As an Irish-Italian-American from New York, I have no culture. We used to have Forlini’s (rest in peace) and Catholicism, but we lost that to edgelord socialites. The Sopranos has been effectively beaten to a pulp of its former cultural significance. What is left? We go to midnight mass. Once a year my family makes a lasagna that my great-grandmother Ox used to make.
That changes today. Today, during this Lenten season, we have a miracle. Thy name is spaghetti raccoon. My long alliance with woodland creatures continues to thrive.
Please meet SPAGHETTI RACCOON.
My friend Laura texted me this picture of a raccoon eating spaghetti in Central Park, captured by her friend Lily in June 2020. She tells me that as Spaghetti Raccoon partook in his pasta dinner-for-one, he spoke to her words that she has never quite forgotten:
Take this, all of you, and slurp of it.
For this is the spaghetti of Spaghetti Raccoon.
My red sauce of the new and eternal covenant,
Which will be boiled and strained for you and for many
For the forgiveness of sins.
Do this in memory of me.
Amen.
