Okay, I’m getting a late start. The “Christ of Politics” is taken now, so I can’t be that. And nobody can be bigger or taller than Christ because of the Beatles. Being just plain “Jesus Christ” is a dubious career move and gets you locked up with all the other Jesus Christs in the Jesus Christ ward of the local asylum. So what’s left?
I can’t be the Jesus Christ of Petroleum or the Jesus Christ of LDS (and by extension I can’t be the Jesus Christ of LSD because that would only confuse people). I wouldn’t consider being Jesus Christ of Mideastern Folklore Fame even if it were available, because I can’t figure out how to casually mention that at parties. The Jesus Christ of Sound is out, as is the Jesus Christ of College Basketball and the Jesus Christ of the Bicycle, of the Activist Movement, of Partying Day, of Stand Up, of Golf, of Train Stations, of the French Revolution, and of Tuna. I can’t be the Jesus Christ of yore, my time, my day, modern times, the millenium or the Cyber Future. Jesus Christs of the tax code, of Superheroes, and of post-autowork skin cleaning products have also been spoken for. I can’t even be the Jesus Christ of Lubbock, Texas; I checked.
That leaves only one thing, of course, and I’m taking it now while the taking is good. I am the Jesus Christ of Whirlpool and Maytag appliance remanufacturing.