World-Wide Pastafarian Toast Post

Embargoed until Sunset, Wednesday 19 September 2012.

Aaarrr me Hearties, friends and family

Buccaneers and Doxies,

Honoured privateer guests, Captain Pugwash, Blind Pugh

Your Noodliness-in-Effulgient-Effigy.

On this auspicious evening in which we conclude “Talk Like  Pirate Day” with a worldwide Sunset Pastafarian Toast, I would like, if I may, to tell a little story that illustrates the international importance and significance to our modern global culture, of events such as we are celebrating here tonight.

Forgive me if I revert to normal speech.   I have been speaking Pirate all day.   I have some very important points to make which should be made in clear and concise terms.

The rise of Pastafarianism is not the same as the rise of ordinary dough, because unlike the yeast-based leavened watery farinaceous mix used for bread, the staff of life turned out by the pasta mill goes on for ever, and noodles do not have an expiry date.

There is a farinaceous lesson to be learned here.

This was illustrated to me at a very early age, when my dear old (late) Grandfather called me to his knee one evening while my dear old (late) Grandmother was preparing spaghetti for dinner.  It was such a long time ago now, before the age of television and telephones, when most houses still did not have electricity, and many only had water from a pump outside.  I was barely four at the time, but I remember the occasion very well, because we were having spaghetti for dinner, with chips and gravy.  My Favourite at the time, though I liked it with sausages too.  But I digress.

In those far off days, the British had not yet quite come to terms with what Granddad politely called “Foreign Food” and were not well educated on how to serve exotic dishes such as spaghetti.  In any case, Granddad liked chips and gravy with everything, even Brussels Sprouts.

Pasta was just beginning to catch on in the contemporary imagination but in those days was still considered to be a rare treat of course.  Sticks of dried spaghetti were highly prized and stored carefully in the pantry for special occasions.  I could see my Grandmother was a little twitchy about Granddad handling the pasta, but the fact that she allowed him to do so and waited patiently as he told me his parable, indicated even to my young mind that what I was about to hear was of life changing importance, much like the admonishment from my other Granddad a few weeks before, about keeping it in my trousers when I went to school next year.   I knew it was important, but I had no idea what it meant.

My dear old Granddad started by picking up a single stick of spaghetti.  “Son” he said, “As you go through life you will find there are times when things seem hard and it is easy to be overcome by even the smallest of untoward events.  Some minor force will just snap you in two.  As he said this he broke the stick of spaghetti in two with a snap that made me jump.  He held up the two pieces for me to regard with sombre concentration for a moment, before handing them to Nana, who put them back into the pasta box.  (We did not have plastic spaghetti jars back then).

Next he picked up a whole handful of spaghetti, as much as he could grasp within his hand.  “When you have family”, he said “and good friends around you, life is a little more like this when it throws its vicissitudes your way”.

I imagined vicissitudes to be something like intestines, and wondered if they were slimy when thrown at one.  I could imagine it would be very unpleasant but could not guess how spaghetti might rectify matters.

Granddad wrenched the bunch of spaghetti with all his strength.  The entire bundle broke and shattered, throwing pieces all over the floor,   leaving him with two handfuls of unevenly broken lengths.  Nana scurried around picking up the fallen pieces from the floor, dusted them off and put them back in the box.  Then with “Tch tch” noises, she retrieved the two bundles of half sticks from Granddad, and replaced them too.  Then she folded her arms and regarded Granddad soberly.  I could tell she was very interested in what he would say next.

Granddad looked pensive for a moment, and I almost began to believe that something had gone wrong, when he suddenly perked up, smiled his wonderful Granddad smile,  reached into the pot with a fork, and pulled out a limp strand of cooked spaghetti.   He held it up, grasping each end between a gnarled old thumb and forefinger and stretched it out.   Then he folded it carefully in half, so he could hold each end in one hand.  With the other hand he pointed at the loop dangling low and said “That there is the bight.  Cooked spaghetti bends, and raw spaghetti breaks.  That is all there is to it.  Just remember that whenever life seems to be going astray. ”

I pondered this for a few seconds before happily nodding my head in understanding.

Best to bite spaghetti in the middle before it is thrown at you.

“And incidentally, that is also why pirates carry cutlasses” he added.

So, as the sun sets before us at the end of this magnificent day, I give you a toast,

To Beer Volcanoes, Stripper Factories, Endless Spaghetti, and His Noodliness!

R’Amen!

NOTE:

The Sunset Pastafarian Toast event has been conceived and promoted by
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Which also has a Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/2204717621/

What we would like to see is the sun being followed around the world on a wave of grog (or whatever drink takes your fancy).
On the assumption that event pages disappear after the event, we have set up a dedicated fb page to post participation photos.
https://www.facebook.com/TalkLikeAPirateDayWorldwidePastafarianToast

We aim to get as many people as possible to raise a glass in celebration of ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day.’
Projected time is local sunset.
You can find your relevant time here.
http://www.sunrisesunsetmap.com/

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About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Entertainment, Food and drink, History, Humour, Life, don't talk to me about life!, Lifestyle, Pastafarianism, Philosophy, Political Correctness, Religion and Superstition and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to World-Wide Pastafarian Toast Post

  1. Pingback: Pastafarian Toast | Flitting Amongst The Swanplants

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