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Dear Messiah (an abridged version, with some creative alterations)

Dear Messiah:

You worked as a traffic police officer. You had four children, named Osiris, Iris, Hypatia, [and something else]. When the virgins asked you for sex, you refused. You wore a long white robe and became a local icon, and exhibited a 666 tattoo on your forearm. Your status as a rock singer was very localized. Your speech was often peppered with words you had invented, like tangibilated. You addressed tablets to the kings and queens of the world, and of course you [wrote a book about it], under the influence of nitrous oxide administered by a private dentist. You said: I am! You changed the color of your gown while wearing it. You rode atop a lion with a seven-headed dragon in its jaws. You controlled the weather, and burned books of law and theology. You rode a donkey to the bluffs where you leapt off. That was the title of your famous poem, ‘The Tree of Bad Council’. You died in 1958 in Chatsworth, California. Or, you suddenly disappeared, and your disciples suffered and so tore up your bloody shirts for use as relics. We awaited your imminent return. On July 19, 1977 while taking a commercial airplane flight from Pakistan to England…