Religion Really Gets My Goat

(After running out of diapers in the middle of the night, my husband runs out to the nearest grocery store. There are a few people in line when this happens.)

Lady Behind In Line: “So where are you from?”

Husband: “Oh, I’m from New Orleans.”

Lady Behind In Line: “No, where are you really from? You know; your people?”

Husband: “I was born in India, but immigrated to the US as an infant.

Lady Behind In Line: “India? How wonderful. My church has helped save a lot of the heathens there! Have you been saved by the blood of our savior, Jesus Christ? If you’re not saved, you and your family will burn in Hell for all time.”

(The entire line goes silent, shocked at the gall of this woman. My husband decides to have some fun with her.)

Husband: “No, I come from a long line of Satanists. We’re having a sacrificial ceremony nearby if you’d like to attend? Wait, do you know where I can buy a couple of goats?”

(The woman turns white, drops her items on the floor, and runs out.)

Cashier: “D***! I was about to tell her I belong to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster!”