Originally published on McSweeney’s Internet Tendency.

Forgive me, Padre, for I have binged.

Kissed brimstone. Huffed hellfire. Made a $5.99 deal with El Diablo for a five-pack of chicken nuggets.

In the back booth of a Taco Bell Cantina, I plop down my tray like I’m late to the Last Supper.

Spread before me: an unholy communion. Nuggets instead of wafers. A chalice of consecrated Baja Blast.

Illuminated above me: not stained glass, but a neon-purple sign promoting a timeless fast-food parable. LIVE MÁS.

I cross myself in the sign of Our Father, dab at a spill that looks like my mother, then take the plunge — flipping open a box of Taco Bell’s new Diablo Dusted Crispy Chicken Nuggets. ➡️

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