The Corn Dogs of Easter

Or: How to Make Church Palatable.

A corn dog cross fried gently in oil, which is likely how I will spend my own eternity in Hell for writing this post.

As a young Catholic boy, I could never understand why there wasn’t more to eat at church. Especially during Easter mass.

Sure, we’d be given a Communion wafer and maybe a sip of wine on special occasions, but it was never enough. We generally skipped breakfast before Sunday services, so by the time that little piece of Jesus hit my tongue, I was ravenous. And I could never quite bring myself to chew because I’d hate to have caused that poor fellow any extra agony. Hadn’t He been put through enough already?

And my mother would have killed me if I tried to go back for seconds.

Christ may have died for our sins, but I was dying of hunger.

---

---