Your religion doesn’t so much provide you with the tools and principles to seek the truth about your own existence as tell you which DVD’s you shouldn’t rent.

Transubstantiation made all the more confusing with church’s introduction of tapas.

When you inquire “What is the meaning of life?” your clergy opens up the Miriam-Webster dictionary.

Your prayers are answered with “And how am I supposed to make that happen? With a ‘magic machine’?!?”

Church services commence with a Lee Greenwood song.

Your religion’s origin story beings with the phrase, “You see, last Tuesday…”

Church elders repeatedly quote Brit Hume.

All your loved ones are lame, covered in boils and composed entirely of salt.

Sacred texts repeatedly refer to female parishioners as “un-men.”

Typical rituals include reading “B.C” comics, blaming Jews and trying to decide who should direct the next film adaptation of the “Left Behind” series.

You are told that your religion is the one true religion because only your religion follows the principles set out in your religion’s scriptures, which were first created by your religion’s founders when they devised your religion to adhere to those very religious principles they penned, thus proving all other religions must be forgeries and that since you can’t have a forgery without copying an original, obviously your religion is the one true faith—as clearly and plainly stated in the aforementioned religious scriptures.

All other world religions cite your core beliefs as “the seventh sign.”

You can’t get through a single church service without sudden fissure in earth swallowing six pews whole.

You bowl with one of the authors of your religion’s bible.

After you die you’re sentenced to haunt a New Jersey Turnpike Nathan’s.

The primary tenet of your theology can be summed up in three words—“Go Red Sox!”

You can visit your God any weekday, between 10 am and 6 pm, at the shoe counter in Nordstrom’s.

Your religion believes humankind can be redeemed only with the right coupons.

Many of the high holy days seem to revolve around Denny’s Grand Slam Breakfast.

When you turn 13 you just get a lousy cake.