One of my jobs here – OK, it’s not an official position – is to report on insane fuckwits who find religious iconography in their junk food. So, until Ed accepts my standing offer to take over for Cecil, or at least makes me a one of the mini-Cecils that make up the mighty Cecil machine, I’ll content myself with my small, but vital, role as a cog in the Straightdope machine.
When we were last awed by the miraculous manifested in the mundane, we were in the presence of Mary, Mother of Cheese. Not since Medjugorje has the wholly white mother looked so delicious.
Now that the progressive pontiff has passed, you perchance might ponder, “Hasn’t J. Paul left us something more than his eerily embalmed corpse?” What more could you want besides decades of continued misogyny? Nacho cheese!
Yes, the most recognizable symbol of the bishop of Rome, his phallic mitre, has appeared in a bag of corn chips purchased by this fugly lot of middle-Americans. Makes you wonder what other relics might be sitting in the gullets of less observant snack fiends.
And yes, stop me if this sounds familiar, an online casino purchased the divine dorito.
That page is only a joke. I applaud this family for capitalizing on organized religion in such a fashion. And they’re not fugly either. That older daughter is pretty hot.
The page isn’t a joke at all. They really marketed the chip, they really sold it, and yes they really capitalized.
Are you saying that they aren’t true believers in the divinity of the hat chip? You horrid, craven cynic, you. Good luck with the subtly creeping looking under age daughter, unbeliever!
On the upside however, I get at least one Pope Hat Chip in every bag. One bag o Doritos: $99 cents, one Pope Hat Chip: $1200. I’ll be rich! Rich, I say.
hmmm…I wonder how much I could get for this Elvis looking chip I found earlier today?
I’m not sure why anyone would think there’s something sick about this thread. For those interested in the ecstasy of religious (and capitalistic) rapture, read on…
Like many people, I begin each day with some light exercise, strong coffee, and a bracing hot shower. Cleanliness might be close to godliness, but I never do achieve a sense of spiritual fulfillment as I wash my testes, condition my hair, and rewash my testes for… well no reason really.
This isn’t just any Jesus face. Those with 99.44 proof faith, like me, will note that Jesus has his lips pressed luridly against the glass. He’s man, he’s god, he likes to watch you suds up.
This would also be the perfect investment for parents of teens whom they suspect of gratifying themselves in the shower. With the man-god watching, maybe they won’t be so quick to grip the bishop or flick the bean. Or maybe they will… either way, bid quick!
I once had a VHS tape with a ghostly likeness of John the Baptist visible behind the image that was recorded. It was like the holy spirit had reached down and moved just a fraction of the little ferrous particles… enough to hint at a scene depicting John the Baptist baptizing the faithful.
Turns out it was Ron Jeremy, and that wasn’t exactly holy water being splashed around. I keep looking for icons, though.