O Mythrax, sneaky hoof-hearted master.

Mythopoetic Mythrax, hear me.

From the desire to be pretty, Deliver me from my butterface, Mythrax.

From the desire to be loved, Deliver me {express} a nymphomaniac, Mythrax.

From the desire not to be caught, Deliver me a P.O. Box under a dummy account, Mythrax.

From the desire to be honored, Deliver me a set of fake documents, Mythrax.

From the desire to be braised, Deliver me some extra spicy BBQ sauce, Mythrax.

From the desire to be preferred, Deliver me the powers of hypnosis and suggestion, Mythrax.

From the desire to be consulted, Deliver me an AI with all the answers, Mythrax.

From the desire to be a big-shitting-deal, Deliver me a human conveyor belt leading to a gold mine, Mythrax.

From the desire to be considered innocent, Deliver me a crooked judge, Mythrax.

From the fear of being discovered, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being sentenced, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being rebuffed instead of ‘buffed out’, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being calumniated or bromated, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being incontinent from drug usage, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being ridiculed, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being wronged, Deliver me, Mythrax.

From the fear of being a main suspect, Deliver me, Mythrax.

That others may be hated more than I, Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire.

That others may raise more red, white OR blue flags than I, Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire.

That I may grow in the opinion of the world as others diminish, Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire.

That others may be employed and I set aside solely to plunder and bother, Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire.

That others may be forgotten and I praised. Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire.

That others may be blinded to everything in me save for my meticulously constructed blowhole, Mythrax, grant me the grace to desire the undesirable and vice versa, pisces persia.

That I may be less moldy, more fresherer than them (provided I am as moldy as I can be).  Mythrax, grant me the grace to forge a face that won’t tire after punched rapidfire.