In 1992 I was travelling in the exotic wastes of South Amboy, New Jersey when, rising out of the ether of Route 9, New Jersey's Silk Road, I sensed in the cavernous abyss of my nostrils the acrid aroma of felled bovine, cooked in the customary fashion of the indigenous. My traveling companion instantly lowered the volume on what the locals call "The Steve Miller Band - Greatest Hits 1974-78", a recording of primitive religious chants and hymns popular among the local priesthood, slicked her synophrys with her wetted thumb, and pointed to the horizon.
There, an esoteric lodge rose over the roadway, its battlements festooned with the words "WHITE CASTLE" in which the local hierophants partook of a eucharist consisting of miniature steam-grilled beef sandwiches and fried potatoes.
Eager to be initiated into the Mysteries of the "Garden State," I partook in the eucharist a good three or four times, okay twelve times, when I felt elementals moving uncomfortably within me.
Unwilling to possess me as I had initially hoped, I repaired to the appropriate sex-segregated exorcism chamber and sat upon the sacred throne as the unhappy gnomes, undines, and sylphs flew from within me to darker and waterier places, and it was in the midst of this catharsis that He appeared.
Whether as a Leviathan of the abyss beneath me, a summoning of the Lodge beyond the door in front of me, or from the Astral Plane, or from the effects of food poisoning, or from Paramus, I know not, but over my left shoulder, from the furthest corner of the room, in a low voice seasoned by the local patois, he intoned:
Ey, stunad! I am Nachos Trismegistus (Castiglione), capo (chief priest) of Petey Pocketpool (Costa). Write this the fuck down.
What follows is the wisdom thereby imparted.
I warn initiates, acolytes, and petitioners all: Any doubt, quarrel, or deviation from what follows will most certainly result in your immediate death. It is therefore incumbent upon all students to believe in all earnestness everything transcribed here. To those skeptical or dubious I say, stop immediately and proceed not; maybe watch a Game of Thrones boobs compilation on the pornographic website of your choice instead.
The following index is organized by hour; as I remained in the exorcism chamber for nine hours, so, too, did the revelation proceed in nine parts, each hour corresponding to an unfortunate acquisition from Columbia House that I was remiss in returning, and was, concomitant with my delinquency, impoverished and humiliated by.
Snack on what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Corn chips are the law. Corn chips under melty cheese.
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