Jesus, Buddha and Socrates Attend a Trump Rally

This is a follow up to my recent story where these three world changers had a drink at a bar. Because it's Saturday fun day.

Three world changers walk into a Trump rally.

Jesus, Buddha, and Socrates slip quietly into a half-packed convention center, a few minutes late. The crowd is already roaring, red hats bobbing like buoys in a sea of grievance.

From the stage, Trump is mid-sentence, microphone gripped like a weapon.

“…some people are saying I might be the greatest military leader of all time. That’s what they’re saying. There’s never been anything like it. People tell me—nobody’s ever seen anything like it!”

Buddha doesn’t even look up. “Genghis Khan.”

Socrates stares blankly ahead. “Alexander.”

Jesus sighs. “Rome. Unfortunately.”

Trump leans forward, voice rising: “And we love the Christians. They love me. I love them. I love God. I love Jesus. Always have.”

Buddha tilts his head. “Oh…the orange man loves you. Is he your favorite follower?”

Socrates smirks. “Yeah, Jesus—he looooves you. Do you loooove him back?”

Jesus rubs his forehead. “You have no idea how much it pains me to admit…but I do.”

Trump continues: “You know, the media never talks about it. But I get along with the Christians better than anybody. They understand. They know what’s right.”

“Interesting,” Buddha says. “Attachment to praise. Aversion to blame.”

“Also known as high school,” Socrates observes.

Buddha looks down at his feet. “I always start to lose my internal balance in large crowds. So much noise.”

Socrates nods. “It’s called groupthink. It reverts humans into animals. It is our ability to think and gain wisdom as individuals that makes us who we are. Many surrender that here.” He gestures at the chanting crowd. “Isn’t that right, Mr. God Man?”

Jesus seems lost in thought as the crowd erupts in a thunderous chant of “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

Buddha leans closer. “You okay, Jesus?”

He snaps out of it, his eyes moist. “It’s so similar to when they turned on me,” he says quietly. “One day you’re riding into Jerusalem a conquering king. The next day the crowd demands the release of a murderer instead of you.”

Socrates looks to the ground. “It reminds me of my trial as well, my friend. My own people giving me death. For what? Your cup was unbearable. At least mine was a quick one. Corrupting the youth, they said. For what? Telling them to think for themselves?”

Buddha sighs. “Suffering is our path. You both know it so well. Mine is very real, but less violent. I admire you, my friends, for facing what was before you and not running from it.”

Trump jabs a finger at a reporter in the press pit.

“And this one here—she is not even from America. Where you from again? Puerto Rico or something? She is a nasty person. Very unfair. The media—you know, they love the illegals. They flood over our borders and they love them. They don’t love our country, though.”

Jesus tilts his head. “Well…sounds like the media are familiar with the Torah, at least.”

Socrates crosses his arms. “This guy really hates foreigners.”

Buddha closes his eyes. “Hate is the gateway to destruction.”

Socrates smirks. “At least I can pass for American. You two are clearly not from these parts.”

Jesus raises an eyebrow. “Bro. You’re wearing a toga.”

Buddha gestures around them. “I think all of us are unwelcome here.”

Trump’s voice booms again: “It’s very unfair how they treat me. So unfair. How they treat us all. Never before has it been so hard to be a Christian—constant persecution from the lunatic lefties.”

Jesus exhales. “Lunatic Lefty was my nickname in high school.”

Socrates smiles faintly. “The wise person is the one who knows they don’t understand, not the one who believes they understand it all.”

Trump’s voice rises, a little hoarse now: “And the people who hate me—nobody has ever been treated worse. Nobody. So nasty. There has never been anything like it.”

Buddha tilts his head. “This guy needs a few lifetimes sitting under a tree.”

From the speakers, the first bars of “Y.M.C.A.” thunder into the arena.

Socrates blinks. “Wait…isn’t this a gay anthem?”

“Yep,” Jesus and Buddha say in unison.

A man in a MAGA hat turns around, squinting at them. “Hey—aren’t you…?”

“Yes,” Jesus says quickly, extending his hand before the man can finish. “Jesus Christ. From Nazareth. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh—sorry, man,” the guy says sheepishly. “Thought you were from Duck Dynasty.”

Jesus nods. “Common mistake.”

The crowd starts spelling letters with their arms.

“I can’t do this anymore. I need a gyro,” Socrates says.

“Me too,” Jesus says. “I’m hungry.”

Socrates raises an eyebrow. “Oh—can the Lamb of God eat a gyro? Isn’t that like…cannibal—”

“Shut up,” Jesus interrupts.

Buddha smiles faintly. “Let’s go. Before he does that weird dance.”

They slip out into the night as the chanting swells behind them—joyless, loud, and strangely hollow.

Read my first Jesus, Socrates and Buddha story here.