Who Dat II, along with clementines and God.

I have some incredible news.

This morning I peeled a clementine, and the peeling came off in the shape of a Fleur de Lis! And a clementine, as you know, is orange, which is very close to the color gold, and only 35 calories if you’re looking for a healthy snack.

Then I turned the peeling upside down, and it exactly resembled the shape of the crucifixion. These are clear signs that Jesus Christ will make sure the Saints win the Super Bowl tomorrow.

I could not be more pleased.

I’m sure many people think Jesus has better things to do than slip into the helmet of Drew Brees and whisper brilliant plays in his ear. But I’m not sure that’s the case. He obviously has given up on the Haiti situation, as the only decent thing happening there is that more people are having their limbs chopped off rather than dying of infection. I’m pretty sure He’s not interested in answering any of Pat Robertson’s prayers because Pat Robertson is a douchebag. In addition I suspect Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit all feel pretty guilty about how they handled the whole Hurricane Katrina debacle. A Saints win wouldn’t exactly make it even, but it would certainly help morale, at least until everyone is sufficiently buzzed for Mardi Gras.

Many people are wondering whether God actually answers prayers, and I am not going to be sucked into that debate right now because I’m anxious to make a new cole slaw recipe for the Big Game tomorrow night. But I can tell you that if God was a better listener, my son would have foregone his obsession with trains, ice cream sandwiches and bras in favor of a propensity for, say, bathing, and he would not at this very minute be using his aircraft carrier to scrape long visible scratches on the bamboo flooring.

It makes sense for God to interfere in this particular Superbowl because — duh, it’s the Saints. And what with the NFL trying to claim ownership of the Fleur de Lis symbol, which Joan of Arc carried on a flag as she led the French to victory over the English more than 400 years ago, it’s clear that God has reason to flex his Holy Muscles and kick some booty.

So while it has been many years since I’ve believed in signs from God, I am hellbent on the power of this clementine prophecy. Obviously I have an alternative motive because the clementine peel will be worth quite a bit of money after the Saints beat the Colts, and I’m excited to use the proceeds from the sale to redesign my backyard. It may seem sacrilegious to sell such an artifact, but it’s actually quite generous on my part because I’m anxious for other people to recognize its significance.

Rest assured, though, that before I auction it off, I will hold it to the heads of my adorable children to imbue them with any residual Holy Spirit. If nothing else, it will make their skin smell good. Geaux Saints.