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Ouroboros as envisioned by devout Ouroboroists and theology undergraduates.


For those without comedic tastes, the so-called experts at Wikipedia have an article about Ouroboros.
So... what's for breakfast?

Ouroboros on Breakfast

Your ass

Oscar Wilde on Ouroboros' breakfast

Ouroboros is the omnipotent, cyclical deity at the center of the Ouroboroism religion, represented as an ancient serpent who eats its tail, or alternatively, a huge, pissed-off doughnut. The symbolism behind this is the eternal renewing cycle of the Universe - as Ouroboros eats its tail, it is destroying itself, but it is also renewing its body. Of course, some would question why Ouroboros doesn't just stop eating his tail and go down to the 7-11 and buy a bag of Fritos or something.

The Origin of the Universe[edit]

Ouroborism stresses the realization of the Universe's cyclicality, and the role Ouroboros plays in this cycle, basically by eating His Tail. No one is quite sure how the Universe came to be, and no one is quite ready to come forth with a feasible explanation. One theory is, the Universe has always been here and will always be here stop asking questions and eat your damn chicken fingers!

It is believed that some time between 1337 B.C. and the advent of the automatic donut glazer, Ouroboros came into existence, presumably riding a majestic white cloud or some far-fetched idea like that. However, a more likely story is that some unintelligent primitive peoples found doughnuts and couldn't come up with a good-enough god to represent this delicious confectionery treat (SugarRing might have been a good name, but it was already taken by the pagan god of those little peach-flavored gummi rings you find at gas stations.)

Ouroboros as envisioned by skeptics and morbidly obese law personnel.

Ouroboros and Religion[edit]

A sacred text from the 17th century. The grease stains are still clearly visible.

Ouroboros is worshipped worldwide as the centerpiece of a widespread canon of prophecies which are little more than drunken rants scribbled in Sharpie across the back of envelopes and potato chip bags. Yet their message is glaringly obvious: "Ouroboros is the Supreme Ruler of the Universe and all those who deny Him are destined to an afterlife devoid of His somewhat passive semi-unconditional love". How they managed to fit all that on a snack-food wrapper beats me; regardless, thousands heed the call every year, and converge at one spot to give praise to their Lord at an annual ritual dubbed Ouroborofest.

Ouroborofest typically begins with a sermon and catered dinner, followed by a short recess for the Ouroboroists to converse and get to know one another better. It is at this time all peddling takes place with travelers showing off the newest whips and maces out on the market, as self-flagellation is a cornerstone of the Ouroboroist faith, along with rejection of alcohol and throwing water balloons filled with hot glaze at major government institutions. Then, at midnight, all followers report to a grassy field, preferably free of debris and cows, and strip themselves of all garments. They will then proceed to standing in a large circle, and eating each other's bodies, starting from the toes up. Biting is strictly prohibited, as it interferes with the mystical energies at work, and it fucking hurts. By the end of the night, there would be but two people left unconsumed, kinda like a sick, carnal game of Musical Chairs. As the remaining followers eat each other, the time-space continuum rips open for a fraction of a second and mortals are temporarily allowed to speak with Ouroboros, who is usually preoccupied with eating His tail and unavailable for chit-chat. Afterwards, the cycle reverses, and all members are expelled violently from one another's anuses. After that, it's just a matter of getting past the border patrol without being seen.

A modern-day Ouroboroist church.


At around the time of the Crusades, a great war was fought among members of the Church of Ouroboros, now caught in a brutal schism, the result of vastly different beliefs and religious practices. While the Eastern Orthodox Ouroboroists believed Ouroboros was a honey-glazed doughnut, the Protestant Reformationists asserted the belief that Ouroboros was in fact chocloate-frosted. The two neighboring sects would clash in an epic battle the likes of which have never been recorded in the history books (mostly cause no one really cares about a war over the flavor of a stupid snake that eats its own tail, for Christ's sake...) The first battle was an absolute disaster, as I'm told these things usually end. Blood and broken weapons littered the battlefield, and not a thought was spared for the local pastry shops, whose clergymen work day and night to craft the likeness of Ouroboros into their delicate sweets. The following day would come to be known as The Day the Pastries Ran Short (or Toen Het Gebak Op Was in Dutch) and was the closest the Ouroboroist faith has ever come to complete extinction. The next twenty-four hours would be crucial; for a whole day, cries of blasphemy and protests rang in the streets. Church bells stopped ringing, and perfectly good doughnuts were discarded in the street like mere garbage. It is believed that a total of three-thousand seven-hundred and fifty pastries, over half of them doughnuts, went un-eaten. The day was marked by one of the biggest floods in recorded history. All 72 of the little Dutch town's dikes burst open, expelling an ocean's worth of casual dessert serpentine wrath over the surrounding countryside. As usual, the atheists were quick to blame "weather", or "faulty engineering", or one of their silly little "theories" for the disaster. Everyone knew, however, it was the big doughnut that made the tasties go bye-bye.

The Revival of Faith[edit]

One of many fruitless attempts to convert non-believers to Ouroboroism. Oddly enough, people don't want to associate a creature that looks like a doughnut with milk.

Ouroboroism might have in fact disintegrated, were it not for one Bishop's unwavering faith. Legend goes, one day, while Father Benjamin Dover was eating breakfast, he saw a vision upon his toast: a perfect image of Ouroboros, etched in ashes and crispy goodness. Rather than take a chunk of jam and slap it on his bread like most sane folk, Father Benjamin had an epiphany, and proclaimed:

There are no historical records, and it is quite easy to assume Father Benjamin was talking about another deity, and the toast was actually a tortilla with a hole in the middle.

Regardless, the proclamation had profound reverberations throughout the world, and in less than a week, new churches were being erected, and Ouroboroism was again a shining example of how you don't have to read a big heavy book with lots of difficult words and be a good person to attain redemption; salvation is right across the corner, if you can find a doughnut shop.