In history there have been many gods, although most of them are no longer worshipped.
Estimates of the number of gods currently being venerated vary between just 15 and 330,000,000 (Hindus, eh?!) – but last Wednesday Wilson wrote a letter to one of them.
Not just ANY god – not even the god it would be most appropriate to write to on a Wednesday: Woden – W chose to write to the one god with the self-awareness to acknowledge that he [or she or it] is not real: the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Imagine my surprise, then, when this morning a reply arrived!
The postman rang at the door and handed it to me in person – not because of its sanctity, but because it had been posted with Insufficient Postage.
A Golden Seraphim would have been good, but times must be tight in Pastafarian Heaven if they can’t even afford stamps…
Wilson has written a letter to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, explaining about the ‘miracle’ he thinks he witnessed and applying for the job of Pastafarian Saint.
Since the Church of Pastafaria is a satirical ‘religion’ founded to mock the teachings of creationists, I can only guess how his letter will be received.
What puzzles me even more is, how W knows the address of the Flying Spaghetti Monster…
Father Xmas [Santa Claus] perhaps, but an actual deity – albeit a satirical one?
I finally located Wilson round by the Asteroid Shelter, where he and the sTone Brothers were staring, awe-struck, at Mr Juicy’s grave.
(You may remember Wilson’s friend and co-star, Mister Juicy The Talking Orange, who died in tragic circumstances at the end of last year.)
I followed their gaze and saw, picked out by a sunbeam, an orange tree, bearing several oranges, growing out of the tomb.
‘It’s a Miracle, New Dad,’ Wilson whispered to me – ‘It’s a bona fide miracle!’
‘It’s NOT a miracle,’ I started to explain, ‘it’s just that Mr Juicy must have had some seeds in him when you buried…’
But Wilson continued, ‘I shall write to the Flying Spaghetti Monster – He will probably declare Mr J a Pastafarian Saint! He might declare ME a Pastafarian Saint, because I discovered the miracle!’
On hearing this, the sTone Brothers started shuffling about and trying to attract W’s attention…
Wilson was in the garden discussing yesterday’s match with the sTone Brothers.
When the Uckfield Bees play, their usual position is Left and Right Goal Posts, so their knowledge of The Beautiful Game is about as shallow as W’s – but none of them let cluelessness stand between them and a good chat as they discussed such topics as:
• Is Football Really Coming Home?
• What does that even mean?
• Should the Half-Time Break be extended if some of the players need a bit of a nap?
and
• Should the Handball Rule be relaxed if all the players have paws?
Suddenly, though, the air was rent by W screaming, ‘New Dad! New Dad! Come quick – something’s happened!’
I ran out into the garden to see what had occurred, and to determine whether First Aid would be necessary…
