Ты материшься в садике?

Once Jesus decided to have a little fun and wrote in Vkontakte [Russian equivalent of Facebook] that there’s no God. The next day, two men came up to him in the street. “Are you the Jesus?” asked one. “I am indeed,” Jesus replied and smiled. The second one kicked him in the shin. Jesus felt an unbearable pain and fell on his knee. The other one swung his fist in Jesus’ face. Jesus fell on the ground, pulled his legs to his chest and covered his head with both hands, to protect it from the kicks. The attackers kicked him in the back to make him unbend, but Jesus stayed closed, overcoming the sharp pain. This was a busy street, some people rushed over and the thugs fled the scene. “Why did they do this to him?” someone asked. “This is the Jesus,” another one replied, “the one who wrote in Vkontakte that there’s no God.” “Should’ve beaten him some more,” one woman barked. Another man spat at Jesus. No one helped him to get up, except for an elderly woman. “Old toad!” the passerby said to the elderly woman and spat at her as well. Jesus hardly made it home. He treated his wounds with hydrogen peroxide and put some Troxevasin under his knee where a huge bruise popped up. After this, Jesus thought that perhaps he should delete the post that made the people so mad. But out of principle, he didn’t delete it. The next day, very early in the morning, someone rang the doorbell. Jesus limped to the peephole to check who that was. Behind the door, there was a man in a police uniform and a folder in his hand. “Excellent,” Jesus thought. “I will now file a statement against the thugs who attacked me yesterday.” Jesus opened the door. The man turned out to be from the district police. He entered the apartment, opened his folder and started to write down Jesus’ data. “Last name?” “Christ.” “That’s what I thought. Patronymic?” “Josephovich.” ПРОДОЛЖЕНИЕ И ПЕРЕВОД