Our Dude, who art in Los Angeles,
Hallowed be thy handle,
Thy rug will come,
Thy chill be done,
All over earth as it is your bungalow,
Give us this our daily caucasian,
And forgive us our stresspasses,
As we forgive those who stresspass against us,
And lead us not into Simi Valley,
But deliver us from real reactionaries and human paraquat,
For thine is the lane, and the ball, and the what-have-you,
Down through the ages,
Across the sands of time,
Fuckin Ay man!
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