There Goes Sunday School

by Alexander C. Eberhart

Football is like a religion to them even though they’ve already got a religion. It’s hard to tell which they follow more closely. Someday, someone will start the First Christian Church of the Bulldogs, and my family will line up to be the first members baptized by having Gatorade dumped over their heads.

The only thing more important than going to church in my family is looking presentable when you do. God, apparently, is pretty judgey when it comes to your wardrobe.

His sermons are usually straight from the old testament because he finds the new testament to be a bit too liberal.

The fish symbol prominently displayed beside the 'I support traditional marriage' bumper sticker is a nice touch. All that’s missing is a confederate flag, and they’d have the complete bigot set.

“Who is it?” I call, setting aside my sketchbook. “The freaking pope,” Rosy sasses, sticking her head in. “Wow, you look great for your age.” “Thank you.” She steps into my room, shutting the door behind her. “It’s from all the babies I kiss. I’m actually stealing their souls in exchange for eternal youth.” She