The One True Noodle (Or: How I Learned to Stop Thinking, and Love the Carbs): An epiphany simmered directly into the noodle of a Pastafarian neophyte.
Avast, Ye Matey, and hear the word, without hearing, for I have been touched by His noodly appendage. I may not have the wisdom of his saucy scholars, but I have been the rare recipient of His vengefull views. How ignorant the belief I previously held so dear. How spiritually suicidal of me to mistake the multitude of empirical evidences as anything besides the histrionics of His noodly appendage.
Avast, Ye Matey, and hear the word, without hearing, for I have seen, without seeing, the sauce, and the spice of His soul. The great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster has shown me, without showing me, all that He was, is, and will be. I'd lived my life trapped in a world of practicalities, logic, and science. I'd worshipped the great beast that is mathematics; algebra, calculus, even long division. I was destined to forever forego freedom from philisophical fantasy.
Avast, Ye Matey, as I understand, without understanding, the truth.
Avast, Ye Matey, and bring forth, without bringing forth, your worries, your independent thought, and your money unto he who is the great. and true Flying Spaghetti Monster, so as he may take away all your worries, ideas, and money. Looking upon the face of the great, and true Flying Spaghetti Monster, without actually looking, is to be free from the need for worries, ideas, or money. The great, and true Flying Spaghetti Monster will take your worries, and sautee them into fine, and truly good, mushroom sauce. The great, and true Flying Spaghetti Monster will take your ideas, and twist them into perfect, and truly good, Bow Tie pasta. The great, and true Flying Spaghetti Monster will take your money, and buy an expensive, and truly good, kick ass pirate ship with all kinds of bad ass cannons, and ye olde stuff.
Avast, Ye Matey, and dress, without dressing, in the garb of his chosen people. Ye must always, and forever dress in the accoutrements of the men of the sea. Be it puffy shirt, funny hat, or a parrot on ye shoulder, it be a pirate life for ye. Ye must always wear these because they are good, and truly his chosen garmets. You must always wear these things to please the one good, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster, as to keep his rage at a cool ye olde seventy-five degrees, with a slight breeze coming in from ye olde east. Should the chosen people of the noodle stray away from this path, He shall become angry, and you wouldn't like Him when He's angry, bringing his spicy garlic base to a violent boil, warming all the lands, melting the polar ice caps, and cutting massive holes in His ye olde ozone layer.
Avast, Ye Matey, and hear, without hearing, the great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster speak through this mere neophyte. Listen, without listening, to the Not Commandments, but Suggestions, and follow, without following, the path. Ye, he, who is the accepted chosen of his noodly appendage shall find, without finding, all that which most comforts him in the afterlife, since making things all cool and stuff in the current life is hard, or something, for the great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster. Ye shall not blame him for waiting until the day thee passes from this mortal toil, as ye have no idea what its like flying around all day, using his noodly appendage to trick ignorant scientists into believing all things which his great, and true, noodly self thinks are funny. Ye think thats easy? Feh! The great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster would like to see you be everywhere at once, doing all the stuff he has to do. The great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster says if you think you can do a better job, then you try. Hence his noodly appendage brings forth naught but pain, suffering and misery in this world, since its just easier that way, and saves the eternal bliss of permanant paradise for when the sauce has slowed in ye olde veins, and the noodles have ceased their wiggle, both of course, metaphorically speaking, since naught but His body, and blood are composed of such delicious delicacies.
Avast, Ye Matey, and take his word for it, without taking his word for it, that the beer volcano's, and the stripper factories are pretty freaking sweet. Just, ye know, wait it out. Trust the great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster. Does ye think He would lie? For what reason doth he have to lie? All He's asking, without asking, is for your blind faith, and your money. The great Flying Spaghetti Monster wants to know what you'd do with the money anyway? Eh? Probably just buy beer, and strippers with it! The great, and true, Flying Spaghetti Monster says "Pay for a stripper today, and you have a stripper for a night. Pay the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and have a stripper for eternity." Good advice He thinks.
This concludes the vision handed down to the neophyte, and hopefull acolyte of the Great Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Arrrrrrrr...
EDIT: Edited to adjust for the mistranslation of His great word in regards to the garb of the choosen.
Rape, pillage, and plunder your way to the land of beer volcano's.