Kanye vs Jesus

The room was like Kanye himself; soft gold gilding on the walls and ceiling. Fine art hung on the walls along with gaudy artifacts from exotic, long dead civilizations.

Miley took a break from grinding her teeth together to puff heavily on a marlboro. Her lipstick left a ring on the filter.

Stirring a 5th dynasty mug full of chamouille, Justin splashed some on his hand. He ignored it, instead of falling into his usual wounded prince act. It made Miley angry. Christ filled every room, even when he wasn’t actually there. Fucking drama queen.

A trumpet blared short and strong from behind a red-curtain at the end of the room and Kanye strode in. He stopped at the head of the polished one-piece oak table.

“Ay JB wake up. This ain’t no time to relax. Wake up.” Kanye snapped his fingers five times. “That mother fucker jus don’t stop. He don’t know the line an he cross it habitually.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Miley sighed and leaned her head on her hand.

“What can we do?” Justin said, eyes dead. “He’s relentless. I don’t know how he has the energy for it.”

“I don know what the big fucking deal is.” Kanye shook his head. “He never had to work for a thing. Jus starts with it, immediately great. What’s the basis of his fucking station? The t-shirts, the fucking religion, give it a rest.”

“You’re preaching to the clergy, Kanye.” Justin stood up and leaned forward. “Listen, I’m thinking about retiring. I have money. I don’t see the point anymore-“

“You have money, but that’s not what this is about is it?” Kanye’s eyes bulged. “It’s about influence, and power. I don’t just want diamonds and chains, I want people to go blind appreciating them.”

Kanye was right. Big headed about it, but right. Miley put out her smoke and then popped the cap on her valium. Took another. She didn’t do it all to get rich. She did it for the spot light, the camera’s flash, the adoring eyes – it was her aphrodisiac, her sustenance.

“What’s your plan?” She asked. Justin walked out of the room, ignoring the hole Kanye was burning through his back.

“No one remembers a coward.” Shaking visibly, Kanye hung his head and took a deep breath. Then he looked at Miley.

“The NBA all-star game. A character assassination.”

“How do you know he’ll be there?”

“It’s on his twitter feed.” Kanye picked up a remote and clicked it at a white wall. A computer screen was projected onto the plain surface. Kanye brought twitter up on his tablet.

A four hour old tweet from Jesus read: “NBA all-star game tomorrow. Best dunk? #JesusGonPleaseUs #SonofGod.”

“Why can’t he just stay in one thing? One week he’s better than Bogart, next week he’s behind the the camera, putting Hitchcock to shame. MVP of every major sports league. Three top ten albums on iTunes.”

“And people just eat it the fuck up, like it’s a batch of fresh tasty cakes.” Kanye complained, frowning.

“What are we going to do to him?”

“Okay, okay, okay. Here’s what I’m thinking. We go out there, grab the microphone and accuse Jesus of being racist, and a rapist. They’ll believe it. His force of will. You say he raped you at an after party. I’ll say he called me a nigger. Hard R.”

Miley chuckled. “We’ll put him through the career suicide gauntlet.”

Kanye smiled crookedly. “We’ll see if his holiness can survive this hot mess we cooked up.”

* * *

The all star game was in full swing. Jesus was dropping bombs on the hoop like Vietnam. His beard was majestic; shiny and flush hazelnut, gently waving as he soared towards the hoop. He wore mid-thigh shorts, a throw back to the seventies and his legs were simultaneously manly and pale as a maidens, soft as baby cheeks. He had a handsome face, and twinkling eyes that managed both great stature and innate kindness. All in all, he was the newest wonder of the world, as breathtaking as the pyramids and as impressive as the eiffel tower.

Several players had made dunks; James, Bryant, Durant, Wade but then it was Christ’s turn. He drove the ball towards the net, crushed it in a shower of glass, repaired it with a wave of his finger and then went again. And again. And again. Jesus had gone fifty times in a row, with increasing exuberance, and the crowd couldn’t get enough. Women all over the stadium were topless, throwing bras onto the court.

Miley followed Kanye through the bedlum of sound. Past all the stars of the game, she watched as Kanye snatched the announcer’s microphone.

“Hold up, hold up.” Kanye said as Jesus was in the middle of a set of celebratory clap push-ups.

Jesus stood and looked at Kanye with a smirk.

“This man here, is the son of God.” The crowd went insane and Jesus raised his arms, challenging them for more. “He’s the best basketball player the world has ever seen. The best actor, the best musician, the best filmmaker, the best porn star.” Jesus grabbed his groin at the last title and the noise doubled and went up in pitch.

“The thing you don’t know about him, is that he’s a racist.”

Silence. Miley grabbed the mic from Kanye as he raised his arms, challenging the stadium.

Jesus was watching her with a smile. Then he raised a single finger and wagged it at her.

“He raped me. At the VMA after party.” Angry chatter rising throughout the crowd.

Then Jesus dropped a hand into his robe and pulled out a microphone, gilded with gold and diamond.

“Good ladies and gentleman, I want you to go easy on these two. It’s not easy being a sub-par egomaniac, I’m sure. I wouldn’t know. I’m selfless as the sun.”

Then Jesus swept a hand at the jumbotron and footage began to play.

It showed Kanye and Miley at their planning session only hours before.

“Okay, okay, okay. Here’s what I’m thinking. We go out there, grab the microphone and accuse Jesus of being racist, and a rapist. They’ll believe it. His force of will. You say he raped you at an after party. I’ll say he called me a nigger. Hard R.”

Miley chuckled. “We’ll put him through the career suicide gauntlet.”

Kanye smiled crookedly. “We’ll see if his holiness can survive all this hot mess we cook up for his ass.”

“And there you have it,” Jesus shouted triumphantly, bowing and the crowd went nuts. People began jumping out of their seats and crowding the floor. Hands reaching for Miley, trying to grasp her, trying to touch. It was just like before and she just closed her eyes.

Kanye’s voice broke through her reverie. “What’re you doing? Stop it. Stop it, I say, I am a God.”

A squeal cut off his voice. Miley opened her eyes and found Kanye being carried around in a wedgie, tears leaking from his eyes. His crying face was on the jumbotron and she knew then he was ruined.

Jesus was doing a funky dance to some glitch hop, swinging his hands in circles, and bouncing up and down.

Hands on Miley’s thong, yanking it up. It hurt.

Miley dreamed that Jesus was lying dead in a pile of blood but that’s all it was. A dream.