Jeremiah Jones slept too soundly for a man who was sentenced to be executed in 48 hours.

“What will you have for your last meal?” The guard interrupted.

“Bread and wine,” Jones yawned.

“That would not be my first choice,” The guard said.

Jones nodded and opened his bible.

“Do you want a priest?”

At first, Jones didn’t respond.

“Yes; I’ll talk to a priest.”

Shortly after, a holy man entered. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m preparing to rise from the dead and I need you to witness my plan. You’re a Catholic in good standing, so people will believe your account of my resurrection.”

“Do you regret what you did?”

Jones reflected on his murder. “I stopped him from killing millions.”

“But the president! You killed the president!”

Jones ignored the priest’s outrage. “The tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants. Now you must promise me that I won’t be buried for the next three days.”

“You are not Jesus Christ!”

“I know that. I am Jeremiah Jones.”

30 hours later, the priest watched electricity pulse through Jones. Nobody could stop the wrath of a nation. And as requested, Jones lay in a metal case for 72 hours while the priest became more curious by the day. Just to be sure, he walked down to the cold room and opened the coffin.

Jones’ lips were blue and his face was lifeless. To think all those women were fighting over his last few moments like he was a winning lottery ticket, the priest thought. And he breathed easier, knowing that miracles don’t happen.

He walked to the nearest hot dog stand and lathered on the relish.

“Are you prepared to share the good news?” The vendor asked.

And the priest stared into the dead face and had a heart attack. The vendor immediately pulled off his mask and administered CPR.

Hot dogs were on sale for Halloween.