Two:

Q: I am loving and intelligent, I'm furry and walk on four legs. I'm a fighter. Sometimes you might spot me leaving a block party at Michael Vick's. Sometimes you might spot me -not- leaving a block party at Michael Vick's. When Sarah McLaughlin sings sad shit and shows you beaten and miserable furry friends of mine are depending on you to do the right thing, and donate before another animal you caused to shiver in a cage in slow motion has your full attention when they do a close up shot and you can see an almost "Wtf dude? Donate!" In the poor bastards eye, and turning that channel in panic will seal your fate and the full wrath of nature descends upon you the next morning, and every animal abusing sadist shows up to a crack at the sick fuck who they draw a line when they saw you sitting there on the couch eating pizza while they look back at you and you just don't donate like some sort of sick murderer. Let's just say even if you awoke in prison in utter terror, and Jesus walks up and tells you.

  "It is all over now, child. You are to be forgiven and loved."

"Thank you Jesus, I have been horribly scared and feel like I'm going to die and go to hell. I just...I didn't think much of the commercial, I was just not paying attention on what seemed like an average day....Jesus, hello?"

Jesus snaps his head up. "Hmm? Oh sorry I was paying attention, I was too busy thinking about what kind of sick bastard purposely takes pleasure locking eyes with these defenseless creatures you toying with and just mindlessly eats pizza while they shriek in terror for you to make a payment and help them out by end their agony.

The misery those abusers did to them was bad enough, but still aren't as bad you!! Didn't you see their slow motion, how would you like to be stuck in slow motion, or deal with someone that is permanently slow in the mind, because of special effects, or reading an email from Xenomorph. It's sadistic and everyone loses. Some people just necessitate hell, and he's Lucifer if inconvenience was a dimension he loitered in like a derelict unicycle with a flat tire and you engage him in dialect. Then he handcuffs you to his wrist and like that, you are stuck in a dimension of hell that no sanity would allow any matter of particle he deficates on like shit flavored Lysol in full plate."

The completely out of context voice slashed into the air confuses you. You stare at the fourth wall.

The stars of the heavens stare back to you, lonely and with no reply. The vastness of the emptiness leaves you feeling cowed and insignificant.

He is alive and he is out there...

Angrily prodding you in the chest and not allowing nonsense to steal his show, Jesus is getting quite fed up. You stand your ground and prepare to strike him if need be

"The guitar and the sad shit survey team want to know why your recalcitrant conduct is intolerable when we are trying to help these animals, save lives, and encourage morality and peace. Now if you know what's good for you, give us your fuc*ing MCI calling card, your linen, and offer me your shoes or you won't make it out of the shower tonight. You owe money. We played sad guitar music and had to pay her to perform you evil freeloader, it's like I'm getting a stripper and you eyeball my woman and Its my dubloons, I'm gonna strap on my poop-cuffs and offload some obedience nuggets in your garden salad, cowboy. I run the kitchen here, ya dig? I know you heard that guitar! Stop fucking with us you cheapskate Visa card taunting show-off! I'll beat you over the head with it and maybe then you'll stop playing f**k  fu*k games and pay up like everyone else, you see where you are?! You are in prison and you won't last a day for what you have done!!!" Terrible wrath burns in the eyes of Jesus, his hands at his sides and smoke rising from his hands, God's wrath has been stoked by Nature's wrath, and a foreboding sense of despair visits you like the chattering bony hand of the cloaked death descending upon you at any moment, harbinger of fuckupery,

You cannot help but to be quivering in wholesale shock and spiraling doom, as you hear only your heart pounding in rhythmic thuds and  the massive room of barred cells grows busier as the argument between you and Jesus has caused the inmates to investigate. You didn't do anything wrong, and you just did as you always do, I was just watching tv. And Jesus hears your thoughts.

"I change my mind, I'm finished with you." curtly dismissing you with a disgusted wave of the hand, kicking up a cloud of dust turning direction.

"I wish most people good luck. But most people don't piss off Mother Nature. The shivering animals forgive you. They just..."

Jesus eyes flash dangerously as you meet his.

No, it can't be. Don't drop that bomb and plant that lie. But they do. And this is what happens to people who don't donate.

"..they were just scared for you since child molesters aren't well liked."

"And you just said you'd fight anyone here and dare them to step up. See ya."

And irreconcilable scarring burns your reputation to the core at once and the damage is done. Strutting off, you never see Jesus again, but his words echo in your mind painfully.

And with that, he leaves the room with a wicked grin.

Angrily mumbling the crowd aggressively swarms in at the prognosis Jesus agitated the crowd with, like a cat-o-nine-tails being sautéed in red chili powder and aggressively lashing, but once, the proverbial bare scrotum of society, eliciting a built up raging cry of pain heard throughout the prison. It's gonna be a looong ride.

A tear slides down your cheek. You will not make number two normally ever again. Your mind is reduced from here forward, falling to the towers of stress crashing around you as your psyche dissipates into nothingness. Closing your eyes one last time, you see a pained flash in your minds eye, of the puppy you didn't help and shivered because you ate pizza and didn't pay attention that you must have cosmically had sex with God's aunt or any other exotic ray of logic it's come to this.

The room spirals and you hear the hungry voices of the Bulls and man-lady gropes of the frustrated crowd who all wants a piece of sugar-britches; they call you, and the treasure betwixt your nether regions of enlightenment that will at first show great hope for the attention craving long timers, only to exchange their epic glory with all the joys of greatness being dashed and feeling like Chris Columbus landing on Haiti and wishing he left with his poop-cuff to pass the time, what a bad day to be stuck on the wrong island and with no internet, just like the horror of prison wracked on your mind in the days ahead. What horror indeed. Yarr Matey.

Hands upon you, and sucking your thumb as hundreds gather 'round you, resign to infantile posture, and are but a flailing man-sized kidney bean laying on the cold dungeon floor. The inmates begin to gather around one by one, the camera pulls back above the scene, growing higher and away from the scene and continues to pull back until all fades to black in this place of death. You should have helped the animals. You cannot tell if the animals were real, or clay disfigured beasts that hellishly stare back at you and even draw arguments when you yell at their shadows when you accuse shadows of being muppets of betrayal that you've sunk a butter knife or two in, rupturing the eardrum of a cabin boy and iron bars are welded in its place to prevent septic shock or backsassing an elder with some heavy handed donut hooks I use to tear into a carton or Panda Express, or angrily reject prison commissary food like an enraged toddler with level 3 swords.

You die never knowing that was Jesus of Gibraltar, by way of Guadalajara Mexico, son of Carlos DePana, Sheetmetal Engineer and Distillery. No animals were harmed in the making of this sandwich.

Fin.