I’m A Fish And I Don’t Want Your Sinful Bread


ATLANTIC OCEAN — Listen here, pal. I don’t care how worried you are this year about God smiting you with a vengeful heavenly fire or some ancient plague. Just because you decided this was the year you were going to eat dairy out doesn’t mean you have to throw all of that guilt on me. 

God is judging me too, you know. What? You think just because I’m a fish I don’t have a soul? I don’t deserve to be redeemed? Get fucked. That’s the same anti-fish sentiment that leads to pescatarians, who somehow decided that out of all the animals, fish are apparently the only ones that don’t feel pain. 

And what even is this tradition anyway? You saw the Christians pretending a cracker was Christ and said, “Here’s an idea, let’s take that avodah zarah – oh, but instead of filling ourselves with Godly sustenance, let’s force-feed this poor innocent fish.” 

And it’s always the worst kind of bread too. I get all bubbly inside seeing that little chunk of human food, only to discover it’s a stale hotdog bun from a 4th of July BBQ two months ago. If you’re going to make me eat your sins, at least get me something good. I wouldn’t mind a nice seeded rye this year. Maybe one of those artisanal olive zaatar sourdoughs if you could get your hands on one. 

Or – and here’s a thought – just stop sinning so much. 

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