Atheist Luncheonette Opens

"Howdy, glad you could stop by," said Arnold Essex, the proud owner of The Atheist's Cafe, an new atheist luncheonette that just opened up in Bristol, Virginia. "We recognized the need for catering to the Atheist community. These days you gotta specialize, you know. The demand for atheist food is great."

"We got a good grub-worm sandwich piled high with worms and sprinkled with a generous helping of rat juice, fresh-squeeze from the alley. Got a crab grass salad and pooty dressing. And for desserts we got mud pies. We put only real Appalachian mud in our mud pies."

"Atheists come here from all over the Southwest Virginia, east Tennessee and beyond. Everytime there's an atheist golf tournament or atheist convention. We are reasonably price. Entrees are only five bucks. The place offers a fun, if slightly heretical atmosphere, with Albert Camus on the jukebox singing "Oh, What Is Life About? Somebody, would you tell me, please."

"Atheists just love the way we treat them. Great service. We don't ask them to pray before their meals. Neither do we ask them to recite scripture. Nor do require them to look us in the eye and tell us what they think life is all about. We love Atheists in the Bible Belt. We know they are big hairy beasts who pretty much walk on all fours, eat rodents and live in caves. But we want them to know they have a place to eat right here in Bristol."

"We want them to try us. We're downright cheap for a four-star Zagat-rated restaurant, the only four-star Zagat-rated atheist eatery in the whole dang United States. And we smack-dab in the middle of the Bible Belt. And we happy to see them come through the door. Once in a while, yes, they get rowdy. Growl and bark cause they are beasts of the field. And dumber than a dead possum. Grotesque men and women with no consciences, no ethics. Just gnarly teeth and cross-eyed looking monsters who would enjoy a veggie burger topped with spiders and a dash of mold dew."

"Dung when you bake it and serve it to atheists in a crust makes them contented. You wouldn't believe how happy they get when you feed them. Pigs have never eaten better than this. An atheist will sit with his napkin beneath his chin and just make them yummy sounds at the sight of bug pie. I should also mention, before it slips my mind, as reasonably priced as we are at The Atheist's Cafe, we do charge extra for ketchup, though. Six dollars."

"Of course, we ain't fancy. We do give great service. All of our waitresses are schooled in the art of serving the atheist, the agnostic and the existentialist, which is to say we understand their doubts in the Lord, their revulsion with the Holy Trinity. The Apostles Creed gives them migraine headaches, gas and a burning in their intestines. Like they been stung by bees from the inside out. And their lack of commitment to the church. We appreciate atheists like we appreciate bears and dogs and hogs."

"We wish they would chew their bugs with their mouths closed. Does anybody know how to speak atheism. I know a little. It's a cross between a dog's bark and monkey's squeal. Like a room full of hungry hyenas, when they're having a good time. Jabbering and whooping. And somewhere in between you got the sound of two wild jackals making it their business to tell you what they think life is about. Such cynicism, such utter depraved malice for the Christian world. Don't you just know we going to beat them. Sorry none of them will make it to Paradise. Yeow!"

"I should mention, though. Last year Bristol issued seven-hundred atheist hunting licenses. Hunting for atheists is a popular sport in Bristol. Of course, by drawing the atheist out we make them bigger targets, if that's possible. The atheist is valuable for their fur. Them gloves I got last year was lined with atheist fur and I tell you the cold don't bite through it. Them atheists got fur that would keep an iceberg warm."