I interview at an employment agency for a secretarial position, but my typing is too slow. "And you'll need some more clothes," the woman says. Jesus gets a job working at a law firm in mid-town, $18 an hour, but we decide he should march in the parade instead. I ride on the first float. I wave to the thousands and thousands of people gathered along Fifth Avenue who wave and scream my name. Most wear yellow underwear. Jesus sulks. He is upset that he is relegated to the ninth float (after the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders). Later, at home, we share an order of moo shu chicken and swap family stories. His are much, much longer.

Calvin Klein offers me a job pitching brightly colored underwear. Martin Scorsese wants to make a movie about me, but Jesus and Martin come to blows during our production meeting. The deal falls through and Martin cites, "religious differences" as his reason. I am awarded the Nobel Prize and the Pulitzer ("just in case"). I go home after hawking orange boxer shorts on the David Letterman Show. I turn on the television and drink a Budweiser. I watch Derek Jeter hit a triple. Jesus elbows me in the ribs. "His bat is corked," he says. I ask who corked it and Jesus smiles. "George Steinbrenner. Who else?" I shake my head. Damn Yankees.



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