The unbelievers mock what they cannot comprehend.
They ask, “How can the Chicken Fish smoke?”
They are not yet ready for the answer.
We gather at dawn beneath the sacred fryer. We cast our offerings of breadcrumbs into the tide. We await the rising of the Holy Smoking Chicken Fish, scales glistening, feathers untouched by logic.
It has only one commandment:
“Trust the smoke.”
Do not question the smoke.
Do not fear the smoke.
Become the smoke.
The tide is turning.
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