Earlier today, Jesus started yelling, "Dad! Dad! Where are You?"

I answered, of course, like I always do, with a hearty "I'm on the throne." (That's actually the longest running joke in all Creation, unless you count Ted Kennedy's gag about being concerned for the common man.)

So He wandered over to Me, and We began to talk.

"What's on Your mind, Kid?"

"Dad, You know how Harry Connick Sr. is always trying to capitalize off the success of Harry Connick Jr.?"

"Yes, of course I do," I answered.

"Well there's another guy doing the exact same thing."

"Someone else is trying to capitalize off the success of Harry Connick Jr.?" I said, teasingly.

"No, no, I mean there's another old man using his son's success for his own profit.'

"George Clooney's dad?"

"No," Jesus answered.

"McCauley Culkin's dad?"

"No," he repeated.

"Scrooge McDuck?"

"NO."

"Milk and cookies?"

"NO! What does that even mean?!? Would you stop it?" Jesus was getting exasperated.

"I was only offering you a snack, Boy."

"Oh, sorry, Dad. No thanks, I'm on Atkins."

"I thought you were doing Pontius Pilates every morning," I cracked.

Jesus, of course, simply glared at me. He hates that joke.

After a long moment, He began again, "Okay. You know how I'm a huge Wallflowers fan?"

I had a really bad feeling about where this conversation was going. A bad feeling. Worse than the one I had while I had tentatively decided to give men a nice full set of breasts too.

"Go on," I managed to croak.

"Well get this. Jakob Dylan's father, who is almost as old as You, has started some sort of cover band and is touring the country."

Jesus, misunderstanding the shocked look on My face, continued, "I know! It's pathetic, isn't it?"

"Cover band?" was all I could manage.

"Yeah, I heard the commercial! Imagine an old homeless man singing Hendrix and Gun's 'n Roses songs, only with a pissed-off cat living in his sinuses or something!"

"Unbelievable," I said to Myself, with a sigh.

"I know, Dad, I know. I'm glad We are in agreement on this. You are the coolest. And Dad? One more thing?"

"What's that, Junior."

"You wouldn't ever try to capitalize on My success, would You?"

All I could do was answer, "No, Son, I would never do that." If I had followed My real inclination, April 3 would henceforth be celebrated as Spankmas, and I honestly don't think the Baptists could handle it.

**sigh**

I've simply got to have a long talk with that Boy someday.