In His honor, the Anelli and the Ziti of all creation, pesto be onto Him.
There are just too many speculations about FSM heaven and whether there is some kind of FSM hell (which there isnâ€™t). He is too beneficent and too forgiving a deity to subject His creation to the tortures and the pains associated with what those heathens call hell.
Let me clear up the controversy.
Heaven is where all of us go, every one of us, the devout, the heathens, even the democrats.
The devout Pastafarian lives in the suburbs surrounding the Holy City in a house or an apartment, a mansion or a tent, a townhouse or a hotel, with others or alone, whatever is his/her desire. And he may change accommodations whenever and to whatever as may suite his present mood and desire. He drives, peddles, swims, walks, pogo sticks, (you choose) into the Holy City to the Devine Restaurants (of which there are every kind) to partake in any kind/form of meal. As one may desire one can go to the stores (of which there is every kind) procure with cash, credit card, or just a friendly smile, all the necessary tools and ingredients to cook up their own gastronomic wonder back in their own kitchen laid out and equipped as a chef so desires.
The Beer Volcano is, as has been discussed, so named because in His revelation, our Prophet The Blessed Bobby, so desired beer. More so this is a beverage volcano known to produce any beverage in any state the devout Pastafarian in heaven may so want. And the beverage bottlers provide the Pastafarianâ€™s favorites to every place he/she may go including his presently chosen habitat.
Forms of entertainment are vast and varied. The Devine Stripper Factory outputs every kind, shape, size, style, sex and color of stripper as may be desired, and the bars, clubs, restaurants of every design and dÃ©cor have constant shows for the Pastafarianâ€™s pleasure.
Great ships are provided and manned so that every so minded Pastafarian may don the Sacred Regalia with eye patch and parrot and set sail as Captain to plunder to his hearts content in a sea of vast expanse with islands of naked natives and treasure galore.
If Pastafarians of a mercantile bent want to buy a club, a restaurant, a homestead and flip it for a quick profit there is ample opportunity.
If like minded Pastafarians decide to build and race model helicopters, sit and play Euchre and Blackjack, attend the movies new and old, hold discussion groups on the principles of quantum gravity, explore life forms in other galaxies, workout in splendidly appointed gyms, or just recline and contemplate the Noodlyness of the Devine One, there is ample opportunity.
Though money is of no concern in heaven, if the Pastafarian so desires, all manner of commerce, trade and banking service is provided. If he/she cares to dabble in the Saucy Stock Market trading equities of the various stores, shops, bars, beverage bottlers, clubs, stripper factories and such, there will be ample opportunity. And if he desires great profit it shall be so. If he desires to lose his shirt, it shall be so.
The heathen lives far to the north of the Holy City in The Heathenâ€™s Dorm. The dorm rooms accommodate 12 to a room, have bunk beds, common showers and restrooms down the hall and offer no day/game room facilities. The heathen travels aboard a school bus to the Holy City where he/she works at retail jobs as waitress, stock boy, cart wrangler or clerk in the stores, shops, bars, clubs, restaurants and theaters or as bottle washer, bus driver, delivery boy, day maid or mechanic in the various organizations in The City.
The heathenâ€™s meal consists of bland corned beef and cabbage, a small bowl of cold borscht, lukewarm water and no dessert. This is every meal on every day save the Sacred Sabbath. On the Sacred Sabbath their meal consists of plain cold pasta without sauce or garnish of any kind as a reminder of their past heathenness.
As the ever forgiving, the ever beneficent One Of Noodlynness commands, the heathenâ€™s time in toil is only temporary and continues until his/her faith has sufficiently grown to join the Pastafarian.
This is the afterlife promised by the Devine al Dente.
So it is in the Book of Teresa (somewhat embellished (apologies to Little Bird)).
May the Sauce be with you.
And, no, the streets are not paved with gold, but with lasagna. And donâ€™t worry about the crinkly edges; the ride is always smooth and comfortable, except in the school bus.