Writing about this makes me a little uncomfortable, but the weird factor supersedes. I’m not mocking the crucifixion of Christ here, for those of my readers of a religious bent.
Now, you’re probably asking yourself the same question I did (and the same question that came up during a recent dinner). I can see how you’d nail your feet, assuming you’re sufficiently limber, and one hand, but how do you get the other hand?
Uh, yeah.
I’m reminded of a story a certain individual used to tell when he was doing stand-up comedy about the late Henry Marshall. Mr. Marshall was a peripheral figure in the Billie Sol Estes scandal who was found dead one day next to his pickup truck. He’d been shot. Five times. In the chest. With a bolt-action .22 rifle. His death was ruled a suicide.
You’ve really got to want to kill yourself to shoot yourself five times in the chest with a bolt-action .22, or to drill holes in your hands and slip them over nails you’ve already put into the cross. I’d probably be rethinking my strategy shortly after driving a freaking nail through my feet, and certainly long before running a power drill through my hand.
Actually, that was someone else’s stand-up comedy bit, not mine. I can’t remember his name, but he was doing stand-up in Houston circa 1983…
Damn, I would have sworn that was you.
Memory is a bitch.