PASS THE CRACKERS, PLEASE

A bunch of us Jawja apostles Blown-Eyed Blodgers got together for dinner a while back with one of our bestest buddies from the Old Country.

Well, it was more than just dinner...it was a whole honkin’ Passover Seder and Texas Jawja Hold-’Em Tournament. Unusual for a Seder, though, because there were only two Jews at the whole table, and I was one of ’em. See if you can guess who the other one was.

I’m easy to spot. I was having my halo dry-cleaned, so I’m the only one without a glowing nimbus around my head. Too bad, ’cause it’s a bitch to read the menu in the Last Supper Café what with the piss-poor lighting.

Of course, I’m the one who got stuck paying the check, which is why you see me reaching for that bag of silver under my robe. That’s also unusual, because Saint Sammy is the one who grabs the check most times, no matter how much we gripe and threaten.

Only problem afterwards - aside from the hangovers induced by the Chatham Artillery Punch - was getting all blocked up from eating all of that Unleavened Bread. Matzoh is famously constipating, you know. From this, Saint Catfish suffered mightily, on account of his ’roids.

And, yes, that was Chatham Artillery Punch in that chalice. Saint Velociman mixed up a Whole Holy Grail full. You were expecting maybe Manischewitz?

How many of these fine Apostles do you know?

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Eric, who knows how to work miracles with Photoshop...]