Everyone, put your hands together and wiggle your fingers in imitation of the Flying Spagettii Monster.
Now pray with me.
Our Pasta, who "Arghh" in the colander, Swallowed be thy sauce.
Thy serving come, Thy strands be wrung, On forks as they are on spoons.
Give us this day our garlic bread, And forgive us our starchiness, As we swashbuckle, splice the main-brace and cuss.
And lead us not into Kraft parmessan, But deliver us from Chef Boy-Ar-Dee.
For thine are Meatballs, and the beer, and the strippers, for ever and ever. R'Amen.
Yes, I did copy and pasta that.