PSALMS!

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Postby Cosmo Tautology on Mon Oct 03, 2005 7:48 pm

A psalm

1Oh! Mighty Midgit (sic)
2The smell of Beef wafts to my nostrils of my nose.
3 Behold! My nose hears words of Meatballs
4 (And There Shall be but Two Meatballs,
5 for three meatballs are an abomination, and verily!)
6 Kansas shall permit scripture to be taught in Science Class!
7 Glory unto the State Board of Education!
8 Holy is Bobby (for he is the Chosen Prophet of the Noodley One,
9 Who is Unseen (and Invisible)
10 And Flies
11 And Has Two Meatballs
12 And Eyes
13 Let me be touched by His Noodley Appendage!
14 Let me be inspired by his Marinara!
15 Let me smell the Oregano on his breath!
18 And The Basil in his Sauce
17 Anoint me in Olive Oil
18 And dress me in Full Pirate Regalia!
19 Lead me to Garlic!
20 (And my Parrot, also, verily!)
21 I beseech you , oh Durum Semolina Master
22 Forgive me (Although I be not worthy!)
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Re: ...........

Postby Father Jerome on Fri Oct 14, 2005 9:18 am

Solipsy wrote:And so it came to pass that the copying and the pasting of the posting of the writing, as it did appear thus far in this thread, was done. And the FSM looked down, and His Great Noodly Appendages did quiver with saucy delight. And he did proclaimeth: "Cool. So Far, So Good." Thus spake Our Lord in Marinara.

It was proclaimed throughout that Boards of His Holy Discussion that the Divinely Inspired Writing should not cease, but rather should continue, for to Him, it is most pleasing..................



A SONG OF OREGANO in praise of FSM deleted
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Postby Cosmo Tautology on Thu Oct 27, 2005 10:53 pm

The following text is taken from papyrus scrolls collected in a very low-ceilinged cave on a Mountain several miles further from anywhere than Nag Hamadi ever was. We are talking so far from anywhere that they make the Dead Sea look like CBGB. Meticulous study has revealed that these texts predate the reign of King David by several decades and must, therefore form some of the source-texts upon which the “Song of Solomonâ€￾ (Solomon being David’s son) is based. Unfortunately, this dating also places the composition of these scrolls well before the creation of the Universe (which Jim Armagh, the usher at a movie theater in Peoria, calculates to have occurred at midnight on the first day of the fourth month of 2004), and therefore part of the False Evidence which has been placed by the Flying Spaghetti Monster as part of some Obscure Plan of which only He has Apprehension. Scholars, theologians, chefs, and pirates are fairly certain that He is snickering behind His Appendage even as you are reading this, enjoying some joke that the rest of us are neither omniscient nor omnipresent enough to get. Sometimes I think that it might be better to believe in a creator who randomly smites people instead. But then I remember: our heaven is way better, and we have Flimsy Moral Standards.

Song of Semolina

Chapter 1

1. The song of songs, which is about Semolina.
2. Let me eat it with the teeth of my mouth: for thy marinara goes
3. better than wine. Because of the savour of thy good olive oil thy name is as
4. olive oil poured forth, therefore does the bruschetta love thee. Draw water, we will boil it: the chef hath brought me into
5. his kitchen: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy meatballs more than the wine: the hungry love thee. I am hungry, but I tip well, O ye wait-staff of the Olive Garden, as the patio out back
6. by the parking-lot, as the appetizers at the Bar. Look not upon me, because I am hungry, because my lunch hath worn
7. off: my grocers were angry with me; those who wanted me to eat low-carb; but low-carb I would not eat. Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where
8. thou makest thy pasta to eat at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of patrons at thy restaurant? If thou know not, O thou fairest among noodles, go thy way forth by
9. the footsteps of the patrons, and feed thy kids inside the Red Lobster. I have compared thee, O my pasta, to a pile of ramen in
10. A poor college student's dorm. Thy noodles are comely with lots of parmesan, thy meatballs with sauce
11. of marinara. We will make thee borders of tomato with flakes of basil.
12. While the chef sitteth at his table, my oregano sendeth forth
13. the smell thereof. A bundle of garlic is well-beloved unto me; it shall roast for
14. several minutes inside my oven. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of bacon-pieces in the carbonara
15. sauce. Behold, thou art fair, my pasta; behold, thou art fair; thou hast
16. meatballs and eyes. Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also my plate
17. is empty. The fork in my hand is silver, and my knife of stainless steel.

