…And the Quest continues.

*You've prayed to candles, clawed at fate,

Been blessed by aliens. Now you wait...

For something holy, hot, and fried—

A saucy thrill you cannot hide.

Beyond the bar, past lot and crack,

Where cords like noodles cross the black,

There lies a patch of sacred stone,

Where meat is kissed and sins atone.

The signs are small, the barrels bare,

But soon the scent will fill the air.

Step where the grill gods soon convene,

And chant aloud: “Drink More Ovaltine”

If you’re chosen, you’ll be fed.

If not? You’ll haunt the fryer instead