quodlibet  

Help me! Any minute now, Farmer John will sweep me up and cut out my heart in a pagan sacrifice to his chosen gods.

You're white as a new-shorn lamb, and more yeller-bellied than nicotine stains! Have no fear! Mr. Stinkybutt will save your rear!

Christ! These peasant hearts taste smoky. Revolting!

My worshippers are civilized; they eat bread which represents My spirit.

Jesus, man, dry little wafers don't hold the same 'je ne sais quoi' of raw beating hearts. Or nutritional value.

Yeah, but have you considered what part of my transsubstantiated flesh they're eating?