Before I tell this story, remember that it is just that- a story. On the record, I admit to nothing. Just think of this as the equivalent of when OJ was gonna write the book "If I Did It, Here's How It Happened."
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You know how everyone has that one thing they've done in their life (and in some cases, many many more things) where all they can do is shake their head and say in a disappointing fashion "Man...I'm going to hell." Those things you've done that there is absolutely no justification for, and if God doesn't take mercy with you, you can't really blame him? Well, in the spirit of Christmas I'm going to tell mine (this has nothing to do with Christmas spirit, but it's kind of a Christmas tale in a sick, twisted way.)
Many years ago, probably in high school sometime, my friends and I started referencing Baby Jesus whenever something happened that was unexplained. (All I know is that it was 2001 at the latest that we started making these jokes, so when Talladega Nights came out in 2006, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother were making Baby Jesus jokes, I was very unhappy. Will Ferrell fuckin' copied us. Then again, 70% of my personality is derived directly from Anchorman...we'll call it even.) Examples include, but are not limited to:
"Who took the last cold beer and didn't stock the fridge?"
long pause, no one comes forward...
"Baby Jesus?"
"Oh man, what was the name of that one kid in our 8th grade history class who always talked to himself and tried to race the bus home on foot every day?"
"I'm pretty sure that was Baby Jesus."
And so forth. I am fully aware that this joke isn't even funny in the first place, but it was funny to us. I've never said that my friends and I AREN'T idiots.
So one cold, snowy, fateful night in December of 2001, a few of us were sitting around at the tail end of a partiularly rowdy party, freshman-year style (meaning I was in the middle of my Schmidt's phase, so I had put together a showing that would've made any 67-year-old lumberjack on welfare proud...you can't argue with $10.99 30 packs, OK? You just can't.) The question was posed, that with all the Baby Jesus jokes we make, wouldn't it be pretty awesome to have our own Baby Jesus sitting there, so we could point at it and say things like "This is all YOUR fault!" and throw empties at it? The answer, of course, was a resounding YES, followed by Jake, Ike and I piling into Ike's pickup truck to go about fulfilling our newfound dream.
By fulfill our dream, of course, I mean to say that we went into random people's front lawns and stole the Baby Jesus from their nativity scene. Jake and I accomplished ours with relative ease. I felt like Danny Ocean out there. Ike, however....I'm pretty sure his attempt was one of the deleted scenes from Bad Santa. He couldn't get Baby J out of the manger without pulling out the electrical cord and lightbulb that was illuminating his swaddling clothing. So he ended up yanking on it until he knocked over Joseph, Mary, the three wise men, Moses, Pontious Pilate, Samson, Delilah, Abraham, Adam and Eve, and whoever else was present (I'm kinda sketchy on the 'birth of Jesus' story.) As he yanked, he fell over, kicking down part of the nativity scene in the process. For real, there was gold, frankincense and myrrh all over the place. Then he calmly stood up and triumphantly walked back to the truck, covered in snow, with the cord dragging behind him.
And the next few months, all was well with the world. We felt occasional pangs of guilt, but hey, we've got our own Baby Jesii now (I'm almost positive the plural form of Jesus is Jesii.) Stories were told, laughs were shared...all at the expense of the person put on this Earth to die for our sins.
One day, however, it stopped being funny. I believe the exact conversation was
"Dude, there is a fucking BABY JESUS sitting in that chair over there with an old bottle of High Life in his lap...that is fucked up!"
"Dude...you're right. We've got to get rid of these things. Dammit this is ridiculous! Whose idea was this, anyway?"
"I dunno...Baby Jesus?"
"Hahahaha, nice! Up top, bro! Very ni- no, no, wait, WAIT! That's not funny! That's what got us here in the first place! We gotta get these out of here, dude."
And so the next problem presented itself. How do you dispose of a Baby Jesus? It feels wrong to throw it in the dumpster. You can't very well return it to the house you stole it from..."Hello, ma'am? I believe I have something that belongs to you- funny story, actually..." And there's no black market or chop shop for this kind of thing. I checked. Apparently the Second Wise Man is really in demand, though. Especially if he's wearing the green robe instead of the blue one. It's like having a Ty Cobb rookie card with the name misspelled. Error cards are worth serious money, yo. But that's neither here nor there.
Eventually, after much debate, I threw mine in the dumpster behind Culligan, and started praying for myself every night. The Baby Jesus jokes were officially discontinued that summer, but I still catch myself dropping one every once in a while.
A couple years ago, some co-workers and I were telling random stories of Christmastime tragedy....and one girl told the story of how someone had destroyed her friend's nativity scene and stolen their Baby Jesus. I asked her how long ago this had occurred, and she said somewhere around 6 years ago. All I could do was put my head down and shuffle away, knowing that it was me and my friends. And I have to live with what I've done, for the rest of my life.
And that is my Christmas story. Don't be like me, kids. Baby Jesus is a savior, not a punchline. No matter what Will Ferrell tells you.