Chapter 2

1. I am a pirate of spaghetti, and pirates sail in galleys.
2. As a chef among the pirates, so is my pasta among the doubloons.
3. As a parrot among the birds of the wood, so is my entree
4. among the dinners. I sat down under one of those bistro-parasol-thingies with great delight, and the beer was sweet (figuratively) to my taste. Midgits [sic] brought me to the banqueting house, and the banner over me was
5. "All You Can Eat". Stay me with flagons, comfort me with breadsticks: for I am sick of
6. Global Warming. Some of His Noodly Appendages are under my head, and Some of His Noodly Appendages doth embrace
7. me. I charge you, O ye wait-staff of Olive Garden, by the ravioli, and by
8. the salad that never ends, that ye stir my pasta, lest it stick to the bottom of the pot, till it be al dente. The voice of my waiter! Behold, he cometh leaping from the
9. kitchen, skipping past the bar. My waiter is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth
10. behind one of those fake-plaster walls, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice. My waiter spake, and said, Unto your pasta, want you
11. cheese on that? For, lo, the lunch special is past, the happy hour is over and gone;
12. The breadsticks appear on the table; the time of the singing of
13. some Italian song to some dude whose birthday it is has come, and the voice of the parrot is heard in our land; The pirate putteth on his best eyepatch, and the volcano with
14. the beverage of thy choice giveth a good smell. Arise, my stripper, my fair one, and come away. O my parrot, that art on my leftward shoulder, in the secret
15. places of the ladder to the sterncastle, let me see thy beak, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and I'll bet you want a cracker. Take us to the midgits [sic], the little midgits [sic], that stand by Some Trees: for
16. Some Trees are on The Mountain. My pasta is mine, and I eat it: I feedeth also upon meatballs.
17. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my
pasta, and be thou like a midgit [sic] or a young midget upon The Mountains with Some Trees.

Chapter 3

1. By night on my bed I sought him whom my stomach loveth: I sought
2. him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the
3. broad ways I will seek him whom my stomach loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. The cops that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw
4. ye him whom my stomach loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom
5. my stomach loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my house, and into the chamber where I eat dinner. I charge you, O ye wait-staff of Olive Garden, by the midgits [sic], and by
6. the midgets of the field, that ye stir my pasta, lest it stick to the bottom of the pot, till it be al dente. Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like balls of
7. meat, perfumed with garlic and basil, with all the breadcrumbs of the merchant? Behold his flour, which is durum semolina; threescore valiant buccaneers are
8. about it, of the valiant of the Seven Seas. They all hold swords, and forks, being expert in piracy, and extrusion and boiling: every man hath his
9. sword and fork upon his thighs because of fear in the night. The Flying Spaghetti Monster has made himself a table of the wood of Some Trees.
10. He made the legs thereof of oak, the top thereof of
11. formica, the covering of it of red-and-white checks, the midst thereof being paved with a bowl of breadsticks, from the wait-staff of Olive Garden. Go forth, O ye Pirates of the Seven Seas, and behold The Flying Spaghetti Monster with
the Meatballs wherewith he is composed along with the Marinara Sauce, and the multiple noodly appendages.

Chapter 4

1. Behold, thou art fair, my entree; behold, thou art fair; thou hast
2. eyestalks within thy pasta: thy pasta is as a glob of noodles, that appear on my plate. Thy meatballs are like balls of meat and bread crumbs, which
3. are covered in sauce; whereof they are twins, and none is unspherical among them. Thy lips are like a noodle covered with scarlet sauce, and thy speech is comely:
4. thy dessert is like a piece of a tiramisu upon my plate. Thy salad is like the Astrodome builded for an salad bowl,
5. whereon there hang a thousand trenchers, all plates of mighty men. Thy two meatballs are like two balls that are meat, which
6. abide among the noodles. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to
7. The Mountain, and to the hill of Franks and Beans. Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee (save maybe that tiny spatter of puttanesca sauce).
8. Come with me from the fo'c's'le, matey, with me from the fo'c's'le: look
9. from the top of the Afterdeck, from the top of the Mizzen-mast and Foremast, from the Bilge, from the Mountains of the Midgits. Thou hast ravished my stomach, my entree, my dinner; thou hast
10. ravished my stomach with one of thine eyes, with one appendage of thy noodles. How fair is thy taste, my entree, my dinner! how much better is
11. thy sauce with wine! and the smell of thine olive oil and all thy spices! Thy cheese, O my entree, drop as the honeycomb: tomato and basil are
12. under my tongue; and the smell of thy sauce is like the smell of Ragu. A garden enclosed is my entree, my dinner; a spring shut up, a
13. fountain sealed. Thy plants are an orchard of tomatoes, with pleasant herbs;
14. basil, with oregano, Oregano and garlic; and majoram, with all trees of
15. thyme; rosemary, and onion, with all the chief spices: A fountain of gardens, a volcano of living beer, and streams from
16. A Mountain. Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my Olive Garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my waiter come over to my table, and bring my extruded entree.

