(PU) In a quiet ceremony attended by a few close friends and family members, nationally known televangelist Pat Robertson of the 700 Club was married today to world-renowned avatar and reputed Prince of Peace, Jesus of Nazareth. The wedding took place in Stowe, a picturesque Vermont town, and was catered by the Von Trapp family of “The Sound of Music” fame, who assembled in Austrian peasant garb to sing “Climb Every Mountain.”
Robertson wore a dignified charcoal gray business suit and carried a lovely ecru portfolio filled with Christian Broadcasting Network stock options. “I love Jesus,” Robertson told reporters after the ceremony. “And Jesus loves me — it’s in the Bible.”
According to anonymous highly-placed sources attending the Throne of God, there is no scriptural evidence in any religious text to support the claim that Jesus Christ loves Pat Robertson. Yet Robertson remained ebullient.
Asked why he “popped the question,” Robertson replied, “It’s no secret, Jesus and I are more than friends. We’ve been in a committed relationship for years. He is with me, always. We watch TV together, bowl together, excoriate perverts together. When I predicted that acceptance of homosexuality would result in hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, terrorist bombs, and possibly a meteor, Jesus was there — well, actually, I think he was in the shower, then — but basically, we’re an item. So one day I said, Whoa. Catholic nuns get to marry Jesus. How come those papist biddies have more rights than us red-blooded Protestant dudes?”
Ted Haggard, disgraced Pastor of the New Life Church, now graduated from sexual normalcy reprogramming, was Best Man. “This is so beautiful,” sobbed Haggard, who couldn’t stop crying. “Two manly men who want to conquer the world in the name of love, uniting forces. It’s another way of saying, ‘Lord, we are 100% heterosexual.'”
Jesus, resplendent in a simple Laura Ashley gown decorated in faux bloodstains, also wept.
Present at the nuptials was Mary, Mother of Jesus, who stated that she would not offer the couple her blessings.
“My son, the martyr,” Mary sighed, flicking her cigarette ashes into the punch bowl. “I knew some day the kid would go too far. He was an extremist as a youth, busting up temple bake-sales, driving defenseless, non-kosher animals into the sea, going around with that shiksa Magdalene, but I thought he would settle down. He never calls, he never writes — two thousand years later, I get an invitation to this farshtunkeneh thing. A tragedy — I say this as a mother and a virgin.”
Questioned as to her son’s possible motivation for his nuptials, Mary answered, “It’s pure ego — he’s out to save the world. I mean, having spikes driven into your extremities and getting hung up on a couple of boards — that’s got to hurt. But marrying Pat Robertson — now, THAT is agony. He’s a total codependent, my son.”
In a surprisingly modern break from matrimonial tradition, Robertson announced that he and his “Holier Half” will hyphenate their surname. “At first, I wanted Jesus to change his name to Jesus Robertson,” admitted the televangelist. “But then I realized that might make him look suspicious to the immigration authorities. So we have decided to become the Robertson-Christs.”
“No, no,” smiled Roberts. “Don’t get me wrong. I continue to view homosexual marriage as a fetid, stench-filled puke-mire of lecherous maggots fornicating obscenely in disease-ridden coffins of pus. But God likes it when heterosexuals get married. And Jesus and I are real He-Men. Right, honey?”
Jesus asked Colonel Von Trapp for an Excedrin.
“I’ve looked into this marriage thing, and it’s got some major perks,” continued Robertson-Christ. “Under state law, for example, half of Jesus’ holding are now legally mine. So, besides our other moneymaking enterprises, the Christian Broadcasting Network finally owns the intellectual property rights to our heavenly Mascot. That means we can sue the Pope for copyright infringement.”
Conspicuously absent from the event was the virulently antigay evangelist Fred Phelps, who had been invited. “Aw, he’s just pissed he didn’t think of this first,” Robertson-Christ chuckled.
“I told Jesus and I told him,” said Mary, stepping in front of the news camera, “You think you can change this shmuck; you think you’re the only one who can understand him — HA. Mark my words, I said to Jesus: in a few weeks, you’ll be begging the cops for a restraining order.”
So saying, the Blessed Virgin excused herself, explaining that she was late for her Women in Black vigil.
No word yet as to where the happy couple will honeymoon.
Susie Day lives in New York City where she writes a humor column for feminist and gay publications. She has also written on U.S. political prisoners and labor issues and thinks her girlfriend, Laura Whitehorn, is hot stuff. Can’t get enough of Susie? Read other pieces by Susie Day in MRZine: Susie Day, “Fugitive Offers Reward for Rumsfeld’s Capture” (22 July 2005); “Street Life of a Mad Activist” (28 July 2005); “Waiting for Karl Rove” (9 August 2005); “A Child’s Primer of Intelligent Design” (24 August 2005); “The Flood This Time” (19 September 2005); “Things That Rise Up in the Night: A Howl-oween Treat” (18 October 2005); “President Salutes Anonymous Red-Baiter” (14 November 2005); “Conspicuous Consumption of a Mad Activist” (11 December 2005); “2006: The Year in Horrorscopes” (9 January 2006); “Visiting Herman” (7 February 2006); “Savior Self” (6 March 2006); “Pinko Plague Panics President” (4 April 2006); “Seymour Hersh and the American Brain” (2 May 2006); “Identity, Class, and Bite Me, David Horowitz” (30 May 2006); “Bugging Hillary” (19 June 2006); “Back in the USSA” (24 July 2006); “News from the Back of the Front” (21 August 2006); “Barbie at the Barricades” (20 September 2006); “How to Stay Out of Gitmo” (18 October 2006); “Ted Haggard and the Church of the Down-Low” (13 November 2006); “Police Gun Down Another Rich White Man” (11 December 2006); “Consuming Karl” (6 February 2007); “Anna Nicole Smith Bombs Iran” (6 March 2007); and “Peter Pace Porks a Peck of Pinko Perverts” (2 April 2007).