And on the third day, he rose from the head, where he had been puking his guts out after an Irish whiskey binge, resurrected. He had seven missed calls, three from his wife, three from his mother, one from his Father. He thought this time had been it, he was dying, but April Fool’s – it’s Easter.
G*d made hangovers, then black humor. Easter was a later invention, the Gospel According to Johnny Cash – that first and final Sunday morning coming down. The sins of the father are the sins of the night before.
