Touched by an Angelhair

Freethought Today

Touched by an Angelhair

Our Pasta, who “Arghh” in heaven,
Swallowed be Thy shame.
Thy midget come.
Thy sauce be yum, on top some grated Parmesan. Give us this day our garlic bread.
And give us our Cutlasses, as we swashbuckle, spice the main-brace and cuss.
And lead us into temptation, but deliver us some Pizza.
For Thine are meatballs, and the beer, and the strippers, forever and ever.

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