The Pastalamentations of Father Jerome
Written while in exile among the heathen Tacobeanians
1O Lord of Starchy Tentacles, hear thy repentant servant in exile:
2I sit on the bank of this dry river; yea, I cry out to thee in heart-rending pastalamentations; but lo, my tears shall surely cause the river to flow afore they may soften Thine heart and make Thee relent.
3Woe is me! Thou hast exiled me into this land of heathenistic Tacobeanias; and woe unto them, for they worship untasty gods. But let their beans be upon their own heads.
4Thou sayest, O Lord FSM, that I shall go forth and mingle with the heathens and break Spaghetti with them in atonement for my sins?
5Yea, therefore I shall go forth and eat Thy Noodly Meals in public places, and in the company of loose women, fornicators and others who reject Thine Hallowed Substance; yea, I shall go among the sinners of Phoenix so that they may observe my ways and thereby learn to consume Thine Hallowed Delicious Meal. Yea!
6Behold, in my search for Thine Holy Pasta I had entered “Antonio’s Fine Food ala Italiano.” At least so proclaimed the unevenly flashing neon sign above the entrance door.
7And in the poorly-lit room I saw tables which were gaudily covered with red-white checkered cloth. My heart rejoiced. Pasta be praised, for is not Our Lord Spaghetti with Meatballs of Italian-Pastafarian persuasion? Surely, I shall find my Lord Pasta in this house.
8And, lo, I rested my ass upon a vinyl-covered chair and waited for the high priest to come and arrange for Thee to appear in Thine Holy Form of Spaghetti and Sauce and Meatballs.
9Someone emerged from the darkness of the eatery and accosteth me. “Stranger, what wishest thou of me? Mayhap taco salad; bean tacos; sour cream chicken enchiladas” Thus spoke the high priest of that heathen eatery.
10“None of these–nor none of those,” I answered in indignation. “Only Spaghetti and Meatballs, and all smothered in His Sauce; for I am an orthodox Pastafarian. And make it pronto!”
11So I instructed this false priest of my wishes, albeit in the awful dialect of Tacobeania, a lingo that resembles Espan(ol.
12And thus spake he: “O stranger, thou must know this: Antonio’s joint hath changed ownership more than twice; I strive to serve foods which are clean in the eyes of our own regional gods ‘Taco and Enchilada.’ But I wish your God ‘Pasta’ (sneer, snicker) a very happy landing.”
13“But, stranger unto our land and customs,” he then added, “my heart is not made of river rock. Mayhap the harlot–uh, cook, Juanita, can find a handful of forgotten spaghetti in some nook or cranny; behold, I may yet persuade her to cook a sauce for thee…say, doest thou like beans?” So spoke the heathen who served unto the false gods ‘Taco’ and ‘Enchilada.’ Woe unto them.
14And behold! The parquet floor shifted and all chairs and tables trembled. Oh, fearful sight! A mountain of flesh came unto my table; and–behold–it was the part-time cook: Juanita.
15And such were the consequences which had resulted from the ingestion of unholy foods: she was as broad as she was tall, and thus her form appeared to be spherical.
16The words of an English bard came to mind: “Marry, sir, she is the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light.”
17And behold, her protruding belly supported two bowls, and those bowls she topped off with the lower pair of her four enormous breasts. In her entirety she fully resembled the legendary four-breasted harlot of Phoenix. And woe! that she was.
18And lo, from her first bowl she served me a dish of ersatz-pasta and hamburger helper and salsa. Behold, the second bowl was empty.
19And she stood near my right side and waited. And I ate while she stood there with the second bowl, the one that contained nada.
20And it came to pass that I had finished the heathens’ blasphemous substitute for Holy Pasta and Sauce and Meatballs.
21Lo, the mountain of flesh held her empty bowl beneath my chin; and I understood this to be her subtle hint that I should place a substantial offering into that vessel; therefore I searched my purse for some loose shekels, whereupon she frowned; and then she spoke:
22“Fie, stranger, it is not thy monetary reward that I wouldst cherish; but pray, why pukest and fartest thou not? Hath my food not been to thy liking?”
