Saw a sign on a restaurant that said "Breakfast, any time" - so I ordered French Toast in the Renaissance.
- Steven Wright
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The finest explanation I've read so far. In Margaret Atwood's post-climate-catastrophic novel Oryx and Crake. Snowman, a battered survivor is slowly losing his mind and memories.
Gone are the days of endlessly searching for that miraculous toast-burn in the shape of Jesus' bewhiskered visage or the Virgin Mary's devoutly lop-sided head!
"Hey, whatcha doin'?"
"Making breakfast."
"I don't know if you know this, but I like toast."
We've had Jesus, Mary, and a variety of others make their holy presence known on blessed pieces of toast. Now it looks as though we have a new sacred image: