Absolutely true story:
Jesus walks into a bar.
With sweat streaming down his face, and soot baked into his hair, his appearance would usually result in a customer being shown the door. Here, the barman barely glances up. Steam-rolling forwards, Jesus heads for a prominent stool in front of the steward.
"Scotch, please."
On emptying the first tumbler Jesus immediately begins waxing lyrical; using up the last of the steward's notoriously limited patience. He holds forth on the pain of conscious reincarnation into a fully human body, the implications of an infancy spent with vivid, searing memories of an earlier death by torture. He talks about his most recent childhood, his relationship with his family, and reminisces about being tested over 40 days in the desert.
After he knocks back his fourth double, unruffled by the thunderous sounds from outside, he looks up. Making firm contact with his shockingly beautiful ocean-blue eyes, he asks the barman a question.
"Today's Wednesday, yeah? Prime Minister's been advising everyone to remain calm?"
The barman, called Bill or Beel by the regulars, and My Lord by his grotesque and scarcely seen underlings, finishes cleaning a large tankard. Placing it upon the polished oak he says
"No, today is Saturday. London hasn't looked this lively since 1666."
A tall figure with an ashen face and a hooded cape walks up to the bar and orders four ales. Jesus pauses, then says
"Oh dear... Father is going to kill me."
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