Whenever you have need of anything, once in the
month
(but not *that* time of the month, as that would
be icky),
and never with your mouth full,
you shall assemble in some tasteful place and
adore My spirit,
I who am Queen of All Plastic Slipcovers.
You shall not be icky in your rites,
and as a sign that you be not icky,
you shall damn well keep your clothes on.
Sing Barry Manilow songs, dance real white,
make non-funky music and non-sticky love,
all in My presence, for Mine is a nice new rug
and I paid a bundle.
I am the soul of Tastefulness that gives neatness
to the universe.
I am the Doily on the Great Armchair of Life,
the Barcalounger of Respectability.
I give knowledge of the Proprieties Eternal,
and beyond death I give you John Tesh tickets
and My recipe for egg salad.
For behold, I am the Mother of all things,
and they should all please wipe their feet.
I call upon your soul to arise and come to Me--
and are you really going to wear that?
Let My worship be in the heart that is...well...*nice*,
for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are
My rituals
except for anything involving icky bodily fluids.
Let there be restraint and taste, neatness and
niceness,
all good things and no messy opinions among you.
And you who seek to know Me,
know that your seeking will avail you naught
until you know this mystery:
red wine goes with meat and white goes with fish.
For behold, I have been with you from the beginning,
and I am that which is restrained till you
FINALLY GET RICH ENOUGH NOT TO HAVE TO CARE.
© unknown, definitive author(s) - unknown
© 2001 Mother
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