The Party Don't Start till Christopher Walken

I made these, because drawing punny pictures of Christopher Walken seemed like a much better idea than actually doing my work.  Walken roll!

Special thanks to Jenny Halligan, who probably thought of most of your favorite puns.

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Batman and Jesus: The Dark Knight Rises Again

I was kneeling on the pavement in a long white robe, cradling a small, frail stranger against my linen-clad breast.

She gazed up at my face, her eyes filled with trust.  I said a little prayer that she wouldn’t die or throw up on me, and then begrudgingly acknowledged that my ambitions for Halloween had gone too far.

I take costumes seriously, and this Halloween, I decided to dress up as Jesus.  I looked like this:

And may have been drinking a little bit of this:

(It's a miracle!)

Around 10PM at night, however, I walked to a local bar and happened upon a lanky female Batman drunkenly sprawled upon the ground.  Except for the shambly revelers stepping over her to get in line, she seemed entirely alone.  I decided to help the little lamb—I’m kind of a Method actor—so while my friends took her phone and started calling her friends, I made it my mission to hold her upright.

“Where do you go to school, Batman?” I asked, supposing that if I could get her to speak, maybe she wouldn’t die as quickly.

“Poit Schloma Nazzzarine Unifershity,” she said. 

“Nazareth?  I’m familiar with it!”  I was pleased with my poorly timed joke, but apparently she wasn’t, because she became entirely unresponsive, and we decided to call 911.

By this time, lo! we had started to attract some attention.

“Get your shit together, Jesus!” bellowed one drunken reveler.  “Take your friend home!”  Someone else started making fun of Batman, and in not very WWJD moment, I actually flipped him off.  He immediately repented: “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was so sick… BLESS YOU!”  I forgave him, and he went off to say fifty Hail Marys.

When the paramedics and firemen finally arrived, they found Jesus huddled on the ground, cradling Batman.  They told me I could step away before she puked on me, and I agreed; I didn’t need to be more of a martyr than I already was. 

“ARE YOU A REAL FIREMAN?  THAT’S A GREAT COSTUME,” a zombie exclaimed.  “You are the real Jesus,” a wide-eyed blonde whispered to me earnestly before I anxiously eased away.
The paramedics told me that Batman’s heart rate and blood pressure were stable, but she was still drunk and alone, so they had to take her away.   I assume she made it back to Nazareth just fine.  And it was good.

The rest of the night was less eventful.  A boy asked to take a picture with me to send to his mom because, in his words, “She LOVES Jesus!”  A few men hit on me, so I’m now convinced that Biblical fetishes are a real thing.

Nevertheless, I can’t stop wondering how Batman is doing.  Now, a week later, I wonder if she might still be hungover.  And I wonder if, somewhere in her swampy blackened memory of Halloween, she remembers looking up at Jesus embracing her feeble body.  I wonder if she thinks she had a miraculous spiritual encounter with God.

Either way, she was saved.

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