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Today I will remind them. This is my lasagna. It belongs to me. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My lasagna is my best friend. It is my life. The source of my powers. My onahole. I must master it as I must master my life and my magic. My lasagna, without me, is useless. Without my lasagna, I am useless. I must ponder my lasagna daily. I must stick it to my lasagna harder than my enemy who is trying to out-wiz me. I must consoom the lasagna before he can eat his.
My lasagna is magical, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will scarf it down as I would any other edible item. I will learn its flavor, its texture, its nutritional value, its ingredients and its recipe. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and Sally Struthers trying to get me to donate it to starving African children with disdended bellies as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my pointy hat against damage. I will keep my lasagna clean and preserved for consumtion. Will will become part of each other.
Before the Valar, I swear this creed. My lasagna and myself are the defenders of the wizarding realm. We are the masters of warlocks. We are the saviors of Arda.
