Cult of Bread Almighty.

Slices of bread lying under the kitchen table: “…”

Sam, picking them up mournfully: “They don’t look too dirty, can’t we still eat them?”

Me: “They’ve been on the floor since you made your lunch LAST NIGHT. That’s just a *bit* too far past the two-second rule.”

Sam: “We could wash them.”

Me: “If you wash dirty bread, you don’t get clean bread, you get soggy dirt on soggy bread.”

Sam: “Can we put them on the altar?”

Me: “You offer the best of what you have on the altar, not bread that’s been on the floor all night.”

Sam: “They could have their own altar.”

Slices of bread: “Bow down, insignificant humans!”

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