The Monster is my Sauce, I Shall Not Want

Masterful, Ms. Elise House, masterful.

"I have recently developed a prayer to FSM, that I though I might share, for it is meat and right so to do.

Our Monster, who art flying,
hallowed be thy spaghetti.
Thy boiling come, thy sauce be done,
on earth as it is on pasta.
And give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our gastric bypasses,
as we forgive those who lipo against us.
And lead us not into evolution,
but deliver us from monkeys,
for thine is the linguine, the rigatoni,
and the fusilli,
forever and ever, RAmen."

"Another prayer, uncovered after years of study of the ancient we-Brew, a malty language I aled to decipher:

The Flying Spaghetti Monster is my pirate,
I shall not want.
He make me lie down in green pesto,
he leads me beside boiling waters,
he restores my sauce.
He flies me on the path of spaghetti,
for his name's sake.
And even though I walk
through the valley of the garbage of death,
I fear no disposal.
For he is with me, his noodle and his meat balls,
they comfort me.
He preparest a table before me, in the presence of my enemies.
He annointest my head with olive oil,
and my bowl overflows.
Surely carbohydrates and pirates shall follow me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the noodly grasp of the Flying Spaghetti Monster forever.
RAmen."