Churches abound in our area, and have a new way of competing for the attendance of worshipers...(of donuts, silly!)
It all begins at about 2AM every Sunday morning when the Acolytes of the Holy Batter open their kitchens and fire up the deep fat vats. And then the magic begins! For the next several hours, those divine little round chubby creations are baked by the millions – and by the billions, outside of town!
What diversity! So many flavors and colors and decorations! And, miraculously, at every damn donut shop within 100 miles of where you live, you always find your particular precious. Now, you take the superlative chocolate-chocolate-rainbow-sprinkle, the holey grail of donutdom. Actually, don’t you dare take that one – it’s mine, all mine! Oh, now wait. That’s sinful talk. Okay, I’ll let you have a bite – but not a really big one, unless, well, unless it’s Christmas or Easter.
The miraculous creation of the donut is transported in containers of ancient symbolism: The pink box of a dozen donuts. One dozen because Jesus had one dozen disciples. Remember that one disciple that no one ever talks about? (His name escapes me right now.) Well, he invented the donut! And this upset the Lord a little because donuts were distracting the people. So this disciple felt bad because Jesus was his main bud and all. Well, this clever disciple, after seeing Jesus whomp up thousands of fish and loaves of bread to feed people – I mean, the other way around, sorry – anyway this cleaver disciple, a very inventive sort, well, he right then and there back in Palestine, back when you couldn’t tell the difference between a Jew and a Palestinian, he invented that pink box to hold donuts, so everyone would stay put and listen to that Sermon on the Mount. (The boxes were made out of papyrus, back in those days. And they were pink because that was the politically correct color of the day, the Roman emperor’s favorite color – it was one of those metrosexual emperors, at the time. You know the one. Right, that one!)
And to this day, at the bigger, more fashionable local churches, you will see pink box after pink box with all the worshippers humbly and patiently lined up behind the acolytes slowly and ceremoniously proceeding with the holy snack from the parking lot to the narthex.*
* ‘Narthex’ is an ancient Latin word meaning: ‘the place of drooling over small, baked toroids of bliss.’ The Romans sure had a detailed language, by golly.
by DoUgLaS kEnDaLl
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Email comments to: doug@DougKen.com
:-) <-- Required humor impairment warning.