THE DIETER'S PRAYER

Lord, my soul is ripped with riot,
Incited by my wicked diet.

"We are what we eat," said a wise old man.
"Lord, if that's true, I'm a garbage can.
I want to rise on Judgment Day, that's plain,
But at my present weight I'll need a crane.
So grant me strength that I may not fall
Into the clutches of cholesterol.
May my flesh with carrot curls be sated,
That my soul may be polyunsaturated.
And show me the light that I might bear witness
To the President's Council on Physical Fitness.
And oleo margarine I'll never mutter,
For the road to h*** is spread with butter.
And cream is cursed, and cake is awful,
And Satan is hiding in every waffle.
Mephistopheles lurks in provolone;
The devil is in each slice of bologna.
Beelzebub is a chocolate drop,
And Lucifer is a lollipop.
Give me this day my daily slice,
But cut it thin and toast it twice.
I beg upon my dimpled knees,
Deliver me from jujubes.
And when my days of trial are done,
And my war with malted milks is won,
Let me stand with saints in heaven,
In a shining robe, size 37!
I can do it, Lord if you'll show to me
The virtues of lettuce and celery.
If you'll teach me the evil of mayonnaise,
The sinfulness of hollandaise
And pasta Milanese,
and potatoes a la lyonnaise
And crisp fried chicken from the south,
Lord, if you love me, shut my mouth."