I was composing my regular message to the JesusMysteries list the other day—the group which caters to those who believe Jesus never existed—when suddenly my message got posted while I was still typing away. I figured I’d inadvertently hit the “send” button and checked the message list online. Sure enough, the first half of my message was there, but not the unwritten meaty part where I was really going to lay into historicists. I restarted the computer and began a new message, including an apology and continuing into the real attack on the historical Jesus. Bam! Within seconds the message got posted again and I was sure this time that I didn’t go anywhere near the “send” button.
        So I telephoned my twenty-four hour tech support guy at the downtown server. “I’ve got an unusual problem,” I explained. “My messages to a Yahoo group suddenly get posted while I’m just typing. It’s happened twice today. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
        “That’s a new one on me,” the technician responded. “Have you restarted the computer?”
        “Yup. It didn’t help.”
        “It’s a Yahoo group, huh?”
        “Yeah. A group about how Jesus didn’t exist. As soon as I get to the meaty part–bam! The message disappears into thin air.”
        “About… How… Jesus… Didn’t… Exist?…Hmm…” Pause. “Oh, I get it,” the technician finally responded. “Let me give you a phone number. I think he can help.”
        “Okay.”
        So I hung up and dialed the number the technician gave me.
        “BLAST AWAY,” a voice answered. “How can I help you?”
        “Blast Away? What kind of business is this?”
        “We solve problems.”
        “What kind of problems?”
        “What kind of problem you got?”
        I explained the computer glitch, how every time I posted on the computer—and when I’d really start to lay into historicists who believe in Jesus—the message would just zap away as if by an unseen hand.”
        “Hist- what?”
        “His-tor-i-cists.”
        “Oh, them… Sure, I can take care of ’em for ya.”
        “You can?”
        “Sure thing, sir. They don’t call me Joe the Plumber for nothing!”
        “Joe the Plumber? But I don’t need a plumber.”
        “I’m more than a plumber, sir. What you got is a hist-… How do you call it again?”
        “Historicist.”
        “Yeah, you got one of them history bugs on your computer. See, what happened is a hist-guy came to your house, and when you weren’t looking he put the hist-bug on your computer. It’s easy to do. All he needed was to point his Droid or Palm Pilot or whatever and click. Bingo. The hist-bug’s remotely sent to your computer. Nothin’ you can do.”
        “Nothing I can do?”
        “Well, there is something, I mean, to prevent it from happening again. You called the right guy… I’ll come over and fix the computer problem, but it looks like you’re gonna need to use one of my blasters for a few days. I charge $80 to come out, $60 for setup, and $20 a day for renting the blaster.”
        This was starting to sound more serious than I’d anticipated. “What the heck is a blaster?”
        “A water cannon, sir. The next time one of them blamed history guys shows up, you blast ’im in the kisser.”
        “You’ve got to be kidding!”
        “Not at all, sir. They don’t call me Joe the Plumber for nothin’. I have three cannons and a fourth on order. One’ll be available tomorrow. And I have references. Recently one of my clients had a similar problem to yours. But he wanted to get rid of ‘mythtics.’ Well, I solved his problem good. He’s not bothered by them no more. Then another guy called and wanted to get rid of ‘mythists.’ No problem. My solution works on ’em all.”
        “Well, how does it work?”
“First, we set up the cannon in your living room facing the front door. Then there’s five easy steps: One, the doorbell rings. Two, you sit down and fasten the seat belt. Three, you holler, ‘Come in!’ Four, the door opens. And five, you BLAST AWAY! It’s that easy, sir. And it works on ’em all. Guaranteed—or your money back.”
        “Gee, it sounds like—fun. How soon can you come out?”
        “Tomorrow, sir.”
        “Nine o’clock in the morning?”
        “Sounds good,” he said, and I gave Joe the address.
        “And, oh… Don’t forget to bring a blaster.”
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Text © René Salm 2013