The coffee mountain

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Re: The coffee mountain

Postby Andrey Kurtenkov on Mon Nov 24, 2008 11:18 am

It is interesting that in the beginning in Europe, coffee was regarded as a holy drink, restricted to monks preparing for prayer.
En mateno de hela ero, per la forĉo de espero, venas viglaj pastafaroj, vere fluganta gefratoj.
Ah, vi flugu, Nia Monstro! Vin observas milionoj serĉiantaj vermiĉeloj, per espero kaj per amo.
Kaj la bona pastafaro post la malfermita pordo, trovos la eternan vivon en pastafara paradizo!
Pastafarier aller Länder, vereinigt euch!
Българска пастафарианска църква (Bulgarian Pastafarian Church)
- за прослава на Макаронения Бог :worship: :fsm_float:
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Re: The coffee mountain

Postby maldaen on Tue Dec 16, 2008 12:57 pm

Cardinal Fang wrote:I personally have always taken the beer fountain as metaphorical and assume that it will dispense beverages to each person's taste. Being british, in my case that would be tea.

CF

Yeah, I read "beer volcano" and I imagine all sorts of foliage and geological dispensements. I picture Coca-Cola geysers and cigarette trees. Praise be to the Al-Dente One. :worship: :fsm_float:
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Re: The coffee mountain

Postby Roy Hunter on Tue Dec 16, 2008 1:45 pm

maldaen wrote:Yeah, I read "beer volcano" and I imagine all sorts of foliage and geological dispensements.

I'm thinking the coffee mountain is an extinct beer volcano that has a conical crater in the top. The FSM (praise His noodles) has placed an enormous filter paper in this cone, filled with coffee (Columbian Fair Trade, Italian Roast, I think). When it rains, the mountain makes coffee.
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Re: The coffee mountain

Postby Rev. Rowan Redbeard on Tue Dec 16, 2008 4:13 pm

There is an old folk song that must have been written by a Pastafarian...


Big Rock Candy Mountain




One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burning
Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turning
I'm headin' for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains
So come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees
Where the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin
And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in
There ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picks
I'm a goin to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I'll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains
—Captain the Reverend Lord C.S. Rowan, Lord of Glencoe, Minister of Pastafarianism, Gentleman Pirate

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