Ghandi, Jesus, Mohammed, and you. But I’d tell the other three that we were meeting in the Middle East at a hookah bar. It’d be a trick for sure, but hopefully they’d take a moment whilst in the area to tell everyone to chill the fuck out. Then you’d show up at mine, look around, and say “Hey, where’s Jesus?” and I’d say something like, “Look, with our schedules being what they are these days we just don’t get a lot of quality time anymore. We’re always bouncing all over the place like frogs on a hotplate. You’re always volunteering at the children’s burn unit, I’m tied up freeing puppycats and kittydogs from bear traps all day. So I thought I’d just have you over, light a coupla candles, open a bottle of wine, put something mellow on the stereo, and just take some time to get reacquainted. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to leisurely tell you how beautiful you are.”
Then the other three would show up all pissed off and bust up my house.
But not before I kissed you and we conquered a little corner of the universe that we could call our own.
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