Chapter 5

1. I am come into my galley, my skipper, my helmsman: I have gathered
2. my tomato sauce with my spices; I have eaten my marinara with my pasta; I have drunk my wine with my rum: eat, O mateys; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O midgits. I sleep, but my stomach waketh: it is the voice of my entree that
3. knocketh, saying, Open your mouth, my pirate, my buccaneer, my privateer, my sea-dog: for my head is filled with grog, and my cannon with grapeshot and chain. I have put on my cutlass; how shall I put it on? I have washed my
4. jolly roger; how shall I fly it? My skipper put his hand on the tiller by the stern, and the course
5. was changed by him. I raised up the mainsail; and my hands held belaying pins,
6. and the timbers with sweet smelling tar, upon the planks of the deck. I opened the hatch; but my skipper had withdrawn himself, and
8. was gone: our course changed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer. The watchmen that went about the crows-nest found me, they smote me,
8. they wounded me; the keepers of the mast took away my eyepatch from me. I charge you, O wait-staff of Olive Garden, if ye find my skipper,
9. that ye tell him, that I am sick of being mistreated. What is thy shipmate more than another swab, O thou scurviest
10. among dogs? What is thy skipper more than another sea-dog, that thou dost so charge us? My skipper is drunk and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
11. His hat is as the most fine tricorn, his beard is bushy, and
12. black as a raven. His eye (the one without the patch) is as the eye of a parrot by the mizzen-mast,
13. shot with blood, and fitly set. His cheeks are woven with fuse-cord, as intimidating as a burning face: his lips
14. like caterpillars, drooling smelly rum. His ears wear gold rings set with the beryl: his waistcoat is as
15. bright satin stuffed with loaded pistolas. His left leg is as a pillar of pine, set upon the stump of his
16. thigh: his countenance is as Davy Jones Locker, strewn with debris and wreckage. His mouth is most foul: yea, he is altogether vile. This is
my skipper, and this is my friend, O wait-staff of Olive Garden.

Chapter 6

1. Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among entrees? Whither
2. is thy beloved turned aside? That we may seek it with breadsticks. My beloved is gone down into the Olive Garden, to the beds of spices,
3. to feed in the gardens, and to gather garlic. I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: I feedeth among the
4. never-ending salad. Thou art beautiful, O my love, as pici, comely as vermicelli,
5. terrible as a fleet flying the Jolly Roger. Turn away thine eyestalks from me, for they have overcome me: thy angel-hair
6. is as a sheaf of capellini boiling in water. Thy meatballs are as the orb of the moon which rises at twilight,
7. ruddy as blood, as if covered in marinara. As a piece of bruschetta are thy meatballs within thy linguini.
8. There are threescore midgits [sic], and fourscore Mountains, and
9. Some Trees without number. My dinner, my entree is but one; it is the only one of its
10. chef, it is the choice one of him that cooked it. The wait-staff saw it, and blessed it; yea, the bartender and the bussers, and they praised it. What is it that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon,
11. clear as the sun, and terrible as a fleet flying the Jolly Roger? I went down into the Olive Garden to see the
12. dessert menu, and to see whether the tiramisu flourished and the cappucino brewed. Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the ships of
13. Blackbeard. Return, return, O Privateer; return, return, that we may look
upon thee. What will ye see in the Privateer? As it were the booty of two galleons.

