Today kids I want to talk about the Flying Spaghetti Monster. And no, I’m not talking about “The” Flying Spaghetti Monster with his noodly appendages and Pastafarian followers. We are much too lowbrow, here at the haus, to discuss the Lord of Linguine and his role in intelligent design. (But if you’re interested, there’s a good summary of the phenom, right here.)
Nope, we’re not talking about art today. And I think my dear old dad would agree with this choice, as I have oft heard him cackle with glee, “F- art!”
Yeah CG puts the “art” in “fart”
… But I digress.
So yeah, we need to discuss something that’s really imporant. We need to discuss, dear hannihaus readers, a little something called spaghetti.
More specifically, I’d like to know…
Is it retarded that even though I am, for all intents and purposes, a fully functional adult, I can’t eat spaghetti without first pouring it down my front?
Is it wrong that I instinctively don protective layers (I.e. Angel’s junky tees) before even thinking about eating organic Ragu?
Forget about boogey men and things that go bump in the night –my ass is looking out for the spaghetti monster.
The Spaghetti Monster:
Jumping off plates and leaving nasty stains since 1972
So you guys remember that horrible lag that just about killed you any time you commented? Well, it’s fixed now. (Thanks SORM!) Comment away kids!