That’s nothing compared to the Keith Richards image I had on my closet door when I was a kid. I guess if I’d been more devinely inclined, I would’ve seen it as Jesus on a bender, but it looked exactly like Keith.
Thanks for the memories Eve. My mom had that disturbing painting in our long dark hallway, along with the one of that angel getting ready to knock those kids off that rickedy ass bridge.
Put 2 knockers on the door and it’ll look like Pamela Anderson.
Put a little swasticka between the knots and you’ve got Charles Manson.
How is that door supposed to look like Jesus? It’s just two knotholes that look like eyes. At least the grilled cheese virgin mary actually looked like a person.
Everything I’m thinking of writing to this thread is just… wrong.
::Dante Smiley::
I always thought they were basing it on the Shroud of Turin, which, of course, was a 12th century fake.
In our apartment building, we have these movable (if you’re the Hulk) wardrobe/cabinets instead of real closets. When I lived one floor down, the door on one of my cabinets had an image that looked to me like Jesus on skis. Well, the woodwork was cut off so you couldn’t see His skis but you know they’re there because He clearly is holding ski poles. I used to consider unhinging the door and selling it on Ebay. Could still, probably, since I know the lady who lives there now. We could split the profits and still have money left over to pay for a new door when she moves out.
Anyway, my cool, hip skiin’ Jesus can beat this plain old knothole-eyed starin’ Jesus any day.
Somebody’s knockin’, Lord,
should I let him in?
Lord it’s the devil, would you look at him?
**One end of a fictional conversation ** –
Jesus, sweetie, quick question: who’s the best booking agent in town? That’s right, it’s Morty. Well, of course you knew it was me, I know you knew it was me, that’s what you do, what’s more, I knew you’d know I’d know you knew before I called…it’s what you call “social lubricant,” babe, getting things off to a positive start…yeah, like that…listen, I got your December appearances lined up…Got a pencil?..I know you kn–listen, all I’m saying is, it never hurts to have a pencil and write things down…okay, look, I write things down, and I’m only forty-five…okay, fifty-two, and you’re how old?..Look at a what?..oh, right…I just don’t want any mix-ups…oh yeah?..maybe you remember a little rag called the Shroud of Turin, which was booked centuries in advance, but we ended up having to use some cheesy last-minute replacement because someone, I’m naming no names, just forgot, and now as a result we’re off the shroud circuit forever?..so, you got a pencil?..That’s my boy, you know I love you, I nag because I care…okay, first up we got Waterbury, Connecticut, some lady’s door, easy gig, just the eyes, mostly, and she’s got two knots in the wood already…Waterbury?..it’s near New York…look babe, I’ve said this before, if you want the big venues, there’s gotta be some cash involved…yeah, and I love you for it, it’s why I represent you even though it does nothing for my bottom line…Grace?..I’m sure she’s a doll but the guys at the O.T.B. never heard of her…you ready for next?..Okay, we got a cloud formation thirty miles out of Rapid City…no, the one in South Dakota…ten minutes in-and-out, and there’ll be photographers…why not?..it’ll be next year’s hottest poster… No?..I can’t believe I’m hearing this…Look, aren’t you the one who wants to do political, even though I tell you not to?..I booked this just for you, sweetie, because – get this – there’s a Minuteman missile base practically *right under * you…40 silos…I figured you could, I don’t know, frown at them…right…okay, next we’ve got a bunch of simultaneous apparitions: windshield in Des Moines, sheet rock in Pensacola, pot of Menudo in Nogales…no, none…I promise…look, when you asked me that last week, what did I do?..I said okay, and then I wrote it down…I made it into a sign, big red letters, hung it right on the wall: “NO MORE SANDWICHES”…because I respect you…and listen, I’m going to bring this up even though I know it’s a sore spot, because it’s my job…it’s Santa Claus again, only this time he says he’ll open for you…yeah he’s commercial, it’s why he’s in the Macy’s parade and you’re playing frittatas and oil stains…J-man…calm down, babe…hey, sweetie?..I’m seeing flaming hail out my window here, are you doing that?..Well, cut it out…you don’t want the job, I hear you, I’m writing it down…I’m taking Santa’s card out of my rolodex and tearing it up…okay, then…hey, I hope this Grace dame knows body work, because your little tantrum dinged up my car real good…no, that’s it for the month…knock 'em dead, babe, I believe in you…no, I told you, it’s my mother, she’s an old lady, if I converted now it’d kill her…yes, I’ll think about it…but the important thing now, Jesus, is do you believe in yourself?..Because if you don’t, this business will eat you up, and you can write that down.
Never underestimate the power of cheese!
Wow, that’s creepy looking. So would it be sacrilege to knock on the door?
King of Soup, that was sheer brilliance. Loved it, babe. What say we do lunch?
Next time I’m in town, kiddo – I’m writing it down.