The Plastic Jesus and the meaningless hills we choose to die on

The Plastic Jesus is something circumstantial in your life, but something that you’d forever defend. Mine happens to be which corn chip brand is superior. And if you say Doritos, I will fight you.



The Plastic Jesus may be an object that you know to be entirely circumstantial to your existence, but nevertheless, it is an object you will argue the merits of until you draw your final breath.

For example, I kneel at the altar of the CC – the locally born (farmed) and bred (processed) ambrosia of the corn gods – and if you subscribe to the market figures and indeed larger public opinion that the Dorito is the Quetzalcoatl of the Australian Corn Chip industry, I will fight you.

The hint is in the name. They named the corn chips after corn chips, because they best define what a corn chip is. It’s like calling an orange an orange. The CC is a far superior chip, and your argument is invalid.

It’s a stupid thing to align yourself with, especially as I’ve obviously spurned more meaningful gods to worship, but much like other religions, there’s an unbridgeable difference of feeling between two opposing ideologies. Dorito people are welcome to their beliefs, but on the proviso that they keep well away from me when they exercise them. The bowl on my plate will remain pure, unfettered by the second class tastes of second class taste.


Those who worship a Plastic Jesus know that whatever rift it is…no accommodation can be reached. Only the path of least resistance…not necessarily agreeing to disagree, more so not mentioning it.


There’s a strange parallel in this world, as a median third party who may represent a solution (in this instance Mission Corn Chips) is roundly dismissed as an unrealistic olive brand to balance on, as understanding shall not be reached by us succumbing to an option not as good as the other two.

The corn chip example is an entirely subjective one, but the general idea is held through everyday life between families, between unions, between workplaces.

But unlike the tenets of religion (where understanding might actually be won due to mutual respect or indeed the same moral lessons being shared), those who worship a Plastic Jesus know that whatever rift it is — be it who wears the crown in the delivered pizza pageant, whose face sits highest on the Mount Rushmore of 007’s (George Lazenby) or which Hogwarts pigeonholing would grant the better educatory experience — no accommodation can be reached. They know only the path of least resistance…not necessarily agreeing to disagree, more so just not fucking mentioning it. Just as a Slytherin can never become a Hufflepuff, a Domino can never become a Hut. Just how it is.

While you might say that education is the key, that I’d actually like Doritos if I gave them a chance, crawling over the barbed wire of my own preconceptions to sleep with the enemy seems like a defeat, a selling out of my own morals, as opposed to the savouring of these feelings of enlightenment that are washing over me.

I suppose I should close this with a resolution. Not a public apology where I take back all the things I’ve said in fits of anger. No. The things I’ve said about you Dorito people: not only have I meant it all, I wish that I said it earlier. And louder.


You can’t say no.





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