Gender Rolls? I'm More Of A Pita Guy, Myself.

Gender rolls? I'm more of a pita guy, myself.

"Uh, " I stammer as my gaze quickly jumps back to the small crowd on my doorstep. "I knew a guy named Jesus a while back that could make the Hell out of some tamales. Never met a hard-J Jesus, though."

One of the younger ones held back a laugh. Poorly, sure, but the attempt was there. The older one out front shot him a look that cut the boy off mid-snort and then turned back to me.

"That's... not quite what I meant," the elder continued. "What I mean to say is... have you invited him in?" I huffed out a breath and tried my best to look like one-third of the Holy Trinity wasn't hiding behind my half-opened door.

"In what," I asked. "My heart? No, I can't say that I have. Thought about it when I was real young. Paradise sounds good before you learn about all hoops you have to jump through just so you won't get tortured for eternity. Wasn't really a fan of the rampant homophobia and child abuse, either, if I'm being honest."

I saw Jesus wince out of my peripheral. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little proud of that.

"Now," I added before the old man could elaborate any further, "if you'll excuse me, I've got an assortment of sins I'd like to commit in the privacy of my own home. Good evening, gentlemen."

I swung the door closed and just stood there, waiting. After an amount of time that can only be described as deeply unsettling, I finally heard the sounds of them turning and walking away. I let out a sigh and turned to the Christ, my brow furrowed. With the way He had his hands steepled in front of him, there was no mistaking the matching scars on both hands.

"Thank you, my Chil-"

"Cut the shit," I said, turning away from the literal Son of God and making my way deeper into the apartment. "I ain't nobody's child, least of all yours." He nodded.

"Fair enough," He said softly, following me as I walked.

"What brings you here anyway, " I asked. "Finally decide to come do something about all the hateful things folks are doing in your name?"

Another wince. I was on a roll.

"I'm here to stop the End of Days," He said, His voice a little firmer now. "And I think you're the only one who can help me."

You open your door to find some religious looking people standing there. “Have you found our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?” You glance behind your door, where Jesus is shushing you.

Objectivism is a shit philosophy and Atlas Shrugged is a shit book. These are some of the things I've learned from both John Green and Mike Schur.

me and the boys waiting to get tickets for Barbie on opening day

"I think I should be offended," she said as her eyes scanned over the red and black checkered pattern of the flannel. It was the very essence of lumberjack chic, the kind that you see hanging in every big box store. The fabric felt nice between her fingers, though, so probably Target rather than Walmart. Thank goodness for small miracles. He waved his hands as if he was trying to swat the idea out of the air. "Don't act like that," he said. "It looks just like the one you wore in college. It's like a lesbian calling card, right?" She scoffed. "Ok, stereotypes," she said, dropping the shirt onto the table. "I was still FIRMLY in the closet in college. The flannel was for that stupid Al Borland fan club you started." He crossed himself and pointed to the sky.

"RIP the GOAT," he replied. "Richard Karn is still alive," she said, brows furrowed. "Yes, but Al Borland ISN'T. Just another innocent lost in the wake of known snitch, Tim Allen," he said with a sigh. His eyes fell to the flannel for a moment and then rose to meet hers again. "So... it's not like the Bat Signal for lesbians?"

"I don't think so, Tim," she said, shaking her head.

"Well," he sighed, reaching across the table for the shirt, "I guess I’ll just retur-"

She snatched it from his hands. "No sir," she said. "A gift is still a gift. Besides, I've got a date tonight." "I knew it!"

Prompt #1114

“It’s like the Bat Signal for lesbians.”