Strange Cactus

We ran out of gas and I blame Cleo--she was driving. We were Peace Core volunteers headed for the village of Yana in the Solange providence. All we had were two canteens and a cooler full of Klondike bars.
Figure something out, she said. You're the guy. I got out and looked around. All desert in all directions. Then I saw movement. One of the cacti seemed to turn toward us and before I could react, it shot a laser beam right at my shoulder. I doubled over in pain and screamed, scrambling back to the Jeep.
Suddenly we got hit from all sides by beams as more cacti joined in the attack. I tried reasoning with them through the window to no avail. That's when Cleo opened up on them with an automatic rifle, blowing the bastards to bits. Cleo was from Texas.
We were still out of gas in the middle of nowhere, but I knew I'd come up with something. After all, I was the guy here.
Let's have a Klondike bar first, I said.

Potted Plant

You look at me and shake your head. Actually, you can't shake your head because you're a stinking statue. John The Baptist. You can't understand how a cactus can be joyful just sitting here in this bright church, thrilling Christians of all ages. And you?
They didn't even use quality Italian marble--Staten Island quarry stuff for your lousy composition.
Cacti have an important place in the canon. Moses wandered 40 days and 40 nights and would still be lost in the desert if he did not follow the line of cacti to The Holy Land. Tell me your purpose, your history. Does it take special skill to sprinkle water on someone and declare them baptized? Now they'll be safe from Limbo. Here's a flash--the Church declared Limbo obsolete years ago. There is no stinking Limbo.
I am Maury the Cactus and I belong here just as much as any statue or stained glass window. If I had arms I would send you to Dante's Third Circle of hell. Actually, if I had arms I could play that damn organ in the balcony.