With a wire whisk,
slowly add the following ingredients, in random order:
Add three peeled phobias, two tablespoons of condensed neurosis, and a shake of schizophrenia.
Stir in all the compassion available, until the mixture is well covered.
Add excessive pizza, impressionistic art form, improvisional rock-and-roll, mangled seventeenth century hymns, and a generous supply of unrelated rhythm instruments in the hands of people without any sense of rhythm.
Amalgamate a dollop of weird, a pound of humor, an assortment of house paint, candle drippings, and movie clips.
Add a pinch of youthful mayhem. Two pinches.
Add additional love. Add twice as much love as you think is necessary to hold the mixture togehter--it will all be necessary.
Stir in a cup of tender mercy and an ounce of finely chopped brutality.
Add a packet of bad history and two of bright hope.
In a separate bowl, combine two parts skepticism with three parts faith, then fold into the mixture with scripture.
Season with passion, temper with inertia.
Deposit the mixture into a community pan.
Baste with contradiction then sprinkle with oxymoron.
Heat unevenly at postmodern temperatures for an arbitrary length of time.
Do not refrigerate.