Jesus: Messiah, Wizard, Vampire, or Zombie?

I'm absolutely, positively, going to Hell. First class, express line only. I'm fully comfortable with that fact, before you start calling down the fire and brimstone on me. So nyeh-nyeh.

With that now out of the way...I struggle with the concept of the last days of Christ. I respect that in this giant cult based on his name, he is revered as a Son of God, as the living embodiment of the creator here on Earth, as the Prince of Peace and the Shepherd. He died for our sins, which incidently to mean should mean we all get a free pass, but hey I didn't make up the rules so don't get angry this way.

But.

Come on, really now; the man forced his followers to eat his flesh, drink his blood. He died, then crawled his way out of a grave to live again.

I don't know about you folks, and how strong-willed and resolute you are. But if i buried my friend, and while visiting his grave a few days later discovered it open, I'm going to consider a few options:
1) check the local medical schools for new cadaver arrivals, because some entrepenuring student is making a killing off graverobbing;
2) make sure my stock of garlic, blessed crosses and holy water is up to date;
3) keep the shotgun and axe handy, and start practicing head shots with the old .32

I am, however, very unlikely to bow down to my knees and cry tears of joy, because my friend was resurrected and has ascended to a higher being.

Do I lie? Take the holiest, kindest, sweetest person you know. And yes, I'll happily use Mother Theresa as an example. If she stepped out of her grave tomorrow morning, rubbing her eyes like she just woke up from a long nap...

...you'd plug her full of ammo, grab a hatchet and start swinging for her neck. Because you know damn well she's a goddamn zombie, and its either kill the beast or stick a straw in your ear and let her suck away at your brains.

Now, let's talk about the WTF-moment we all know as the Last Supper.

Let's say...you have a friend. You love this friend, he's the greatest dude, ever. You're so smitten with him, you're practically gay for him. But he's sick, and not long for this world, so he gathers up you and his other really tight bros, and holds a dinner party.

You're all drinking, laughing, having a good time, and in the middle of this dinner he gets up to start a speech. Let's gloss over the "one'a you bastiches is gonna rat me out" part of this, because then the follow up would involve him around a table with a baseball bat, and we've all seen how that movie ends up.

No, we'll stick to this part of the speech where he holds up the bread, breaks it apart, passes it out and says "Take, eat, this is my flesh."

Hold the fuck up. What?!

Seriously, would you eat the bread? Or would you be sitting there, open mouthed, staring at everyone else to see who's gonna stuff in down their gullets first? There ain't that much love in the whole goddamn world, that I'm gonna look down at my plate and be told it's someone's flesh, and I need to eat it.

But for the sake of argument, let's assume you laughed it off. "That Jesus, he's always cracking jokes." Ate the bread, chuckling.

Then he holds up the cup, pours you all a glass, and says "Drink it all, this is my blood."

Now. Really. Just a few weeks ago, I'd seen this fucker turn a whole well of tap water into Cabernet Sauvignon and loaves of bread into bouillabaisse, so now I'm looking at this cup of dark red, thick liquid and thinking: You Know, I'm Really Not That Thirsty, Thanks.

And yes, my stomach by this point would be doing flip-flops as I starting thinking harder about that bread-into-fishflesh, and wondering if the dinner roll I just ate just looked like a toe, or if it was my imagination.

So I don't know about you, but next Easter I won't be answering any doors at night. Cuz it could be Jesus knocking. And he might be hungry.

Garlic knot, anyone?