The challenge: Along the lines of Gadsby and other fine lipograms, our staff writers were asked to take the Lord's Prayer (Protestant version) and rewrite it.

Using no letter "e".

The results:

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Oy!:

Our Patriarch who art in Utopian Lands, Holy is thy Sign.
Thy Kingdom Approach, Thy Will is Thorough on Land, as it is
On High.
Impart us this Day our Daily Provisions.
And Pardon us our Faults,
As I Pardon Humans who act against my Companions.
And Sway us not into Provocation, but Carry us from Corruption.
For Yours is thy Kingdom, Skill, and Glory, Continuously.

Fajitas:

Pious Version

Lord our God, holy is your call sign.
May your dominion approach, your word flourish, on land as on high.
Provision us today and all days,
And pardon our sins,
just as mortal pardons sin against mortal.
And do not point us toward wrongdoing, but pull us away from it.
For your way is virtuous, vigorous, and glorious. Now and always.

Colloquial Version

Big Daddy on high, your tag is cool as frost.
May your stock go up, your word rock on, down low, as it is on top.
Supply us with pizza and soda,
And don't mind our snafus,
Snafus occur for us, too. So what?
And don't put us in a position to fuck up. That just ain't right. Stop us
from fucking up.
For you got crazy, mad skillz, y'know? Word.

And, in the interests of equal time:

Hark, offspring of Jacob. God, our Lord God, is without match.

(Whazzup, Yiddish folk. God (y'know, big ol' G dash D?) ain't got no proxy.)

Elfpants:

D4dz0r @ H34v3n, U r0XX0r.
H3Av3N & Urth R p0wn3d

Crack:

O Big Kahuna who hangs on high, you rock our world!
Thy kingdom rocks, thy will rocks, both on this path as on yours.
Hand forth our food this day.
And pray don't mind our sucky bits,
As I, and my folk, won't mind it if most folks suck too.
And don't waft good stuff in front of us; bring us away from nasty things!
For thou art our Big Kahuna: who rocks, rolls and riffs all our days.

The Big Jew: Of all who study Judaism, I am most grand:

Hi, God.

First off, an introduction: I am not a spiritual man. If anything, I was brought up in Judaism. I ask your pardon if I stray, and only that you allow this prattling mind to do its worst. Know that I'm trying.

Right. Bow and pray. Bow and pray...

So... you float in black air, I subsist on carbon-grown food stuff. Such is our way. But I honor you. "God," orally, from my lips -- akin to sparkling diamonds from foul coal.

I am good. No, I am. I try as much as I can to supply this world with your bidding, your laws, your wish -- just as you always supply us with your warmth and passion.

I say "thanks" for nourishing food, for thirst-slaking liquids. I say "thanks" to you daily. That is, daily on days I don't put it all out of my mind. My alarm starts blaring at six o'clock and occasionally I nod off again, abandoning my, shall I say, spiritual thoughts.

Now I know you know I was not totally truthful about that "good" thing I said. Look. Usually I don't fuck around, but dammit if I don't bump into forty, fifty, sixty jackass idiots at any hour, any day. So what if I hit a guy? So what if I lust for that hot ass I saw across Bryant Park on Monday? Why should I worry about sin? You pardon anybody, gravity of said sin notwithstanding. So I ask for your pardon. (Again, I say "so what" if you don't find it in your soul to allow my dastardly doings.)

Oh, right... So Satan -- that guy has pull, you know what I'm saying? If you hung with him for a day or two, you'd want to savor that day. I'm praying that you don't push folks toward that "pit of anguish." But if you spot us walking that way -- turn us around, show us pity and compassion. (Although I will say -- his action is truly hot, and you might just want to join in!)

Don't go -- I'm still talking. Praying. Anyway. I know I'm straying from your original manuscript, but I can't work within such strict limitations. A final thought: You should modify your rulings. Although I will say that faith is a glorious thing, I worry. So many inhabitants of this country (nay, of this world) put such trust in faith (and trust in you), nobody wants to trust an ally. Blind faith brings forth blind pupils of God. Why trust? I say doubt your word, ask for grounds, motivation.

Showing up at church on a Sunday, singing along with hymns, consuming blood and body of Christ -- this is not satisfactory participation, not for your absolution. To fully warrant your admiration (and thus, absolution), your pupils should show proof that church, praying and hymns only signify actual loyalty to your word. I'm sick of flaccid morons who think gobbling up that biscuit is a coupon for salvation. That Christ was a martyr isn't our way out of working at doing important things of worth for our family.

I may not act as if I'm a paradigm of an idyllic soul. I'm not. I fuck up. Look around -- fuck-ups surround us. But to try to attain "good." To try to accomplish your wants -- ah, that's an activity not many want to grasp.

Okay. I think I should stop now. Your kingdom, your glory, your might. It's all you, my papa. All you, always.

Tesseract:

Yo, props to God who brought us into this world
Till your kingdom is nigh, shall man carry out thy will
In this world, just as it is in yours
Sustain us, and pardon our sins,
As sins against us shall all of us pardon
Conduct us not into Satan's pull
But transport us from iniquity
For all dominion, might and glory go to you
From now till infinity.

Soapsuds:

Our God, who is of paradisiacal living,
mortals call you holy.
Allow your kingdom to occur,
allow your will to form,
among mortals as among divinity.
Grant us daily food
and pardon unkind actions of mortals
as mortals pardon unkind actions of mortals.
Allow not our paths to stray from that which is good
and guard us from satanic might.
For all kingdoms and all might and all glory is yours
for all days.

Toots:

Yo Daddy-o, up on high, your callsign is da bomb!
Your hood is our hood, your laws our laws, what you want is cool in da city, as in da sky (on high, man).
Grant us bling today!
You pardon our bad shit,
as my boys'll pardon Jimmy, that fuck.
Don't show us hooch and do carry us AWAY from fuckin' bad shit, drugs and shit.
Yours is da hood, and da authority (authoriTAY), and all da glory in da big bad world, always and always, man.

Dr. Wombat:

Yo, Sky-Dad! You da bomb!
For us humans and sky-folk both.
I could go for a snack right about now, Sky-Dad.
Oh, and sorry for that thing I did,
I'm not grudging nobody, so my karma's good.
Toss out my porn mags, and kill Saddam and Osama,
okay?
You da man, you rock, all props to you.
Word.