R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I met Jesus last night. He is a vagrant and the Master of Funk. Where he walks, technicolor lights and a Bootsy Collins soundtrack blossom in the air.

I knew who he was the moment I saw him stumbling, drunkenly, down the beach. "Oh, Lord," I said. "It's you. What the Hell happened, Jesus?" He did a tumbly dance and fell back on the sand.

"What was I supposed to do?" he replied. The light show flared in time with the trombones and the sun going down.

Jesus is the Master of Funk. And this is a true story.