By the Flying Spaghetti Monster
I’m not one to get all sensitive about the requirements of other religions. If you want to come close to your notion of divinity by abstaining from leavened grain products for a little over a week every year, I should have no problem. It’s your conscience. It’s your digestive system. It’s your wallet. But I have to say, despite the fact that you can’t prove my existence, I must admit I’m a tiny bit miffed at the saucy suggestion that I might be off limits on Passover because I’m made of wheat.
It shouldn’t bother me at all, theoretically speaking. You should be able to consume or not consume, to have or not have in your possession, any foodstuffs of your choice. I’m all about not committing to a specific belief system, and that means not declaring that any one system is out of bounds. Were I my colleague and competitor the Invisible Pink Unicorn, I would in fact harbor not a single objection to the traditional observance of Passover. But I’m the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Spaghetti, in its authentic form, uses durum wheat semolina, which, alas, is seldom, if ever, used in a manner that conforms with the traditional strictures surrounding Passover. I don’t know how to feel about this. That is, if anyone could prove I have feelings.
Under most circumstances I would not dream of touching you with my Noodly Appendage without your consent. It would be the furthest thing from my imaginary imagination. But I guess I sort of take it personally that I, as an entity, must not be a source of benefit during Passover. I’m all about benefit. Mostly the benefit of schoolchildren who can get a serious scientific education thanks to the tireless efforts of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. It would even bother me less if, like certain religious establishments, Jews banned me outright. That I would wear, as it were, as a creamy badge of honor. Or chunky! I’m flexible that way. Or Al Dente. Really, it’s up to you. But it somehow hurts more when the ban is only a few days. It somehow makes the rejection seem legitimate: overall, the Jewish attitude toward my essence is positive, but there’s this one little thing… It kind of makes me want to force my existence into their abodes when most forbidden, like a school board voting to put Intelligent Design into a science curriculum. Somehow, the observance of Pastaover by my followers is not enough. I want blood! In my matza, so to speak.
What’s that you say? Pasta can be made from kosher-for-Passover cake meal or potato starch? Alright, we’ll be fine.
And let us say rAmen.
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