After a rousing sermon on the evils of drunkenness and vice, nothing is more satisfying than gorging at an old-fashioned fundamentalist covered dish supper. (Covered dish suppers are not to be confused with the liberal “pot luck dinner” since luck has no place the fundamentalist vocabulary.)

A drop of alcohol that sneaks across ones lips (unless concealed in mouthwash and immediately spewed back out) may cause irreparable damage to one’s testimony and spiritual life but thank goodness there’s no rule against devouring four pieces of fried chicken, two helpings of mashed potatoes, three spoonfuls of that green marshmallow stuff, half a tray of deviled eggs, and a piece of pecan pie.

The fundy soul shall be made fat.