It is written that the Pasty Pagan, a deity of questionable taste and dubious hygiene, shall return once more to the land of the living.
His arrival shall be heralded by a great feast of stale crackers and congealed cheese, which shall be served upon a platter of worn-out pizza boxes.
The Pasty Pagan shall bring with him a retinue of followers, each of whom shall be clad in a flowing white robe and a name that sounds suspiciously like "Boris."
Together, they shall march upon the land, leaving a trail of discarded snack packets and crushed dreams in their wake.
But fear not, mortal, for the Pasty Pagan is a benevolent deity, and his return shall be a time of great rejoicing and feasting.
Or, at the very least, a time of great discomfort and regret.