Slobbers

As I just tweeted,

If pets have souls, do they need Jesus? Is there a pet Hell? IS THAT AN ATHEIST PARROT???

I may be a tad prejudiced to handle this matter — that is, I think Christianity is an accursed blight on mankind — but let me tell a great idea for an inspirational Christian movie I just got.

* * *

EXT. HOUSE. Tidy suburbia. A smiling Pepsodent man, sitting on the doorstep, looks at the camera and pets a huge white dog.

“Hi”, the man says; briefly zoom on a silver cross round his neck. “I’m Bob, and I’m an ex-atheist. My dog Slobbers led me to Christ!”

Text overlay: Saved by one dog’s wordless faith!

Bob: “And I was like, sure, Jesus was the greatest man ever, but evolution says he never existed and I have faith in that.”

Text overlay: “That’s what they all say, until…”

Bob: “And I said, Slobbers, this is it, it’s cancer. Science can do nothing for cancer. I can’t do a thing for cancer. You can’t help me with cancer. Nobody can. And he leaps and knocks me over and lays his paws on my chest, and the breath is knocked out of me and suddenly I know he knows something I don’t.”

Text overlay: They wanted the Gospel silenced…

Slobbers: “Woof!”

Dr. Atheinaous Evil: “Your canine dog is unhygienic — we need to ‘fix it before it infects you! Needs to ‘fix it! Nurse de Sade, please bring in the animal crucifixion table.”

Text overlay: …but the Word of God will not be silenced!

Bob: “And I said, Slobbers, my dear Slobbers, I’m afraid to follow you. I’m so weak. But I don’t want to be apart from you. Can you… can you carry me a part of the way?”

Slobbers: “Woof!”

Text overlay: This, inspiring partially true testimonials, evil atheists, and more, in…

In… RUBBER BONES AND REAL GOSPEL!

No. Wait. In… MAN’S BEST FRIEND IS JESUS!

No no no. Not quite. In… IN THE WOOFSTEPS OF THE SAVIOR!

In… SALVATION UNLEASHED?

In… BARKING HOLY?

Bob: “And it’s like, Slobbers was saying to me, ‘Go on. He’s just an atheist. I forgive you.’ So I did it. Crimson red hand fountain. Because no one takes Slobbers from me.”

* * *

EXT. ALLEY. Bob, looking ragged and hounded, is kneeling next to Slobbers, holding its head with both hands, looking deep into the dog’s eyes with an expression of fear and reverence. Slobbers is looking back with dull surprise.

Bob: Slobbers… who are you?

Slobbers: Wuff?

Bob: If this is just the guys from work fucking with me, there will be fucking corpses.

Suddenly, a deep booming voice arises from within the dog.

God: Do not blaspheme, you godless sinner!

Bob: Slob… Slobbers? Is that you? No. It cannot be. Dogs don’t talk. That’s impossible. It must be… (breathes heavy, then whispers) It must be… Jesus? Is that you?

* * *

INT. BOARDROOM. Bob is haranguing his boss and the board, a chocolate easter egg in hand.

Bob: You say I am mad! Well, I say you are the hounds of Hell! You say you are Darwin’s wisest humans — I say my dog is wiser than all of you! I come bearing a prophecy from God, spoken in my dog, with the mouth of Slobbers who believed when I did not, and you mock me! You dare say I need a day off! Well, I tell you the reign of Yippy Kippy Spring Chocolate Spheres —

Effeminate businessman: (interjects) Spheroidz!

Bob: — is over! There are a thousand stockholders out there that believe in God’s grace and I’m going to talk to all of them one by one and when I show your atheist schemes to them, they will cast you down like Sodom and Gomorrah were cast down! That’s a prophecy from my dog, and if you want to call me mad then call me mad… as you’re falling to Hell with your atheist spring balls of Satan!

Effeminate businessman: Spheroidz!

* * *

INT. SEEDY BAR. Bob, forlorn, hopeless and very depressed, though not drunk as that would be moral turpitude, is sitting at the bar, sobbing. A minor character walks up to him, nudges him.

Minor: Hey come on, Bob, cheer up about the dog. It’s been three days already.

Suddenly, Bob’s head shoots up.

Bob: Three days!

Minor: Er, yes?

Bob: And it’s Easter!

Minor: I guess—

Bob: Quick! I need your pick-up truck, a shovel, and a map of the pet cemetery!

Minor: You better not be thinking what I’m thinking you’re thinking, Bob.

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