has mudders flounced, or is she merely honing an exceptionally long post?
Dearhearts,
Belatedly inspired by the vote to
canonise me, I climbed a mountain of aubergines I've been saving for a rainy day, all the better to be touched by His Noodly Appendage.
For there has long been a spiritual void in my life that all the downward-facing dog in the world can't fill.
The Flying Spaghetti Monster had set down atop the pile when I got there, as corporeal as you or I/me. Al dente at any rate.
Was this really real or was it a dream fed by last night's pasta alla Norma?
"You built it, I came," he said simply. "I'll grant you three wishes."
Climbing is thirsty work, so first I asked for a cuppa from
Russell's Teapot, sipping it whilst he idly played with a
Möbius strip.Next I requested a silk purse from a sow's ear. I've always wanted one, and this might be my only opportunity.
This too was granted. He even threw in some folding money with Charles III on it looking decidedly peevish.
"Better spend it fast before it's completely worthless," said the starchy god, naturally all seeing, all knowing, and apprised of the latest budget fiasco by the Tories.
With a single wish left, I made sure it was a good one:
"I want to be in a Monty Python sketch."
"
Done," he said, then he was off, leaving a contrail of marinara and the gift of his Möbius strip as a lei.
So don't worry about me.
I'll be around.It is well: you have said the truth. It is indeed.