Chapter 7

1. How beautiful is thy pasta with sauce, O my entree! My
2. appetizers are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning chef. My wineglass is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy
3. pasta is like an heap of noodles set about with marinara. Thy two meatballs are like two balls of meat that are twins.
4. Thy pepper-grinder is as a tower of wood; thine salad like the fishbowls in
5. Petsmart, by the gate at the mall: thy carafe is as the tower of Pisa which leaneth toward the left. Thine cheese upon thee is like snow, and the sticks of thine bread
6. like garlic; the chef is held in the galley. How fair and how pleasant art thou, O Holy Meal, for dinner!
7. This thy statue is like to a fountain, and the fish-mouth
8. spouts forth water. I said, I will go up to the hostess, I will make a reservation
9. thereof: now I shall wait at the bar, until my table be ready; And the appetizer of my mouth like the best hors d’oeuvre for my tummy, that
10. goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are hungry to smack. I am hungry, and my server is coming toward me.
11. Come, my customer, let us go forth into the dining room; let us sit
12. at the table. Let me sit by the mural of the vineyards; let me see if the wine
13. flourish, whether the tender breadsticks appear, and the never-ending salad bud forth: there will I give thee my tip. The garlic gives a smell, and by the door are all manner of
plastic fruits, new and old, which decorate the foyer, O my entree.

Chapter 8

1. O that thou wert as my matey, that sucks down rum like it is
2. water! when I should find thee without, I would greet thee; yea, I should not be despised. I would lead thee, and bring thee into my skipper's galley, who
3. would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of grog of the juice of cane. Some of His appendages should be under my head, and some of His appendages should
4. embrace me. I charge you, O wait-staff of Olive Garden, that ye stir my pasta, lest
5. it stick to the bottom of the pot, until it be al dente. Who is this that cometh up from the kitchen, carrying my
6. entree? I raised thee up under the Some Trees: there the midgit [sic] brought thee forth: there he brought me forth that tip thee. Set me as a plate upon thine table, with a fork beneath my arm, a napkin upon my chin: for
7. marinara stains are hard to remove; low-carb is cruel as the grave: the bread thereof is bread of dust, which is as dry as a popcorn-fart. Low-carb beers cannot quench thirst, neither can the low-carb beverage of choice:
8. if a man would give all the substance of his meal for a diet, it would utterly be bland. We like a little meat, but we also like starches, breads and pasta: what shall we
9. do with our meat in the day when it shall be our entire meal? If it be a ball, we will build around it a palace of pasta: and
10. if it be a chicken breast, we will pound it flat, enclose it with a crust of breadcrumbs and egg, and melt cheese on top. I dressed like a pirate, on my shoulder a parrot: then was I in His eyes (on their eyestalks)
11. as one that found favour. Semolina is made from wheat; He let out the pasta
12. unto buccaneers; every one for the food thereof was to bring a thousand pieces-of-eight. My dinner, which is mine, is before me: thou, O Semolina, must
13. have a thousand, and those that keep the food thereof two hundred. Thou that dwellest in the Olive Gardens, the customers hearken to His
14. voice: cause me to hear it. Make haste, my waiter, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.
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Postby Solipsy on Thu Oct 27, 2005 10:58 pm

note: The placement of this here is due to Song of Solomon often being considered "the longest Psalm"

By the way, WHOA. :shock: :twisted: :lol: :shock: :twisted: :fsm_glee: :fsm_rock: :fsm_monocle: :fsm_crazy: :fsm_glee: :shock: :fsm_rock:
This space for rent,
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Postby DaveL on Fri Oct 28, 2005 1:07 am

Dude/Dudette,

That's just awesome. Welcome to the Beer Volcano, cause that's where your headed. Nice work!
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Postby Sylvie369 on Fri Oct 28, 2005 7:42 am

God, that's brilliant. I'm amazed. I loved this part:

While the chef sitteth at his table, my oregano sendeth forth
13. the smell thereof. A bundle of garlic is well-beloved unto me; it shall roast for
14. several minutes inside my oven. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of bacon-pieces in the carbonara
15. sauce. Behold, thou art fair, my pasta; behold, thou art fair; thou hast
16. meatballs and eyes. Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also my plate
17. is empty. The fork in my hand is silver, and my knife of stainless steel.


and of course also

t Thy meatballs are like balls of meat
He who is not busy being born is busy dying -
Bob Dylan
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Postby Disco on Fri Oct 28, 2005 5:01 pm

Dude, you get some kudos fo' sho'

I wish I could write like that ;-----;

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Postby Father Jerome on Sat Oct 29, 2005 9:45 am

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Postby Cosmo Tautology on Sat Oct 29, 2005 5:46 pm

Thank you all for your kind words. In some other religion, I'd probably have to indicate that I was unworthy or some such. Anybody know the official FSM position on humility? :D
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Postby Father Jerome on Sat Oct 29, 2005 6:09 pm

