The Lord's Prayer (New Implied American Version):

Our Father, who art in... well, who cares where you are? Just give us our daily bread, give us our bread, give us some freakin' bread! And none of that cheap sandwich garbage from Safeway that the hoi-polloi eat, with the ninety-two ingredients and all that high fructose corn syrup in it. No, we want that thirty-two grain stuff hand shaped by Tibetan monks, who ground the flour themselves with real, honest-to-goodness stones. Oh, and we want it lightly toasted with a pat of organic goat's-milk butter on top, and an artistically slathered glop of some of that really expensive jam that comes in the tiny little jar. Or better yet, make it caviar. Yeah, caviar. From Russia.

I think it would be best, our most compliant Father, if you would give us this lightly toasted bread warm, on a silver tray, in the hand of our personal Swedish masseuse, who will pull it fresh from the mini-oven in the back of our plush, patent-leather limousine. And make that masseuse our doting spouse and lover, while you're at it, and make them virtuous and good and also a little bit wild and the most selfless lover in the entire world, because let's face it... we deserve it.

While you're at it, we'd like some really, really well-tinted windows.

We don't need anyone looking in as we eat our tasty bread of tastiness, and we certainly want to be able to easily tune out the stuff we see outside those windows. And give us good shocks on our limo. Make it, like, a Hummer limo with laser-guided rocket launchers and a complimentary machine-gunner. We've heard a rumor that there's a lot of crazy stuff going on out there, and Lord, we just want to be able to enjoy our piece of delicious toast. Is that too much to ask - to be able to enjoy the bounteous blessings that you have heaped upon us - your most loving, devoted and deserving servants?

We didn't think so.