Jesus Christ and Nietzsche have a fist fight (While Mohammed Bookies)

 
If I had to describe the afterlife, I'd have to say it's a lot like Arizona.

There's really nothing here, just a saloon. That's it, really. A rat-hole fucking bar in the middle of this nuclear hell-hole of a desert. I've never been far outside of it. The desert scares me, and as much as I hate that bar, I'd never been far enough to not be within earshot of the place. I spend my days either out front or in my room above the noisy commotion of tavern.

Tonight was fist fight Wednesday, and to be honest I've never been much of a fan (most nights devolve into a fistfight anyway) but tonight it's going to be Nietzsche and good o'l JC. Apparently, they've fought thousands of times, just not while I was here. I wanted to see the show. Mo had been taking bets all week.

"Jesus wins most of the time, he's got an unfair advantage if you ask me" said the tall man sitting next to me, his hair long and golden, his voice slurring with alcohol and a thick Norse accent. I looked at him raising my eyebrow and my drink to my lips. "He's got those holes in his hands, y'see: less wind resistance." I nodded knowingly.

"And he likes to bitch slap when he fights" says the man with four arms next to Norse man, "He really doesnt fight so well, but like thor said" making a clicking noise with his mouth and pointing at him, as if he forgot what he was going to say. Shiva had two drinks in his lower arms.

"Wind resistance" Thor said, in between drinks.

"Yeah! Thats it" Shiva said, a thick middle asian accent coming through. "Hey Buddha, What do you think?"

The fat bald man in a tunic behind the bar stopped polishing a glass and just closed his eyes, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"God fucking damnit, Buddha" Thor screamed as he lay his hammer hard against the bar, The bar simultaniously shattered and stayed in intact, seeming now to be outside of reality itself. Like Schrodinger's cat, it existed and didnt exist at the same time.

To be honest the first time I saw it, it was pretty impressive. But being stranded in a bar alone with gods will make anyone jaded after awhile.

"Why do you never commit one way or the other, Buddha? Its fucking annoying" Shiva's accent now a roaring Indian stereotype. Buddha didn't say anything, so Shiva set the bar on fire, not with magic mind you, just with a bottle of Gin and a zippo.

Buddha was getting red in the face, they could tell they were getting to him. "Do something! Do something you fat fuck!" screamed Thor, his face wide with a grin.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! GET OFF MY BAR!" I'd seen Buddha flip out, just never this badly before. "GANESHA! DO SOMETHING!" Wailed the Buddha. We all looked over at the elephant headed man on the other side of the bar, silently washing dishes. He looked at Buddha and huffed at him, grabbing a bottle and then walking out back as not to be bothered again. Buddha exhaled sharply and just looked at Thor and Shiva.

"Fuck it" spoke Buddha "I don't fucking care about the bar."

Before Shiva and Thor could plan their next offense on Buddha's usually steely resolve, Mohammed had rung the bell, notifying us that the fight was about to start. "Final bets, ladies and gentlemen" said mohammed in a gentle middle-eastern accent. Thor and Shiva moved to the crowd surrounding the ring. I stayed at the bar, just turning on my stool.

"Theres no women here, asshole!" shouted Quetzalcoatl, his head dressing shaking wildly above the forray. Even in a crowded room, you always knew where he was.

"Whatever, you prick" quipped Mohammed "You people want to see a fight or what?"

The men roar in agreement.

"Pan! Hit it!" Shouted Mo to the half goat, half man on the battered upright piano. He began pounding furiously on the keys, unleashing a ragtime, laurel and hardy-esque fight song.

Nietzsche started strongly with an upper cut, straight to Jesus' chin. and then Jesus Christ slapped Nietzsche across the face so hard it looked like his mustache was going to fall off. Nietzsche stumbled back, shook his head, lunged and headbutted jesus.

They both folded over unconscious and then that was it.

The fight was over.

I turned back around so fast I almost fell off my bar stool. "Buddha, you gotta be fucking kidding me! Was that it?"

Buddha, still polishing that same glass, looks over my shoulder and then goes "Yep, it certainly looks that way"

"Why? what's the point?" I plead.

"Look, kid, do I look like I have the answers?" I was looking at something that was made out of gold and was shaped like buddha. That talked.

"Yes"

"Okay, okay, kid, why don't you ask them?"

Before I could turn around to see who Buddha was talking about, Nietzsche and Jesus sat on either side of me, they didn't even look like they were just engaged in a brutal fight. Nietzsche was impeccably trimmed and suited in black and jesus, well jesus was just dressed like jesus.

"Vat are we drinking Jesus?" Asked Neitzche to whom I had presumed all my life was his arch nemesis.

"Whatever man, but you're totally buying, dude!" Said Jesus, all smiles.

"You cheap bastard" They both laughed heartily at a private joke I was sure to never fully understand.

"Nietzche, Jesus, what's the point of this? All this I mean?"

"Oh boy, you had to get all heavy on us kid, didn't you?" Said Jesus, never ever breaking his cheerful tone.

"I've been dead for months and is this all there is?" I plead, "Really? is this it?"

"Vat does eet matter vat we have to say about aneething?" Said Nietzsche. "Your een a room full of gods or equeevilants to gods and you're steel not happy?"

"No"

"Well dude," said Jesus, putting his hand on my back, "You just gotta make your own meaning, man"

I looked over to the corner to see René Dascrtes covering his eyes with his hands. Zeus was screaming at him from the other corner that he could still hear us.

Suddenly it clicked.

All the gods came to say goodbye when I left. They gave me some food and a tent and told me I was always welcome back to the saloon if I ever felt like coming back, and even though, as I look at the desert (which still scares the shit out of me) I had a feeling I wouldn't ever be back. It felt good.

I'm still walking towards the setting sun as we speak.


Big Mike.