby. Zen smile constantly across his face, over his robe is an apron that says ‘Kiss the Creator’ and in his hand is a spatula.

G: Mary!

Mary turns around.

M: Hey, honey.

G: Sweetie, I knew millions of years ago that you were about to raise your voice because I experience all of time at once as a constant stream, is something the matter?

M: I’m just talking to Jesus about…

Mary puts her hand to her face, putting a hand wall between her mouth and Jesus.

M: You-know-what?

God legitimately doesn’t know what.

M: The whole… J-E-S-U-S needing to S-H-I-T or get out of our Y-O-U-D-A-M-N-E-D H-O-U…

G: OH! Oh yes!

God taps his nose.

G: On the nose. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to the old J-Man.

Mary gives him a chaste peck on the cheek, takes the spatula from his hand and disappears into the other room.

God takes Mary’s position behind the couch...

G: Hey, son. How are you doing?

Jesus still doesn’t look over, but does respond.

J: Fine, dad. How’s work?

God’s face brightens up immediately.

G: Work? I’m… uh… I’m hard… hardly…

God is snickering as he tries to answer the question.

G: I’m working h…. har….

God beats his own knee, doubled over in hysterics. He then rises back to his standing position

G:Working hard or I’m hardly working…

Beat.

God then looks in the upper right corner of his eye.

G: Wait, no

He goes back to giggling.

G: No… you say… No, I say… “Wor…Working hard… Or Hard… Hardly Wor-“ Peter just told me that one. It is a stitch.

Jesus nods, exasperated.

J: Yeah, dad. It’s a good one.

God bursts out laughing. He falls to the floor, kicking the back of the couch, howling like a madman… Unable to breathe… Retching, almost vomiting with how hard he’s laughing…

He starts slowing down… Then crawls back up the couch… And sighs…

G: Oh, that Peter. Always has a new one for me when I walk by the gate.

And he falls over the couch laughing again…

G: WORKING HARD OR HARDLY WORKING…

Jesus patiently waits as God gets out a long old man laugh, flopping helplessly on top of him… God eventually stretches into Jesus’ arms and ends up with his son unintentionally cradling him as he finishes with a calming chuckle.

G: Well… uh… Son, I’m going to be honest with you. I forgot why I came in here.

Jesus nods, eyes still on the television, as they have been this entire time.

J: S’all right, dad.

God chuckles again before letting out a sigh.

G: Well, uh. Guess I’ll let you go, son.

J: All right, dad.

God nods, pulling himself up by the arm of the couch out of his son’s arms. He then slips back behind the couch and starts over for the kitchen.

G: Well, uh, keep… hard… hardly work…

God can’t get it out as he almost heaves laughing.

G: Uh,well, it’s… it’s good to see you, son.

J: You too, dad.

G: Well, uh… peace be with you.

Jesus sighs as he parrots back.

J: And also with you.

God nods as he does the ‘sign of the cross’ spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch move.

G: Well, uh… Bless you in the name of… me… and you…

God then turns serious as his eyes peer to the ceiling.

G: And that terrifying ghost we keep in the attic.

Cut to black.

Then the lights shoot back on.

Mark Flynn is in a kayak, two-sided paddle in his hand.

The kayak is in fact sitting atop a linoleum floor, like one found in a kitchen.

Flynn paddles the kayak a couple inches forward with a loud screeching sound…

Then comes to a stop.

Flynn: We’ve had a lot of fun this week…

Based on his voice, Flynn is clearly hammered off his ass. Slurring audibly. If that weren’t enough evidence, he reaches into the kayak and pulls out a flask and takes a lengthy drink… Before coughing and wiping his lips dry with his wrist.

F: Some of you may wonder what any of that has to do with ‘Canoeing’, which is the required theme for this story… Well, Old Town Canoes and Kayaks wants me to remind you that just sitting on the couch is no w-

Camera man: Actually, the theme is supposed to be ‘Sole Survivor’…

F:… Really? I could have sworn one of these themes was ‘Canoe’.

CM: No sir. ‘Sole Survivor’

F:… All right. Calling an impromptu audible here.

Flynn takes another swig from the flask… Thinks briefly… Then looks back into the camera. Immediately sober in voice, eyes focused.

F: Jesus will one day get his fat ass off that couch and come for us all. Only one will survive the coming rapture. Why not guarantee your SOLE SURVIVAL… ness. By buying a canoe and kayak from Old Town Canoes and Kayaks. For when demons rise from within the Earth’s crevices and drag the strongest of our species down the depths of Hell, the seas of blood run through the streets…

F: You can either wade through them…

F: Or you can canoe on top of them.

Flynn winks as the Old Town Canoes & Kayaks fades to the middle of the screen.

F: With an Old Town Canoe. Go through the End of Days in style.

CM: Cut.

Flynn’s smile dissipates as he takes another swig of whatever the Hell is in that flask.

CM:…Do you actually believe Armageddon is coming?

Flynn’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, as if he’s not sure where this topic of conversation has come from.

F: I dunno. I also don’t know if these fucking canoes hold water. Doesn’t stop me from selling them.