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COLUMN

Happytown

This week we contemplated cruel and unusual punishment. Would it be death by firing squad, electric chair or a blood-spitting whip at the Holy Land Experience with Lizz Winstead? We'd prefer the comedic Jesus option, frankly.

Photo: Billy Manes, License: N/A

Billy Manes


“I need a corndog,” Winstead demurred. “I need to announce that I’m running for president.”

What followed was an act of concession contrition that would eventually lead Winstead to both fellate a giant turkey leg and stuff a corndog into her sizable grandmother purse. The real announcement would have to wait, see, because Jesus was dying. Nobody upstages Jesus! On our rush to get over to Calvary’s Garden Tomb in time for the horror, we found ourselves behind a bearded man in a black cape who we swore had to be Jesus (or a guy who collects swords while not working at Best Buy) until we figured out that it was Fabio-Satan. If all of this sounds like an LSD liquor lunch – we swear to God that the nearly hour-long passion play was the gayest, scariest, oddest thing we’ve ever seen involving a whip that magically produces fake blood – that’s because it probably was. Or at least it feels like it now.

Post Jesus-beating, we made our way over to the Scriptorium (an overlong biblical history lesson that … oh, fuck it) only to have a woman in a pink headdress look us up and down and ask, “Are you guys in the fashion industry?”

“Nope, just naturally gorgeous,” we replied before running for the exit.

Outside, Winstead pulled out her Bachmann corndog and went for the gusto. “I’m really running, you guys,” she said as our iPhone clicked in close proximity to a plastic baby Jesus that Winstead swore was Justin Timberlake. This is how dreams are made. Or myths. Or politics. Also, who needs firing squads when you can just hang somebody on a cross? Amen.

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