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Jesus in Spandex
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

And, in an amusing morning story, the Pope dope:
He says it's OK to believe in aliens.

But, of course, not OK to believe in Buddha, Mohammed or other terrestrial beings.
Extra-terrestrial, A-OK.
Annoyingly terrestrial but against the beliefs of Catholicism . . . nope.

Maybe aliens can go to heaven if they embrace Christ.
Maybe Christ visited the aliens like he did the Mormons---but, for space, he dressed in Spandex rather than swaddling cloth.

Or, perhaps God gave them a savior all their own, an alien Christ.
But, if he did not, does that mean all aliens are going to hell? That's not exactly fair.

My friend Jason argues that maybe, just maybe, space IS hell,
leaving limitless area to house all sinners, including the little green ones
and the little gray ones
and the ones from "Independence Day" that got their butts whooped by Will Smith.

Oh, this space hell is for us, too.
Especially us evil non-believers, whom the Pope never had much faith in anyway.

This would make the exploration of space a discovery of the cold caverns of a frozen hell . . .
or an internal mental journey rather akin to the tiny scientists in "Fantastic Voyage,"
(if you believe that hell is internal) but we'd be attacked by oxygen deprivation,
tentacled "Star Trek"-ish creatures, and every other "space fear" that hell can pull from our psyches . . .
at least, that's how "hell" works in all those bloody medieval paintings---
acting on your worst internal fears.

I fear the Pope, but that seems a Catch-22. I doubt he'd be in space hell.
It would collapse the Catholic space-time continuum.

Of course, if space hell came with cute retro-metro, silvery, '60s-esque space girl outfits,
I might be excited about it. But, the fact that I'd be excited about that would, most likely,
mean no cute space girl outfits in space hell, or it wouldn't be all that hellish. Damn.

But, as Bill Cosby said about the Fat Albert kids, we "just might learn something before we're done."
Hey. Hey. Hey.
Hell and fears can be great teachers of mental fortitude and stuffs.

Of course, learning stuffs won't mean squat in space hell.
It's not like you can graduate from it. It's not space purgatory, after all.
Hell has no exits, I hear . . . and space hell would have no endings.
Infinite, curling around itself
like the twisty pasta
from those endless food commercials
that play repeatedly during the news on Fox.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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