Nice young fellow in *The World’s Funniest Atheist * named Father Connolly with the nickname “The Big Cannoli.”
At twenty minutes after ten the next morning, soon after Paul had returned from a long walk and Sam was deep into a television talk show that had recently replaced one of its four hosts, they heard a knocking at the front door.
“Opportunity,” Paul said and his father laughed.
“Open the door or burn in hell!” a deep voice said with authority through the closed door. Paul jumped and his father laughed again.
“If those are my choices,” Sam said loud enough for the man on the porch to hear him, “I choose eternal damnation.”
“I bring the Way, the Truth and the Life,” the voice said. “I bring the very body, blood, soul, and divinity of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”
“And…?” his father asked.
“Maple bars.”
“Open the door.” This to Paul, who now did as his father commanded. What greeted him on the other side was a fellow in his late twenties, at least six-feet-six and two hundred eighty pounds. Black shoes, black pants, black clerical shirt, red polyester baseball jacket. The white Roman collar around his neck had to be at least a size twenty.
“I’ve got Jesus in my pocket and pastries in a bag,” the priest said.
“Take the cannoli, leave the gun,” Sam shouted.
“The Godfather,” the priest said. “And it’s ‘leave the gun, take the cannoli.”
“You sure?”
“Hey, I have classmates who still call me ‘The Big Cannoli.’”
