Jesús is a Jerk

This is Jesús, not Jesus!!!

The Whole Story

Sarah and I were married in 2003. We were both in our late 20s; she was a student, completing an engineering degree at UCLA, and I was making excellent wages and tips working as a bartender at a fancy joint in Beverly Hills. We lived in West Los Angeles, in a little three-bedroom that her parents had given us as a wedding present.

Sarah completed her engineering degree in 2005. We had been trying to have a family, but late that year found out that I was shooting blanks. Around the same time, Sarah got a position at a corporate engineering firm and started making serious money -- about three times as much as I was making.

That's when things started to get weird. Sarah started working these long hours, and when she got home she didn't have time to make dinner so I started having to take care of things like that -- and cleaning up around the house, doing the laundry, etc. I wasn't used to this, and it didn't seem right. Our sex life also went to heck. Sarah would come home at seven or eight and when I got home around two (I worked closing at the bar), half the time she'd say she was "too tired" to go at it, even thought she knew I'd let her go right back to sleep afterwards. We were down to two or three times a week.

I was spending more time at home because I had to do "chores" instead of hanging out with my buds like I used to do. During this time, I started chatting with Jesús on Wednesdays when he came with his guys to do our yard work. We'd have a beer and since we're both men of the world we'd talk about what guys talk about. I told him how things were going with me, and he talked about what it was like seeing all these different housewives all day and how many of them gave him a little something special on the side since their husbands were at work.

So after a few weeks of this, Jesús starts speculating about things. He talks about how maybe Sarah is getting some on the side and that's why she's tired and not interested in me. Like maybe she was coming home from work at a normal time and going wild because I was at the bar. When I asked who she'd be doing it with, he gave me this exaggerated "How would I know" expression that I immediately didn't trust. I knew something was going on.

Later that day, I thought to look around the bedroom for evidence or clues or what-have-you. I checked the drawer by the bed where we kept the condoms, and there wasn't a single one there. I knew there had been at least a few boxes of the things floating around in there. I knew I hadn't used them, so that pretty much narrowed the possibilities down to one.

The next week when Jesús came to do the yard, I was ready. Talking about woodworking, I casually mentioned the small dresser in my bedroom, and he said "The one by the door?" Which proved he'd been in there. Then later, I was going on about how hot Sarah was, and he was getting seriously into it and mentioned how she liked to shave herself. Now how the h*ll would he know that if I hadn't told him -- unless he'd seen it himself?

That was all the proof I needed. I slugged that son of a b***h right in the face and threw him off my property. He ran like a scared little girl and never did come back. I got someone to cover for me at the bar and spent the rest of the afternoon building the first form of this web site. I couldn't get my hands on Jesús and I didn't know where he lived, but I figured that if I plastered the guy's name on the Internet and let people know he was doing it with a married woman, I could get a ballsy vigilante type to punch him in the face on sight, or at the very least ruin his business.

When Sarah got home, she was all surprised to see me -- because she must have been expecting Jesús! I confronted her with what I knew but she denied everything. She said I was being insecure and immature. As if! Then, the kicker, she locked herself in the bathroom crying and got sick to her stomach. What other than guilt can bother your stomach so much you barf?

I slept on the couch that night, and the next night she went to stay with "a friend" (I could just guess who that was!) I kept adding details to the web site, asking people for leads on where Jesús might be so I could give him another beat down and bring Sarah home where she belonged to face the music.

The site had only been up for a few days when I started getting the e-mails from people who thought that I hated Jesus. I'd been an atheist all my life, and Sarah had been brought up Catholic but became an atheist in college after taking a bunch of critical thinking and philosophy classes (all too heady for me, thank you very much). I didn't know what to make of the nasty hate mail I was getting, but I tried to set people straight and let them know what my real mission was.

I got frustrated pretty quickly. The site wasn't doing what I wanted it to, I hadn't heard from Sarah except for the messages she left on my phone and her e-mails, which I wasn't going to condescend to pay attention to. Let her stew, the b**ch. That's when I decided to really show her what for. I called Sarah's friend Dorothy, who -- aside from having an old-lady name -- was hot as hell: long red hair, firm bod, the whole nine yards. I told Dorothy how Sarah had wronged me, cried on her shoulder a bit, and, long story short, we did it on the kitchen table, and on the couch, and in my car when I drove her home.

I felt a lot better after that. At least until the legal stuff started.

The first lawyer note was from someone representing Jesús who said he was going to sue if I didn't take his picture down from my "hate site." The next one was from Sarah's lawyer. Apparently Sarah couldn't take my "childishness" and, after Dorothy spilled her guts, was filing for divorce. Plus I was now getting more than 200 hate e-mails a day from Christians who thought I was attacking their savior, mixed with those of other crackpots pretending they were actually Jesus or God or some random saint.

It was almost two months after I put the site up that Jesús was hit by a truck while crossing the street. Broke his arm and both legs. This was bad for him, but, in a way, good for me. I sent him a letter through his lawyer saying I'd take down the part of my site asking people to hurt him if I could keep up just the part with the facts. Jesús must have had some fear thrown into him by the accident (and it really was an accident -- not my site's fault at all) because he agreed.

Of course, I might not have been so ready to agree to just publish the facts if I'd know what the facts were. Sarah and I got together with her lawyer in the room and I learned a few things:

• Sarah not only really was working late all those nights, she could document it.
• The condoms were gone because they were expired (I'd bought a bunch in bulk before our honeymoon), and besides we were trying to have a baby.
• Which brings up why Sarah was sick to her stomach -- it turns out she was pregnant (and before you ask, he looks just like me).
• Dorothy had herpes, so I needed to get myself checked out.
• The house, the cars, and pretty much everything else were in Sarah's name.

As for the other evidence:

• I realized that Jesús must have seen the dresser in our bedroom lots of times because I let him use our bathroom, and the bathroom door is next to the bedroom door. You could see the dresser by just walking by.
• Jesús knew that Sarah liked to shave herself because, well, I'd told him that myself. I just forgot.

Sarah and I are divorced now. She's about to get married to some stuffed shirt from the law office that handled our divorce. I have a studio apartment and I'm not seeing anyone steady, but I bring home girls from the bar sometimes when they aren't done partying at last call. Sarah and I decided that our son will call me Uncle so he doesn't grow up confused. I do pretty well financially between tips and alimony, but I keep this site up because even though I still get the hate mail I also make enough from the ads to keep me in beer and condoms. And most importantly, I didn't get herpes from Dorothy, so ladies: if you're hot, in the L.A. area, and not a religious nut -- email me!