"This time the foul winds speak the name of Beelzebub, lord of gluttony. So it is to him and his agents of debauch that I will address my entreaties to. I prepare for this ritual by donning the ceremonial mumu and by imbibing the concoction of blended big macs, cookie dough, and KFC Baconators. Spending the rest of my life getting winded just from having to take a piss is a small price to pay to ensure that the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim emerge victorious tonight. I focus all of the energy stored in my fat tissue and shout with a mouth stuffed with chicken nuggets “Oh Ronald Mc Donald, purveyor of grease and he who revels in childhood obesity! Turn your baleful eye on the Los Angeles Kings and fill their stomachs with obscene amounts of grease. May they regard the prospect of having to get out of their chair as being no different than scaling a mountain. Turn their hockey sticks to those reaching claw grabber thingies. Make the blubber hang from their arms so much that it makes swinging their stick impossible. I ask that you Leave their goalie be. Otherwise he would be able to block all the shots by just sitting there.”
I conclude the ritual by making one last offering to the Mighty McDonald by force feeding a quarter-pounder with bacon to the Olsen Twins. Then I snuff out the candles with syrup while singing the Oscar Mayer Weiner song. I also kneel before a sacred effigy of Gabourey Sidibe that I made out of Klondike bars and make the sign of the Golden Arches.
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