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Postby Cosmo Tautology on Sat Oct 29, 2005 6:15 pm

I'll be humble if you think I should. Why, I'll bet that I can be humbler than anybody, ever! Yes, sir! That's me! Humble and proud of it!
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Postby Father Jerome on Sat Oct 29, 2005 6:52 pm

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Love the Primavera eater, Hate the Sauce

Postby hipunk on Wed Dec 28, 2005 8:26 am

As a new convert, I am unfamilure with all the texts And I'm unsure where it would fit. However, this came to me in an epiphany, so I wanted to jot it down lest I forget. Because, It seems that meat balls go with Marinara.

"And he so loved the Meatball that he created the Marinara. That noodles sould lay with Marinara and noodle lay not with Marinara as it would with Primavera."

Which of course leads me to concude:

Love the Primavera eater,
Hate the Sauce





.
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Re: PSALMS!

Postby Platypus Enthusiast on Mon Mar 02, 2009 3:57 pm

It's been a while since the last post and the Second Council of Olive Garden would like to bring this thread back to everyone's attention in order to collect more delicious scripture for the Loose Canon. So please keep writing Psalms in order to please our Noodly Master.
Check out an official Pastafarian holy book, the Loose Canon: http://loose-canon.fsm-consortium.com/the-loose-canon/

"With Him, All Things are Pasta-Bowl."
-ProvHerbs 3:35
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Re: PSALMS!

Postby Platypus Enthusiast on Fri May 21, 2010 2:40 pm

Pastalms 16-22 by Aba Sababa

Pastalm XVII

1. Your most humble servant, that I
2. Might become a waiter on high
3. Serving your immutable word
4. To diners.

5. I wear white today, that I
6. Might be graced by the slight magenta hues
7. Of pureed tomato, with basil, and garlic
8. As between bites I spill your blessed sauceliness
9. Upon my blouse.

10. Another helping, please, that I
11. Might munch gratefully
12. In abject reverence
13. For two eternities.

Pastalm XVIII

1. As I gaze upon my
2. Plate of exquisite aroma
3. And subtle flavor
4. I cannot but wonder,
5. What is this spice that
6. My good lord
7. Has placed before me.
8. His words appear like a mighty fire
9. In the sky
10. “Eat the dish that I will show you
11. The dish you do not know
12. And you shall win at life.”
13. I nibble.

Pastalm XIX

1. Who can know the multitude of
2. Raveled knots
3. Of the Lord’s manifest
4. Starchiness?
5. Who can know the infinitesimal
6. Time, the precision
7. Of boil, required for a
8. Holy al Dente?
9. Who can know the annual
10. Carbohydrates consumed per
11. Capita in exotic lands
12. Like Norway, and Yemen?
13. The Lord, in his eternal noodality,
14. Knows, and grants us life
15. That we may ask, and wonder, and
16. Praise.

Pastalm XX

1. Blessed is the chef
2. who cooks only in kitchens of brick
3. and serves his labor to your loving mother;
4. His delight is in the sauce of the Puttanesca
5. that he might one day imbibe its pleasures;

6. He is like a meatball fondled by the tiny hands of youth,
7. before it is seasoned
8. and tenderized
9. and baked;

10. Not so the diners!
11. They could not discern the highest cuisine
12. From the lowest serving of Hamburger Helper;

13. Therefore the diners will not stand in judgment,
14. nor the critics in contempt;

15. For the LORD watches over the makers of delicious
16. That their dishes stay delicious for eternity.

Pastalm XXI

1. I waited patiently for his Noodliness;
2. he turned to me and heard my cry.
3. He lifted me out of the boiling hell
4. out of the steel and bubbling waters
5. he poured me into a strainer
6. and placed the finest butter in my knots
7. A brief shake, and then
8. He set me down upon a gilded plate
9. Dressed my countenance in the choicest parmesan
10. And sent me forth into the gullets of believers.

Pastalm XXII

1. Blessed is the man of faith!
2. For the Lord shalt hasten his pot’s boil
3. And guard against the sinful foam
4. That rises up on the stove of the sinner

5. Blessed is the man of faith!
6. The man who shelves his egg-timers and stopwatch
7. And trusts the Lord to whisper softly in his tender ear
8. When his Prophet, Muhammad al-Dente, emerges from the froth:
9. The harbinger of peace, harmony, and damn good taste.
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