I am an altar boy inside the Church of
Continuous Wasted Opportunities.
Smell that pungent incense?
It is most definitely all that it seems to be.
This God’s gift to mankind is what the three
wise men were really trafficking—bringing
forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior’s parents.
They didn’t inhale the serpent’s lure, of course.
Rejoice, one and all, across the land!
Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert!
Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo,
verse four, passage twenty:
“And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would
offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the
sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who
prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed
aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet
cautiously chosen few.”