Jesus is coming to eat all our bagels.

What kind of car does he drive? my daughter asks.

A gold Cadillac I say — retrofitted — it runs on french fry oil.

That’s silly, she says.

I say no, it’s logical.  He’s done with the modesty thing, he wants to make a statement – it didn’t work so well the last time you may remember.

And there’s just something memorable about an oversized auto painted the citron color of treasure.

You mean the canary-yellow of gilded independence?

Something like that, I say.

Now quick — pass the cream cheese.