Leftovers are Just as Good
This is an article I wrote for a blog (currently out of use) belonging to a friend of mine, so I have appropriated it for my blog.
I don’t promise to be a practitioner of any organized religion. Hell, even the Church of Sin won’t have me because I won’t pay the dues and I have a deep dislike of wearing a hat. So when the traditional games come to town of Judaism, Taoism, Mormonism, Jehovah’s Witnesses etc, I just tune them out. Those ideals simply do not occupy the same reality as I do. That being said, when something comes along that bucks the trend merely to piss other people off, I tend to take notice.
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster does just that. It is a reactionary piece to established religion and those establishments forcing themselves into the lives of people who just don’t want to hear it. Created in response to the Kansas State Board of Education forcing creationism onto those who are too bewildered by evolutionism, CFSM (abbreviated henceforth because I’m lazy) is the insistence that if you make concessions for one thing, you have to make concessions for everything no matter how ridiculous. This is sublime if only to spin an impressive yarn, larger than life or even creation, that encompasses some of my favorite things.
When it comes to the agents of a religion, the concentrated level of FSM practitioners (to which I refer to as Spaghettiphiles) is so deliciously rich it has reached the same viscosity as the sauce that their deity dons. To be more specific, instead of having ‘weekend warriors’ like Christianity who are holy only on days that begin with ‘sun’, Spaghettiphiles may follow the FSM bi-daily, although sometimes less often. Practicing is done by means of consumption. It takes a lot to fake a religion and creativity is essential. So, practitioners of CFSM require a lot of brain-fueling carbohydrates. This elicits the positive feedback loop where Spaghettiphiles have larger, more creative brains to produce the lore of their religion, and must eat the brain-food of their deity to perpetuate said lore. This noodlification of the higher functioning centers of the brain is all that the FSM requires of it’s followers. What’s best is that many random people unintentionally practice without knowing it!
People that practice CFSM are outgoing, fun and enthusiastic individuals who don’t have a strict uniform (Mormons) or limitations to what they can and can’t do (sodomy, drive, drink, vote). Limiting people does confine the ability to choose, but NOT limiting people forces them to do something different. With no boundaries, people are forced to be intelligent, sarcastic, vocal and probably into some really gnarly things in the bedroom. This is where individuals really shine (not focusing on the bedroom bit). If you take away the restriction of sweeping, crushing and debilitating obedience, followers are much more likely to participate. I support conforming to the anti. Going against the grain is relatively popular nowadays and it is easy to enter this trend. A side effect is that person believes that they continue to be an individual and not part of a group. Again, the noodlification, massaging of the brain-noodles and washing of them in the spirituality of creativity, is essential.
What’s more, on a more serious note, Pastafarianism unabashedly comes down to money. MONEY. The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster scrounges up funds by simply pillaging. Compare this to more ‘mainstream’ methods of begging, pleading, lying and frankly, guilting people into parting with their worldly wealth. I can appreciate a direct and practical method of generating revenue by forcibly removing it from people. This whole process is conducted by the effective missionaries of CFSM: pirates.
I fucking love pirates. For those who are inclined to enjoy tales of those cloak-and-dagger, stealthy dweebs most commonly known as ninjas, my only comment is, “Ninja, please”. My love for pirates stems from their unwavering honesty because you know they will punch you in the face and fucking rob you while you are looking intently into the middle distance. Furthermore, for men who don’t shower, wear badass, jockey-free clothing and have an airborne animal as a pet while they sail on the open ocean, that just demands a level of respect. Ninjas can’t be bothered to get wet or to speak or even to dress in style… a black costume that hasn’t changed in four thousand years? Excuse me. One outfit does not have legs enough to run for four millennia.
Now, those who would argue, “Cameron, if you protest silly uniforms that may or may not be grounded in reality, what the fuck do you call a pirate hat and peg leg?’. To that, I respond that stereotyping pirates is a form of hate crime. We have all grown up with pirates in movies being swarthy, grizzled, mutilated and downright rude. Fine. What is missed in this is that it is a lifestyle. Not ALL pirates dress and behave this way. There are pirate business men. Pirate newspaper boys. Pirate doctors. Don’t discriminate because a pirate doesn’t fall into said stereotypical categories.
Lastly, pastafarianism is not unique to the human species (unlike the goat-raping, lamb-slaughtering legions of organized religion). Cats, like humans, love pasta. Just ask that fat piece-of-shit, Garfield. Except for lovable pictures of kittehs less-than-three’ing pasta on the internet, popular culture has been inadvertently spreading the word of the FSM through television. Those unaware of the modestly popular show ‘The Soup’ may not know that they have a mascot dubbed Spaghetti Cat. This speechless feline patiently waits for and bravely gloats over a full bowl of pasta while suffering jibes and glares from Pastaphobes. Most television shows bragging about whatever god is “in” are relegated to Sunday morning on public access. CFSM has been enjoying free cable airtime for at LEAST two seasons.
The end-all-be-all metaphor I have been developing and groping for is this: In the CFSM, what you do is take your brain, boil it for 8-15 minutes, pour into a colander and then allow yourself to devour your brain-meats while salting to taste.
Frankly, in the very least, it makes me hungry.