Every year our household celebrates the vernal bogquinox. The week before, there is much cleaning and feasts of cheese in preparation. On the day of the vernal bogquinox our high priestess rises early, and lights a candle in the sepulchral in preparation. Other members of the house hold ingest copious amounts of prune juice in preparation, though timing is staged to avoid schedule clashes. The high priestess then leads her solemn procession to the sepulchral, while casting holy water about with toilet brush aspersorium. ‘Rejoice! For the moment is upon us!’ she cries. ‘The fires of your trial will birth you anew! The beam strikes true. The choir of plumbing answers. The Rite shall be fulfilled. Winter is banished, fiber is vindicated, and balance will be restored to the realm!’