Does digg.com hate Jesus?

Posted by Jesus on June 10, 2008

You’re not going to believe what happened to me yesterday. I was catching up with a few of my many fans on digg.com and decided to impart a little bit of wisdom to readers of a story about John McCain. I said something about 9/11 being punishment for America’s continued acceptance of fags, followed that up with a little pep talk on how to avoid tornadoes, and capped it off with something about America being just fine as long as McCain was half the Christian George Bush is. Next thing I know I’m banned from digg.com, and the prayers start pouring in from souls lost and bewildered without my presence in their digital lives. It was complete havoc.

I dispatched Moses to find Kevin Rose and bring him to me, and sent a small detachment of angelic special forces to gain access to the digg.com network. Comforting those stranded in the wilderness of a digg without moral leadership as best I could, I hastily convened an emergency session of my blogging team to discuss potential retaliatory strikes. The Popes wanted an Inquisition, Falwell wanted to go in television and call them out, and Mary thought it would be a good idea to visit the digg offices in person. It was close, but her suggestion just beat out forced conversions through torture. Moses wasn’t having any luck turning Kevin up anyway, so the rest of us packed rations for a day and set out to visit Earth.

It was me, Moses, Peter, Mary Mags, the Holy Spirit, Ronald Reagan, and Captain Perfect with his WHALE team (Warriors Hardened Against Lucerferian Elements; they are among our most elite of operatives). We counted on stiff resistance, and packed accordingly. If digg was capable of shutting down an account belonging to Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the reasoning went, then there could only be one possible explanation. Satan had taken over digg.

We came under enemy fire the second we hit the ground. Scattering and calling out enemy positions, we placed well-aimed return fire on a group of Counterstrike weenies possessed by Satan for the purpose of ambushing our arrival. It was amateur night, you could tell. Captain Perfect captured three of our assailants, a feat topped only by Reagan’s collaring of four, one of whom was their leader. Perfect was inconsolable, despite having been previously briefed on Ron’s uncanny prowess in literally every imaginable venture conceivable by man or God. While we tried to talk him down from his first second-place finish since the dawn of time, the Gipper quietly extracted a good bit of information from the leader of our prisoners.

We had to leave Captain Perfect behind, and two of his men stayed with him on double super secret suicide watch. Their orders were such that not even they knew that they’d been asked to watch him, so even if he managed to get into one of their heads they couldn’t give up their orders, since they hadn’t actually ever been given any. With the ocean at our backs we pressed on.

We had covered about four blocks when we were hit again, this time by much better organized and equipped gang members. We were passing a pizza joint when pretty much everybody in the place got up and started firing. It was like something out of a movie. Ron flashed them and called the WHALE team into action behind him, leading a charge into the fray while the rest of us tried to dig our weapons out of our clothes. It was over in an instant, and we soon found ourselves pausing for pie and discussing our next move. Peter reasoned that a frontal assault made the most sense, considering that we were all invincible, never missed a shot, and had a massive team of Heaven’s best engineers following us around fixing everything we broke. The Holy Spirit wanted to create a diversion and sneak in undetected. Ronald just wanted to pick up a steak on the way. After much discussion (and a significant tantrum), we agreed to let the Holy Spirit create her diversion while the rest of us assaulted the front door.

As we stepped into the street to find a steakhouse an obvious chill settled about us. Moses and I looked at one another knowingly. The clouds froze in place and all activity on Earth stopped. Time stood still. At the end of the street, resting on a mighty black horse, was one of Satan’s inner sanctum. Napoleon.

Moses and I barely had time to usher our small band back into the pizzeria before all hell broke loose. Napoleon poured waves of demon spawns down the street and into our field of fire. We knocked them down as fast as he sent them, but with each reload they gained ground on us. Barking firing orders at the WHALE team, Ron defiantly dug in and fought back the hordes. A series of glances in my direction betrayed his stoic stance; we were in really deep crap.

Our ammunition reserves were being quickly depleted, yet Napoleon’s forces gained ground. Moses deployed his magical staff and began sending huge swaths of demons into the nearby buildings, arcing his great weapon through hot air churning with the frenzied screams of one of God’s true chosen. Even his considerable powers were unable to halt the advance of the demon horde. Our ammunition growing scarce and our last grenades tossed, we began to seriously contemplate calling God in for support. He wouldn’t be happy though, he hates bailing me and the gang out of firefights. It sends the wrong message to the Marines, He says.

The demons were on the doorstep when we chambered the first round of our final magazines. Ron cursed a doomed demon with every shot he fired. The Holy Spirit chattered quietly about how pissed Dad would be if we had to call him again. If Moses were able to feel the touch of water, his efforts would have seen him drenched in sweat. There he was though, dry and composed with his staff before him, hissing as if he were a serpent and sending untold demons back to hell with each flick of his wrists. His efforts would not save us this day, so I bowed down and prepared to call Dad.

You would think that after two thousand years of witnessing and/or performing the most incredible and unspeakable miracles in history I would get used to them popping up unexpectedly in my life. I did not call God from behind that pizza counter yesterday. I’m still not entirely up on all of the gritty details, but we were saved by John Wayne and Captain Perfect leading a rag-tag group of diggers rounded up at an anti-scientology rally. They hit Napoleon from behind and disrupted his command, capturing him in the process. We mopped up the remaining demons easily and met John and Perfect at a nearby steakhouse. Reagan stayed with them to help process Napoleon, and the rest of us dropped our guns and continued on our quest to get my account unbanned.

The Holy Spirit seduced the three guards standing outside digg’s building, allowing the rest of us slip in undetected. Once inside I split our group into three teams and sent everyone to find Kevin Rose, and to spread the Word if the opportunity arose. Moses, Mary and I headed toward the support department, staying low and saving souls on the way. We were soon confronted by a support representative who was somehow resistant to my persuasive power.

From the conversation with support:

“What do you want?” she asked.

“My name is Jesus Christ of Nazareth,” I replied. ” I am the living Son of God and the savior of mankind. My account has been banned and I’ve fought through a quarter of Satan’s army to learn why. Can you help me find Kevin Rose?”

“Oh, you were banned because you said the word ‘fags,’ you’re not allowed to say that on digg,” she explained.

“I’m not?”

“No, our terms of service says you’re not allowed ‘to abuse, harass, threaten, impersonate or intimidate other Digg users,’”she continued.

“But I’m spreading the perfect Word of God!” I argued.

“I don’t care. You can’t say that word here. Now, if you’ll read the terms of service again and ask nicely I’ll unban your account.”

“So if I don’t say ‘fags’ anymore you’ll allow me to continue bringing souls out of the darkness of Satan’s grip and into the loving light of the great and merciful Creator of the Universe?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t say ‘fags’ anymore.”

“Good, we’ll be watching you.”

Yes, digg, and I’ll be watching you. I know Satan has more plans for you, else he would never have sent one of his top generals to stop me from reactivating my account. Whatever it is, I intend to stop it.

And Kevin, you may have escaped me this time, but someday I’ll find you. And on that day, I’m gong to save your soul like I’ve never saved anyone’s soul before. You only think you’re happy with your millions of dollars and your innovative startups and your orgies with supermodels and your access to the best acid in the Bay, but sooner or later you’re going to find that you still have a hole that you can’t seem to fill. No matter how hard you try, there’s only one thing that can plug that hole up. And someday you’re going to find that thing. And you know who’s going to be standing there on that day?

That’s right. Me. Jesus. With a big red butt plug.

I’ll teach you to ban me, you bastard…

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