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An elaborate spoof on Intelligent Design, The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster is neither too elaborate nor too spoofy to succeed in nailing the fallacies of ID. It's even wackier than Jonathan Swift's suggestion that the Irish eat their children as a way to keep them from being a burden, and it may offend just as many people, but Henderson, described elsewhere as a 25-year-old "out-of-work physics major," puts satire to the same serious use that Swift did. Oh, yes, it is very funny. -- Scientific American
Happy Friday to all may on this holy day a surplus of nonbelievers see the light and become pastafarians and pirtates
RAmen and pass the parmesian
I love the Flying spaghetti monster it’s my only friend.
i didn’t know what to call myself…..now i am proud to call myself a pastafarian!!
May His Noodly Benevolence shine on us all. Before I found the Saucy One, and my Hunger was Sated, life was an Empty Plate of despair and meaninglessness. Thank you, FSM, for thou art Tasty indeed.
Ramen.
A lonely Pirate, chillin’ in the backwoods of Texas.
Chillin’, thou mayest be, but I am crying the the wildernes of Dallas, low these forty years. let us speak.
The Flying Spaghetti Monster has saved my life. I now can spread the word of the Pastafarians.
RAmen
I recently purchased The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Almost needless to say, it has changed my life. Bobby Henderson’s satirical humor is very good, and the goals behind FSM are noble; religious tolerance, equality, and freedom of expression. At first glance I did not notice these wonderful goals within Pastafarianism. I sadly admit I did not see much farther than Pirate Regalia, spreading the word “Arrrgh!”, and blessing people with His noodly apendage. I now see a vastly deeper and fufilling religion that has truly touched me.
R’Amen
???? Just stumbled upon this site - what actually is it?
yea me and my bro FSM maybe get on hur every day in our 6 bell after were done with our work…we ARE TRUE BELIEVERS!!!!!!!!!!
RAman BITCHES
happy fridays eve y’all give me an idea that can prepare me for a bountiful fridays dinner that is different than previous fridays holy of meals, im starting to get sick on pasta
Ívar Atli Sívertsen,
By becoming a Pastafarian, we are all your friends too!
Need any help? Contact one of us!
RAmen
how can yall belive this it makes no sence at all?
RAmen my brothers and sisters.
Praise Pasta!
I have been a non-believer all this time, but now I see my frequent pasta feasts were only the touch of His Noodley Appendage in my Darkest Hours!
Praise be to Farfalle, Linguini, Macaroni, and Spaghetti!
I have been Touched by His Noodley Appendage!
RAmen!
Hail Pasta!
Hail Macaroni!
Hail Spaghetti!
I am a true believer of the FSM!
Ramen!
Eat well!
first of all i think there is no god. but the idea of having a god you can see at any italian resturant is nice. and i love it.
at least you are not killing people. good luck
I Wanted to buy a piret out firt from a costume store to show my true fait in his noodlelyness and when asked casually buy the shop attendent what i was using it for i explained that i was going to preach with a group of other believers and i explained about our religion, he asked me if i was joking and i said i was pastaly serious, and then he told me i should go fuck myself and that god would blast me out of the sky where i would burn in hell he then refused to sell me the costume!
“how can yall belive this it makes no sence at all?”
Then what makes it different than any other religion?
RAmen.
FSM clarifies many dangly, loose ends in my conscience. My ropes were all tangled up in a bundle when I looked in the barn this morning. Several roundish horse droppings were mixed among the mesh. Suddenly, the apparition began to congeal in the dim light of the barn. It seemed like a large platter of spagettee and meatballs sans the platter. Then, from the feed bin, I heard a still. small voice. It said,”Your sauce must come from within. Your good deeds and righteous thinking brings sauce into being.” I was stunned. I leaned back against the sheet metal wall and slowly slid down onto some freshly wetted hay. My damp pants didn’t bother me. I just looked at my ropes and what they had become. I was speechless, but not thoughtless. I thought about the sauce and how my web of ropes and pony pellets needed the sauce of completion. The warm, filling sauce of completion. I must find it. The still, small voice said I could do it. Could I trust the voice? Could I trust myself? I drifted off to sleep as the now warm, wet straw carressed my bodily form. I began to dream the dream of repeated dreams and then of flood. I awoke to a calf licking my face like it was a block of salt. The cows had come in to be milked and I must squeeze it from their teats. And all the while I kept thinking of the sauce, of good deeds and thinking. I had to do something. But what? Something had to be done. But what? I seemed to know it had to do with loose ends. The next morning, in the barn. I got my revelation.
Ramen my following belivers. How hard it is to be a follower of the FSM, however how benifiical it truely is.