Spanish Train

$4t4n> adwawdwwwwwwwwwwwawd sssss
$4t4n> [fuck
J3sVsBot> pwn'd
J3sVsBot> lolzw00t
Me7@7r0n> laf
Teh_Bea5t> kekeke
J3sVsBot> Nobody fckz with the J3sVsBot

Probably thanks to the prodigious Papacy-sponsored output of a full palette of Italian masters, we all feel compelled to expect Jesus as a pale, rangy fellow with long brown hair, a well-conditioned beard, and a look of untroubled beneficence. Mary's creamy complexion can only be sad and virginal, and Joseph must invariably appear kindly, familial and safely incapable of trying to impregnate anyone. Cherubs are rosy, lambs are white and fluffy. A hundred thousand swarthy Canaanites might voice concerns over these latter-day interpretations, but then who are they to question priceless Florentine masterpieces?

Everyone's favourite fall-guy, Satan, gets to be more ethnically ambiguous. Bat wings, a forked tongue, scales of shimmering crimson, etc. Not going to sneak a full trolley into the express queue at the supermarket looking like that of course, but at least it stops one being confused with just any old fallen angel.

But it would be foolish of us to expect them all to arrive in such predictable fashion come Judgement Day.

My friend Frisco first alerted me to the news via GoogleTalk:

"Turns out Satan is Lord"

This was a grave revelation, though I cannot deny that at first I was as sceptical as Thomas. After all, there had been no reliable sightings since a certain incident involving a prophet, three soon-to-be-false gods, Satan and a couple of eponymous verses. But Frisco's tone would brook no dissent, so I was obliged to suppose that the Rapture was soon to be upon us. I admit to taking a moment to regret not having been a boy scout. All Heaven was about to break loose and I was thoroughly unprepared: There was no dark chocolate left in the fridge, I only had one case of Champagne, and was entirely out of fresh underpants. Thank God for all the Muslim-owned shops down the road.

As I recalled from my schoolings on the matter, the End of Days was expected to last 6 years or so. It would begin with all the goodly Christians ascending to Heaven - not unlike when the Millennium Falcon gets caught in the tractor beam of the Death Star (although Heaven doesn't have detention blocks in which to put unco-operative princesses). I thought of J-Man's brilliant but unrealised idea for a first-person shooter, where you run around trying to take down as many Christians as possible before they can successfully rise out of range, all the while fending off demons and Hell-hounds and stuff. Divine? Ineffably. Comedy? Indubitably. Probably wouldn't be allowed to sell it to kids in the US, though...

Happily, the rather tight entrance criteria meant that pretty much everyone I know would get left behind too. All but one of my dragon boat team would probably still pitch up to training the next day, and on reflection it was unlikely that they would need to extend any project releases at work due to major staff shortages.

Yup, Cape Town, with its sizeable Jewish, Muslim, Somali, Nigerian, Zimbabwean, Congolese, Gay and Atheist communities - not to mention all the East European pole dancers, the Cape Bar, and everyone in the Media industry - would probably weather the Rapture admirably. That is, but for the rampaging forces of Hell of course.

Now Satan, having plotted his arrival for ages, would obviously want to make a dramatic entrance, and, having been blessed (by God) with a diabolical sense of dramatic irony, would most likely have chosen to appear with a flourish atop Devil's Peak, with its unparalleled view of the city and the Southern Suburbs. All could look upon him and despair. Unfortunately he hadn't reckoned on our lovely January weather: a raging southeaster and thick clouds bowling over the top. If he was up there with the minions of Hell, they were probably wandering around totally lost trying to find the path down to the Blockhouse and cursing that the cable-car was closed.

However, in the end, the fearsome spectacle of Armageddon played out somewhat unexpectedly. Realising that the world was now a much bigger place than the Levant of old, the opposing hosts instead decided to settle their differences from the comfort of their couches. A first attempt at Holy War ended badly, when, after deciding on Team Deathmatch, and choosing Starcraft (Heaven playing Terrans and Hell playing Zerg, obviously), the free-for-all ended abruptly when they were both soundly owned by a group of Koreans (playing Protoss).

In the finger-pointing and attempts to set up a secure server that ensued, the waiting faithful were forgotten, souls went unjudged, and everyone else eventually lost interest and had to go about their business.

Meanwhile, on the partly cloudy slopes of Mount Purgatory, the Lord and the Devil are now playing Counter-Strike. The Devil still cheats and wins more frags, but as for the Lord, well... He's just doing his best.

The session's up on time, and the server's back online. Oh J3sVsBot, you've got to win!