Via Athenae: “Man Says Fish Stick Bears Face of Jesus“.

I’m glad someone can bear it, because, frankly, I’m getting sick and tired of seeing the dude’s face.

After all, he’s clearly been getting make-up tips from Michael ‘Whiteness’ Jackson. Come to think of it, he’s always saying stuff catering to the kids like Jackson, too. I have a hunch he can do a better moonwalk than Jackson ever dreamed of, though.

I wonder why our deities and saintly types insist upon appearing on products that are nearly food. I mean, if you were Lord of the Universe, wouldn’t you aim for tributes higher than Velveeta and white bread, or flakes of reassembled rectangular fish? Why risk musicals titled Jesus Trout, SuperGar?

Clearly, there are mysteries beyond our mortal imagination. Like, would you believe someone would actually pay $28,000 for an old sandwich? Entrepreneurs of the future, take note: everything can be outsourced except the stupidity of consumers.

And now, since we’re in another Crusades, pitting the technological might of nuclear Rome against the hordes of heathens armed with sticks and stones, doesn’t universal justice require the face of Allah in something semi-edible? Like maybe frozen in your favorite tofu-flavored energy bar?

Of course, my worst fear is that some friend will drop by to visit the Keepers of the Holy Processed Food Knick-Knacks and, mistaking the icons for horse douvers, proceed to eat the faces of the Gods and their mothers. Old fish and old cheese processed intestinally, coupled with the anger of the Gods so rudely dispatched… I guarantee you, the threatened tribulations of Scripture can’t come close to the potential ruin should we face the Methane Revenge of the Gods. All of which was foretold to me on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, where Adam’s about to pull God’s finger.

If that’s what works for the rest of you, you can have the miracles of the loaves and fishes and approximate cheese. I’m gonna stand over on this side of the universe, in the water-into-wine line, waiting for a less flatulent moment of Rapture, while practicing my cherubim and seraphim pickup lines. (”When’s the last time you had some Spirit in that Holey?” and “You must be an angel with tits like that.”)

[Editor’s note: if you were seeking the enlightenment of high brow humor, we apologize for seating you in the wrong section. Clearly this one belongs in the Methane pew.]

I’ll tell ya though, to me that Blessed Virgin Cheese Sandwich looked more like Clara Bow than Mary Mother of God. I’m not sure what the divine meaning of that is, or who has the Holy Negatives to tell us what the Dead Heroes of the Heavens really looked like to begin with. I always liked the God that looked like a flaming Bush. It made me think of The Birdcage, with the Texas Twelve-stepper stepping in for Nathan Lane, just before the Holy Methane Blowtorch is applied.

Man, thish wine ish really good. Can I get you a glash?

[Editor’s note: Yeah, we thought this post looked promising at the start, too. It went downhill faster than frozen fish on a godhead sled, didn’t it?]