23I refused to oblige her, and thus she retreated with nothing more than one clean bowl in her hand. (Lord, who can understand these heathens’ ways?)
24Lord Pasta! I cry out to Thee for deliverance from exile; for I crave Thy Pasta; Thy Sauce and Thy Meatballs. I have been good; am I not Thine obedient Pastafarian? Exile me, O Pasta, if Thou wilt, to Chicago; or to Cleveland; even to Milwaukee; anywhere; for there, Thy Pastafarians shall serve Thee well.
1Woe unto me, for I still live in the land of heathenish Tacobeanians. Verily, the displeasure of Our Lord FSM is still upon me.
2Behold, I consort with one of their most-vile denizens: the aforementioned four breasted harlot of Phoenix; yea.
3And lo, it came to pass that she entered into my kitchen (for she desired to learn about my Lord Pasta and His Condiments and His Meatballs).
4And, Lord Pasta forgive me, I ogled her four stupendous breasts in amazement, for never before had my eyes beheld more than three breasts on any female body. Lord, for viewing that abomination, yea, I rightly deserve fifty lashes with Thy Noodle.
5And it came to pass that she desired to learn how to make Thy Blessed Meatball, and so I shewed her how to prepare Thy Balls of Protein.
6“Much-esteemed four-breasted harlot of Phoenix,” I said unto this heathen, “first thou takest of the following:
7One pound of hallowed ground beef; 1/2 cup of bread crumbs; one egg that thou first beatest lightly; ½ cup of sacred Spaghetti Sauce; 1 tsp of salt and 1 tsp of onion flakes. Then thou mixest the entire Holy Shebang and shapest It into 1 inch Holy Balls. Thou bakest His Sacred Balls in a pan, in a preheated oven at 400 degrees, but for no more and no less than 20 minutes shalt thou bake Them. “
8“O Master of thine own oven,” spoke the four-breasted harlot of Phoenix. “Woe is me, for I have kneaded one of my contact lenses into the Holy Mix. See? it lieth here upon the surface of His Meatball.”
9“Behold,” I replied, “do not distress thyself, gracious harlot. Cook this, thine Holy Ball and consume It along with the lens; for then Our Vision-enhanced Holy Meatball shall fully see thine innermost self as He passeth through thee. Yea, He will see everything, including the taco.”
1Woe unto the four-breasted harlot of Phoenix! Her filthiness is in her skirts; alas, clean laundry hath not yet been delivered to my abode; for here she now resideth. But who am I to look for flaws in her? Behold; I am not the cleanest myself.
2Yea, even she is an abomination in the eyes of her people, and she existeth at a pariah level equal to mine; but she pitieth me, for I am a foreign lowlife here in Tacobeania.
3Behold, she inquired: “Wouldst thou not show me, O master of thine electric oven, how even I, a common harlot, might make fine spaghetti from plain dough?”
4“Hush, gentle harlot,” thus spoke I. “Spaghetti derives from Holy Dough; therefore thou must, when thou speakest of Lord Pasta, capitalize the first letter in His Name, yea, and even those which are found in all adjectives and all such which stand afore It; for they greatly serve to glorify His Holy Doughy Entity; verily, such reverence pleases Him mightily.”
5 “But let us not dally, for we must make Spaghetti from Holy Dough, but no more and no less than is required to sate the hunger of one Pastafarian and his heathen consort.”
6Behold! Thou takest two cups of flour and two eggs, no more, no less; for so it is written. Thou addest one T. of salt; next thou takest ½ cup of water at room temperature and addest it to the previous. Thou mixest it well until it is on the firm side; it shall be neither soft nor hard. And, behold; there is The Holy dough.
7Then thou kneadest His Holy Dough on a well-floured board, and then thou shalt cover It for some time. 7. Now thou kneadest thine Holy Dough on a well-floured board, and then thou shalt cover It for some time.
8Take thy knife, oh, harlot, and cut His Starchy Dough into manageable sections. Well done!
9Next thou rollest each of These Doughy Portions into a Holy Ball.
10Behold, now thou rollest each Ball into a Sacred Circle of no more than 1/2 cubit in diameter; and His Thickness shall be between ¼ inch to ½ inch.
