Jesus, Freud, and Buddha Walk Into a Bar

A comedy in three neuroses.

Jesus, Freud, and Buddha sit shoulder to shoulder on three well-worn barstools, facing the amber glow of bottles lined up like prophets who lost their way.

The bartender glances over. Sighs. Picks up a rag he doesn’t need and starts wiping a glass that isn’t dirty.

Bartender: “All right, boys. You’re all finally here. Let’s talk suffering.”

Jesus (sipping wine): “You sure you wanna go there?”

Bartender: “Buddy, this is a bar. That’s all anyone talks about.”

Freud (without looking up): “Technically, they don’t talk about it. They displace it, repress it, project it, and then hit on strangers to cope.”

Buddha (gently): “He’s not wrong.”

Bartender: “So what is suffering, then? Define it for me.”

Jesus: “It’s what happens when love gets crucified.”

Freud: “It’s unresolved childhood trauma showing up in adult clothes.”

Buddha: “It’s craving what isn’t, resisting what is, and forgetting who’s watching.”

Freud: “I liked mine better. Cleaner. More German.”

Buddha (smiling): “Your ego would.”

Jesus: “Play nice, boys. We're all wounded healers here.”

Bartender: “Okay, smart guys. What do you tell someone going through it?”

Jesus: “Stay with it. Don’t numb it. And don’t do it alone.”

Freud: “Name it. Frame it. Just don’t marry it.”

Buddha: “Sit still. Watch the breath. Let it pass like weather.”

Freud: “Unless your weather’s a Category 5 childhood.”

Jesus (laughing): “Freud, I swear, you make trauma sound like a timeshare.”

Bartender: “You ever think people just... make suffering worse trying to fix it?”

Buddha: “Yes.”

Freud: “Every day.”

Jesus: “Especially when they mistake salvation for self-erasure.”

Freud: “Or healing for hyper-analysis.”

Buddha: “Or surrender for avoidance.”

They pause. The bartender pours himself a drink.

Bartender: “Okay. What about joy? What if someone wants to suffer less?”

Jesus: “Choose love even when it breaks you.”

Freud: “Choose therapy.”

Buddha: “Choose now.”

Freud (gesturing): “He always gets the last word.”

Buddha: “Because I speak in fewer of them.”

The door swings open. A woman enters. Red scarf. Fire in her eyes. Looks like someone who’s survived every kind of silence.

Mary Magdalene (to the bartender): “Please tell me they haven’t been trying to explain suffering again.”

Bartender: “In triplicate.”

Mary (to the three): “Gentlemen. Let the wounds speak. Stop quoting yourselves.”

Jesus (grinning): “She always says it better.”

Freud (nodding): “She always feels it deeper.”

Buddha: “She always remembers.”

Mary: “Because I stayed. That’s the difference. You all left.”

The whole room shifts. Even the bottles go quiet.

The bartender pours her a glass of red.

Bartender: “On the house.”

Mary: “On the heart.”

Fade to black. Or maybe... just sit with it a while longer.

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