Jesus has already come and gone the second time. He was a taxi driver in south Carolina, but his preaching got a little tiring for his clients so eventually the firm let him go. He tried a direct approach, standing in the town centre with his bible and a renewed determination to make people believe he was the son of god. Some threw coins at his feet, some spat in his face but the vast majority were simply indifferent and didn't care why the crazy bearded man stood there shouting and waving around that bible.
So, Jesus feeling dispirited put his main mission to the back burner and got a job in McDonalds. But the drudgery of flipping burgers and frying chips caused Jesus to sink further into depression. His public sermons floundered. The vigour was gone from Jesus' deliverance of his divine message. People just didn't care. They had their jobs, mortgages, school fees, babysitting to worry about, and they were the lucky ones.
So, Jesus stopped delivering the message. He moved to a little wooden house on the outskirts of a town - The further from the taunting kids, the better. It was a relatively quiet existence. The odd pickup truck would sometimes roar past Jesus' home, the drunken passengers in the back throwing empty cans mocking the crazy man who thought he was the son of god. But for the most part, he was left alone. Well, alone apart from a mongrel dog and a TV. He drank heavily every night, but never seemed to goto the store to restock. He watched his TV, and would often be heard shouting in a language no one could identify.
Then, many years later, Jesus died. An anonymous hermit, who the locals called crazy. The guy who made such outlandish claims, he must have been suffering from a brain defect.
The funeral was small. A holy man of some kind who hastily read from a sheet of paper. Two burly gravediggers and Jesus. He wouldn't be coming back from this one. Even though he had failed to deliver his message, he had learned enough while down here. Learned enough about humans and their condition, that a third visit wouldn't be needed.
So, Jesus feeling dispirited put his main mission to the back burner and got a job in McDonalds. But the drudgery of flipping burgers and frying chips caused Jesus to sink further into depression. His public sermons floundered. The vigour was gone from Jesus' deliverance of his divine message. People just didn't care. They had their jobs, mortgages, school fees, babysitting to worry about, and they were the lucky ones.
So, Jesus stopped delivering the message. He moved to a little wooden house on the outskirts of a town - The further from the taunting kids, the better. It was a relatively quiet existence. The odd pickup truck would sometimes roar past Jesus' home, the drunken passengers in the back throwing empty cans mocking the crazy man who thought he was the son of god. But for the most part, he was left alone. Well, alone apart from a mongrel dog and a TV. He drank heavily every night, but never seemed to goto the store to restock. He watched his TV, and would often be heard shouting in a language no one could identify.
Then, many years later, Jesus died. An anonymous hermit, who the locals called crazy. The guy who made such outlandish claims, he must have been suffering from a brain defect.
The funeral was small. A holy man of some kind who hastily read from a sheet of paper. Two burly gravediggers and Jesus. He wouldn't be coming back from this one. Even though he had failed to deliver his message, he had learned enough while down here. Learned enough about humans and their condition, that a third visit wouldn't be needed.
100% pure agree
Don't forget to do it
Don't do it when you sleep, will make big cost 
off.
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