Has anyone ever given you anything *J*U*S*T* for being awesome?
Not a trophy, not something won of merit-based competition, not a blowjob, but, like, a free drink? Or a ham? Note: the drink can’t be won through attrition (can’t be on the house for having STAYED there/knowing folks) and can’t be a naked attempt to get you naked, attempting; the ham can’t be a Christmas bonus (or a naked attempt to get you naked). Wait. Scratch that. If someone gives you a ham in an attempt to get with your sensuals you need to glaze that thing and frame it. Honey and then lacquer. Then placard. Chestnut board and thin gold leaf and the epigraph “Some Fuckham Gave Me This Ham To Fuck Him; He Did Not Succeed”
Unless it was a woman who tried to solicit you with a meat prize, in which case What? and Score!
As long as the lady isn’t some kind of horny alzheimer’s patient, report directly to the Getting Picked Up Hall of Fame and die there.
(What could there even be left for you to do? Skydive? You can do that first, I guess, but, I mean, why bother?).
But there are those for whom this is a fact in life. And they don’t get (*j*u*s*t*) crummy fourth-hand coffee tables or complementary guac, but awesome first-or-zeroeth hand coffee tables (prototypes too perfect to be sold) and complimentary guacamole factories.
Ok. Probably not means of production, but, like, a pool table or a car with < 10,000 miles on it or stock. A hairdresser will cut their hair and be so happy for their conversation (and $j$u$s$t$ to touch their follicles) that they’ll write it down as a busy-fingered chat. “While we talk, my hands are going to do this this this,” they’ll say, “and if you end up with a rainbowed faux-hawk it’s a pleasant mystery. Simpsons reference.” And when this excuse falls flat with hisorher boss three days later, s/he pays out of hiser own pockets.
Debit, not just No Credit — DEBIT.
Has anyone ever fallen to your feet and offered to cure those peds? And they’re not foot fetishists or insane (see: the venn diagram of that (unfair)), they just recognize something a tad messianic in you, and they don’t know how to love you, but they remember the bible being surprisingly foot rub heavy. I think they called it anointing back then. Anyways, too afraid to pierce your perfect flesh/too lowly to touch you, they don’t do it with files and fingers but with a box of fish.
It crosses your mind momentarily that if they are too lowly to touch you then why are fish ok, but that’s _just_ because you’re not that person. Insufficiently awesome, you live with full self-awareness of all hierarchies currently in motion, each semaphore signal that denotes your demotion, flags your fallen state. You’re not Him and you never will be.
At this point we may as well be straight with ourselves, we’re talking about Jesus. Jesus Christ, here on Earth.
Secular now after having been burned bad trying to go the whole sacred route, He wanders the Earth getting free stuff, in turn making people feel good ~j~u~s~t~ for giving it to Him. They want to give it to Him. Jesus Christ, at the Best Buy gets free Geek Squad for life. Jesus Christ, at the laundromat, starched shirts for the price of un-starched shirts.
Later, in bed: He accepts head without making the fuss of trying to regift it.
To that lucky sweet-sucking someone, who >just< wanted
to wrap their tongue around Him, close their eyes, and
accept Him in their heart, mouth and eyes.
To all of us: please.