"Help me, Jesus!" you cry, holding your hand over the wound in your neck in the Satanic Temple you built in your basement. You shuffle around weakly, losing blood, turning over evil books and generally trying to hide the fact that this is a place for worshipping the devil. You toss a quilt over the altar and cry out again. "Help me, Jesus!" you cry out again.
Jesus appears, as He always will, and you feel a little better already. You stand awkwardly between Him and the black altar, bobbing left and right so He can't see past your shoulders. "What is wrong, my son?" He says, His nose twitching as He catches the scent of... "Say, is that burned cat hair?"