Jesus Fukking Christ

What’s up, space peeps? It's your boy, Jesus F. Christ, back at it again with the eternal life gig. Yeah, you heard right. I’m the guy whose dad thought it’d be “educational” to send him to die for others. Talk about tough love, right?
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Born to a carpenter who moonlights as the ruler of the universe (no biggie), I got famous not for my sick hoverboard tricks or my lo-fi synth beats, but for being nailed (literally) by my old man’s grand plan. Now I’m stuck roaming the cosmos in my teenage years, trying to forgive sins and flip tables in true rebellious fashion.

So here I am, flying through the stars, trying to deal with the fact that my dad’s idea of father-son bonding is a bit too intense for my taste. I pilot my ship, the "Divine Angst," rocking out to emo tunes that get me in the feelz, contemplating existentialism and the irony of being immortal. Anyone else think it’s a bit much to ask a guy to save humanity before he’s even had his first space beer?

If you see me in the void, come say hi—or don’t. Whatever. I might just turn your water into wine (if I’m in a good mood). Fly safe, or don’t. Free will, am I right?