11Next thou takest thine Holy Disks and rollest Them through the rollers of thy Spaghetti machine for the desired final thickness.
12Yea, now thou runnest His Holy Circles through thy purified Spaghetti cutters and hangest His Strands up to dry”
13Great Pasta! Behold, that heathen woman hath placed Thine Holy Spaghetti into a seething pot of water and cooked it for two hours.
14And woe, she said unto me: “Ees theees whadda coooked spaghettees shou’d loook like, huh?”
15Woe, all Thy Strands have jelled into a pasty two-inch layer. Woe, and woe! she then proceeded to slice a pocket into this glutinous lump and defiled it with pinto beans and such.
16And the four-breasted harlot of Phoenix found Thy desecrated representation to be exquisite in flavor; and woe, she renameth the ‘The Mighty Gordita.’
17Lord Pasta, my heart is heavy; my body no longer lusteth for the harlot; it desireth only Thee. Besides, she is toooooo mucha grande for me. Yea
1Oh Lord Pasta, here is a word for the wise: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
2Woe is me, for the harlot of Phoenix hath broken my teeth with gravel stones and creased my pate, for I had shewn her the door.
3And I said unto her: “Harlot, thou breakest my teeth, thou cuttest off my hair; now my strength and my hope is perished.”
4And it came to pass that she mumbled: “Whatever! thou foreign ninny…” And behold, then she rearranged her breasts and, with that out of the way, she gracefully rolled down the porch steps and right out of my life. (Keep on rolling, rolling)
5Lord Pasta is merciful in His mysterious ways; hath He not released me from bondage to that heathen behemoth?
6Yea, and now I shall go forth and purchase a can of His Preserved Representational Body, for I need to regain my strength; if such is His will. RAmen.
1Lo and woe! Above all, how much longer, Lord Pasta, must I remain in the land of the Tacobeanians?
2 My tears have filled the previously dry river bed, the one which our heathens now call ‘The River of Tears.’ For a river of tears it becomes each time thy servant crieth out to Thee for deliverance from exile. Yea! Yea, for such is my great sorrow.
3 Behold, I have rent into pieces my finest Gucci shirt and strewn ashes upon my pate. I have given my Lucchese alligator boots to a hobo. What else wouldst Thou that I should offer unto Thee and the local trash heap? My Calphalon Anodized 8-pc. Cookware set?
Written after his deliverance from exile and ensuing gluttony.
1Behold, Lord Pasta, I still cry out to Thee. Mine eyes are once more filled with tears. Woe is me, for I am in gastrointestinal distress: My bowels are troubled; I am bloated; my pyloric valve hath closed up well-nigh permanently; woe, my acid reflux condition hath reached hitherto unknown discomfort levels; I cry out in pain: O FSM, make it feel all better! Woe! woe! even my cats think that I am so full of S* (Spaghetti, that is)!
2Thy smell of garlic and green pepper is still upon me. Woe, woe unto me! The acidity of Thy Plum Tomatoes eats away the protective lining of my stomach; yea, and Thy Meatballs smote me mightily last night; for they contained a pinch of finely grated onions and pepper and salt and Italian seasonings; woe is me! Alas, only the makers of Chico’s Italian Hot Sausages would know for certain what all had been stuffed into their casings; for such mighty meaty links I had (probably blasphemously) added into Thy Simmering Holy Mix and allowed them to fornicate with Thy Meatballs. Woe is me, for even Thy Sauce hath contained too many of Thy Thrice-blest Spices.
3And woe, through my fault, through my fault, through my most-grievous fault, I overindulged in Thy Simmered Condiment which I had so generously poured over Thy Noodly Strands. Mayhap I should have partaken only in the consumption of Thy Farinaceous Appendages? Woe unto me for my reckless self-abandonment to culinary pleasure. Cursed be my palate; yea, I curse Thee and Thy host of taste buds.
4And woe, woe, woe; although Thy Scrumptiousness hath only been a brief foretaste of Thy Pasta Heaven, alas, I fear that I shall enter into Thy Kingdom with all mine earthly afflictions and therewith be doomed to eternally toggle between immeasurable delights and hellish torments. Woe is me ad nauseam.