Hi, y’all. Lazarus here. You know, the guy Jesus brought back from the dead and then quickly abandoned, that Lazarus. I’m here cause I want to tell my story, a story I’ve been waiting to tell for over 2000 years. It hasn’t been easy people. Really, it hasn’t. One minute there I was, deader than shit, then, BAM! I wake up smelling like the bowels of Hell itself from decay, and Jesus is standing there smiling with a big-ass crowd behind him. “Jesus,” I said, “is that you?” And he answers, “Of course, chowder head. Who else could’ve brought you back to life? Aren’t you happy I did this for you?” “Hell, no!” I answered. “I smell like rot! I’ve been dead for days, you idiot! What the Hell were you thinking? I was in Heaven. Happy. Having a beer with some babe I just KNOW was really into me. And you drag my ass back down here. For what? To show off to the crowd that you’re god? You may be a god, Jesus, but you are a childish, brat of a god if you ask me. This SUCKS! Put me the way I was you ninny, or I’m telling your Pop you need a spanking when I go back to Heaven!” Well, needless to say, that wasn’t exactly the brightest thing to say at the moment, cause Jesus did not return me to Heaven, he just flipped me off and left with his big-ass audience right behind him. I haven’t heard from him since.
Jesus! Don’t Just Leave Me Here Like This, Shouts Lazarus
So, there I was, reanimated, smelling of decay, and wrapped in bandages, all alone in front of my own grave. I knew that no one in their right mind would believe me if I said I’d just been brought back from the dead by Jesus, so I pretended to be a leper and hobbled on over to the nearest leper colony called, “Grounded Parts, Etc”, and lived there, as a tailor specializing in stitching fallen body parts back on to folks seamlessly, for about two centuries. I had already been dead, so I didn’t have to fear becoming infected with leprosy or dying. In time, the stench of the grave left me, and my looks returned to normal. I greatly desired to tell my story, especially as I saw a whole religion starting to develop around Jesus, who people were saying was this all-loving awesome dude. Fuck that. I knew for a fact he wasn’t that awesome at all of a dude. He fucked me, his pal, big time. I wouldn’t trust that bastard under any circumstance, let alone with the salvation of my soul. He didn’t save mine, he fucked it over and left me here on Earth with no way back to Heaven. But I was still in a powerless position, because I knew no one would believe my story. I left the leper colony, and moved to Rome with the money I’d saved up over the centuries. I bought some land and a few slaves (Yes, slaves. It was legal then, and I was nice to them. Nicer than Jesus was to me). Even after Rome fell, I was able to keep my land and I grew very, very rich over the years.
I Wonder Where Jesus Is Off To?
I’ve lived through the rise and fall of Empires. I’ve seen man go from riding horses to flying in airplanes, and I’ve witnessed the rise and now decline of religions built on the falsehood that Jesus was a savior of some sort, that he was tortured and killed for our sins, and that he resurrected himself from the dead after lying in a grave for three days. This is all a lie. I know. I was there. Left, by Jesus, to bear witness to it all. Jesus got fed up with people here on Earth after Judas attempted to betray him. He saw that Judas was crucified for what he did, and then returned to Heaven without ever saying goodbye to anyone, even his apostles. It was Paul, St. Paul to many, who created Christianity, not Jesus. He was the L. Ron Hubbard of his day and created a religion just because he knew he could do it. Only now do I feel there may be some people who’ll believe my story and see the folly of believing in wild extraordinary stories about saviors and all-loving beings without evidence. If something sounds wildly fantastic and impossible, it more than likely is. I don’t get why this is so hard a concept to grasp. But, I’ve said my piece, and I’m off now to tend to my property in Europe. I’m not going to leave this planet anytime soon. Jesus made sure of that. Remember that, and me, Lazarus, the next time you think fondly of Jesus. That stinking rat bastard.