“In one corner of the square is a manger scene with two live sheep, a bed of hay, a couple of cows. The baby Jesus is a brown-faced doll lying in his crib, but Mary and Joseph are real and dressed in period garb. Joseph hoists a staff, Mary sports her virginal blue robes. As I walked by the other day, Joseph balanced on the crib, light bulb in hand, reaching toward an electrical socket. Mary, I guess, was taking a break. She sat on the edge of the crib. Her blue robes were hiked high enough to reveal Doc Marten boots beneath. She sipped a can of Coke and smoked.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph”
“No touching Baby Jesus.”“But we’re his parents!” proclaimed Mary Beth, who was being generous to include poor Joseph under this appellation.“Mary Beth,” Barb Wiggin said, “if you touch the Baby Jesus, I’m putting you in a cow costume.”
“...[Joseph] and the Virgin Mary got turned away from the inn and had to go sleep in the manger. (Not with the manager, like Troo says.)”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I was going to squirt tears. How unprofessional.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He was about to engage in some hellaciously naughty fornication.”