On Friday, He Was Crucified, Died And Was Buried...

...and on the third day he rose again from the dead.

This is the kinda shit that used to get my tit in a ringer when I was at the monastery. Especially when we were at the UnStable slopping beer and discussing what now seems like totally esoteric bullshit.

One year I was unable to go home for the holiday, so I stayed on the boat, so to speak. Weren't many of us there. And there wasn't much to do. As a matter of fact, I just looked at and read playboy's all weekend. Yeah, yeah, I should have been reading the bible and doing the stations of the cross, but their were titties to be looked at. At midday I went down to the local pub, one of my of favorite places, appropriately named "Mom's", because it was like home, for me anyways. I sat there and drank with the locals, with whom I had a relationship, having helped them in their silos and such, and just shot the shit.

Of course, as lore has it, the baby Jesus was crucified at 12 PM and died at 3 PM, so I felt compelled to go participate in the mourning prayers. Which I did. Had to piss like a race horse halfway through, but I sang the psalms and lit my candle and when all was said and done, the baby Jesus was still dead and I could go piss. Nowadays, I have to pee every five minutes. Karma sucks.

That night, those of us left behind had unlimited access to the UnStable, as well as those that had come for the weekend resurrection festivities. Now, you have to remember I am not a talkative person when I'm around a group of people. But we were at the table I helped build, and some people were talking about the holy day. Seeing that I still had a buzz from my escapades earlier in the day, I was getting somewhat agitated by a particular woman that had joined us saying how special the three days were.

Keep in mind this is Good Friday. The baby Jesus had just died (figuratively, of course) and was entombed in some mountain. The table was made to seat eight, but we were trying to squeeze 12 into the mix because we should be feeling grief and such.

She was a fairly attractive woman, probably a frigid woman whom would have taken my 9 inches willingly, but she wasn't prepared for my onslaught. I asked her why Easter wasn't celebrated on Monday. She looked at me somewhat quizzically and asked what I meant. I asked her what day it was. She responded Friday. I asked her what time it was. She responded 10:45PM. Next question; "What time did Jesus die?" Her answer; 3:00 PM.

Hooked. So I asked her how was it that the baby Jesus died at 3 and the bible tells us he rose on the third day, which would make it Monday.("And on the third day he rose again from the dead") That would be Monday, no? Of course the dean of student affairs and Fr. Killian just looked at me with that little twinkle that said let if go. She can't understand that it's an allegory and metaphor. I think her husband got pissed off because he quit buying the beer. She did unbutton one of the buttons on here blouse, but I think that was for Jorge playing "Oye Como Va" on the stage.

Good thing about all of that experience? I slept well that night and didn't get my ass reemed the next day.