I found God at Ray’s Rainbow Diner. It was Sunday morning, and I was sitting by myself in a cozy, crumb-infested booth, sucking down cup after cup of bitter coffee. A busy day remained ahead of me. I had decided to go downtown again today to look for a job, hopefully something that was high paying and involved as little work as possible. Afterwards I would probably go home, watch some TV, masturbate and then take a nap. First things first though, I needed some pancakes and more coffee to drown my hangover.
In the booth next to me a screaming brat, crammed into some stuffy church clothes, was entertaining himself by throwing silverware at his timid father. The boy’s pathetic father kept begging in a whimpering tone for his son to please behave. Obviously the father’s spirit had been crushed long ago by the married-with-child lifestyle. The little, fucking brat’s shrieking was tearing up the inside of my head. I was seriously considering using my butter knife as a shiv, thrusting it into the kid’s neck and ending the father’s misery once and for all, when my waitress, Rose, waddled her fat ass up to my table with breakfast.
“Here ya go sweety,” scuffed out from Rose’s shrill, dried voice. The stench of nicotine vented out from her pores. She wore a pink apron slung around her leathery neck and I could only imagine that her parents must have had a wicked sense of humor when they foresaw the irony at her birth that such a bitter, worn hag would bear the name of the sweetest and most lovely flower to bloom. Rose slid the food in front of me as her yellowing thumbnail dangerously flirted with the egg on my plate. She turned and hurried off without even checking to see if I needed anything else.
I reached for the maple syrup on the table, and when I went to pour it I saw him staring at me. There, on the top of my stack was the browned visage of Christ cooked forever into a pancake. I closed my eyes and shook my head, but when I looked back he...

I found God at Ray’s Rainbow Diner. It was Sunday morning, and I was sitting by myself in a cozy, crumb-infested booth, sucking down cup after cup of bitter coffee. A busy day remained ahead of me. I had decided to go downtown again today to look for a job, hopefully something that was high paying and involved as little work as possible. Afterwards I would probably go home, watch some TV, masturbate and then take a nap. First things first though, I needed some pancakes and more coffee to drown my hangover.
In the booth next to me a screaming brat, crammed into some stuffy church clothes, was entertaining himself by throwing silverware at his timid father. The boy’s pathetic father kept begging in a whimpering tone for his son to please behave. Obviously the father’s spirit had been crushed long ago by the married-with-child lifestyle. The little, fucking brat’s shrieking was tearing up the inside of my head. I was seriously considering using my butter knife as a shiv, thrusting it into the kid’s neck and ending the father’s misery once and for all, when my waitress, Rose, waddled her fat ass up to my table with breakfast.
“Here ya go sweety,” scuffed out from Rose’s shrill, dried voice. The stench of nicotine vented out from her pores. She wore a pink apron slung around her leathery neck and I could only imagine that her parents must have had a wicked sense of humor when they foresaw the irony at her birth that such a bitter, worn hag would bear the name of the sweetest and most lovely flower to bloom. Rose slid the food in front of me as her yellowing thumbnail dangerously flirted with the egg on my plate. She turned and hurried off without even checking to see if I needed anything else.
I reached for the maple syrup on the table, and when I went to pour it I saw him staring at me. There, on the top of my stack was the browned visage of Christ cooked forever into a pancake. I closed my eyes and shook my head, but when I looked back he was still there. Jesus Christ, adorned with a crown of bacon strips, and surrounded by the holy light of a sunny-side-up egg. A miracle, an accident, the thoughts raced through my mind. Perhaps I had been chosen for some divine purpose in life. Maybe, just maybe this was a sign that my life would turn around today. Yes, today would be the day that I would turn over a new leaf. I would clean up my act, put away the booze and pornography, and become a productive member of society. I could feel a new fervor towards goodness within myself. My mind was sharp, my body strong, and my hangover completely gone. I knew that with the Jesus pancake I would be unstoppable.
I stared deeper into my light and fluffy, personal savior, looking for more answers to my purpose in this wonderful life I now had. Suddenly I felt my soul sink into a darkness from which I knew it would never return. Jesus had a golden brown smirk, and one of his eyes was closed. The bastard was winking at me. The whole time Jesus had been mocking me, and my entire pathetic life. A deep, searing anger and hatred that had welled up within me throughout a lifetime of misery finally exploded. For the brat’s father, for Rose, for myself, and for everyone that God had been laughing at I stabbed Jesus in his nose with my fork. Then I ate his nose, and then his eyes. I cast my fork aside, drowned Jesus in maple syrup and began tearing away at his face with my bare hands. I sucked the syrup from my sticky fingers as if it were the marrow from his bones. My eyes gleamed with animal-like delight as I devoured the body of Christ. Although I despise him, I must concede that Jesus was flaky, with a buttermilk sweetness that only a deity could possess. He was the most satisfying and sacrilicious meal I ever had.