God spake to me in a dream. “Arise, my son. Hasten thee to the kitchen!”
I arose. I did hasten me to the kitchen. At the fridge I did pray, “What now, Lord?”
“Bratwursts be Satan’s handiwork. Thou must cleanst thine abode of these sin sausages via fasting and supplication! And maybe a bin.”
But I ateth my filleth of them—did it matter anyway how evil be conquered? Still, I did fell to the floor in bloat and faint.
“Forgive me, Lord! Save me from your wrath! (And excess pounds…) I only did this in your Name after all!”