Some people claim that a Mexican gardener speaks to them.

Others still, assert that this (strangely Anglo looking, based on “artists impressions”) 2010 year old Jewish zombie asks them to do naughty things and vilify others in his name.

Well… they don’t actually have their own personal Jesus.

I do.

I don’t have much need for keys.

I live in a world of fingerprint and retinal scanners, swipe cards and security codes. I only possess two keys.

Still, they are important keys.

I have, for as long as I can remember; had a problem with losing and misplacing my two keys.

In the past two months however, I have never once misplaced them, lost them, been unable to find them or forgotten them.

The reason is thus:

Two months ago, a good friend of mine went to America -- land of the giant Jesus, where over half the population have a personal relationship with this wizard from ancient times.

America is the Mecca for Christians really. Creationism is rife, you can’t get elected to public office unless you speak to the invisible sky monkey (all credit to The Princess of Yesterday for that -- even though it angers my winged monkeys), there are excellent public services such as being able to write letters to heathens for them to read when The Rapture comes and you are whisked away to fellate angels on a cloud somewhere…

It is, I am told, a wondrous place.

Anyway, when my friend came back, he came back bearing gifts (and no, he is not Greek).

My swag of goodies included a poster of Chairman Mao and a Jesus keyring.

The Good Chairman was immediately framed and hung centrally in my lounge room…

Fuck me, that was spooky, as I write this, the haggard old woman on The Catherine Tate show mentioned Chairman Mao… god moves in mysterious ways.

Well fuck me twice… the next skit on the show just paraphrased a tweet from the aforementioned Princess of Yesterday -- “footprints on the heart”.

I think that Jesus *is* speaking to me… mind you the prick hasn’t given me the Powerball numbers yet.

Anyway, before I meander too far off track -- they were very thoughtful gifts, the kind that someone who has taken the time to get to know you, but loves a good wind up would give.

After hanging the Chairman up, I strung Jesus… er, attached my keys to the Plastic Saviour.

It isn’t just any plastic saviour -- it has a button that; when pressed, allows a bright light to shine out from ‘neath his robes. It is the kind of light I imagine that people see when they are dying and their brain is starved of oxygen.

It is most useful at times.

To get to the point though, ever since I affixed my keys to my own personal Jesus, I haven’t once misplaced them, never lost them, never forgotten them.

It is almost as if Plastic Jesus is my keys shepherd and they shall not want.

Whilst this trinket hasn’t yet made me lie down in pastures green, it has often lead me by quiet waters and never once abandoned me.

This has given me pause for thought, perhaps the zombie Jewish Mexican gardener cum carpenter who speaks to others is trying to speak to me.

Perhaps he is constructing some kind of living metaphor for me -- that where as once my keys were lost, now they are found; and, whilst he watches over them, never again shall they meander aimlessly through life…

It is all very confusing to me and I must confess (with thanks to The Catholic Church) that I am not waving but drowning.

Perhaps this is a sign.

Perhaps I have been chosen.

Perhaps soon I shall be given my sacred mission.

Perhaps I will reach out and touch faith…