At Prosco...
At Prosco, there was the Nacho Cheese River, running north to south at the eastern edge of the compound. Sometimes, my brothers and I would bathe in the River’s cheese. On very special occasions, we would sacrifice a Buffaloggy to the River God, throwing the butchered animal carcass directly into the River, so as to have beef AND cheese for our wedding nachos. We would sing:
Buffaloggy, buffaloggy, buffaloggy oh!
Whist-e-lin’, a-brist-e-lin’, a-sizz-e-lin’ a-so -
A Divi, an Arca, an Anga, bu-po!
Tima’ a-doa’ mar-sala mo’ sho’!
And nevertheless, on occasions of sacrifice, we'd still have to bring our own jalapenos and sour cream, which always proved to be a hassle. The guacamole we’d share communally, having the tiny naked children smash the avocadoes with their tiny naked feet. But that was a long time ago, and I have since rescinded my pagan ways. Today, I am a Scientologist.
Buffaloggy, buffaloggy, buffaloggy oh!
Whist-e-lin’, a-brist-e-lin’, a-sizz-e-lin’ a-so -
A Divi, an Arca, an Anga, bu-po!
Tima’ a-doa’ mar-sala mo’ sho’!
And nevertheless, on occasions of sacrifice, we'd still have to bring our own jalapenos and sour cream, which always proved to be a hassle. The guacamole we’d share communally, having the tiny naked children smash the avocadoes with their tiny naked feet. But that was a long time ago, and I have since rescinded my pagan ways. Today, I am a Scientologist.