Prologue
Hi. I'm Jesus-Fucking-Christ.
Savior of the world, Son of God, self-proclaimed king of the Jews, fucking awesome hippie stoner, loudmouth self-righteous prophet….
And I'm in deep shit.
I'm chained down by the wrists in my underwear over a stone whipping block right now in an open air square courtyard that stinks of dried blood, piss and shit, I've got a crown of thorns jammed into my head, some fat asshole with BDSM grade leather gear is whipping the shit out of me with a cat-o-nine tails, and my back is bleeding worse than a stuck pig and torn up worse than mincemeat.
I grit my teeth and grunt through shallow breaths as another series of whips strikes my back. Just another day of being a fucking messiah.
Pontius Pilate is in his flowing purple robes standing by a table somewhere off to the right side of me, hands buried in the folds of his clothing and currently flanked by two roman soldiers in shining armor. That smug prick might be trying not to look like he's enjoying the spectacle, but I can tell he is.
But I digress. How did I end up here? Glad you asked.
To get an appreciation of my shitty situation, I'll have to start at the beginning.
Not the beginning of this event, mind you. The very beginning….