50-48 #52: HE OF THE NOODLY APPENDAGE IS BLESSING US ALL

50-48 #52: HE OF THE NOODLY APPENDAGE IS BLESSING US ALL

When physicist Bobby Henderson created the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster in 2005, in response to discussions in Kansas about the teaching of intelligent design in science classes, he inspired people all around the world to begin worshiping a floating meatball wrapped in noodles. The 50-48 Religious Tolerance Desk even issued an official statement that year showing support for the new organization, arguing in part, “We here at 50-48 love all faiths, especially those that ridicule evangelical Christians.”

Why do we bring it up? you might be asking. First, the doctrine’s Eight “I’d Really Rather You Didn’ts” provide a powerful counter to Judeo-Christianity’s oft-cited Ten Commandments, and we here at 50-48 think that readers everywhere could benefit from their clairvoyant wisdom. Second, and most importantly, devotees of the Flying Spaghetti Monster—Pastafarians, to wit—believe above all else that pirates are “absolute divine beings.” Pirates loved peace and candy and board games just like everyone else. Their overly-negative reputation as drunkards, rapists, and Johnny Depp wannabes comes not from actual fact, but from an overwrought propaganda campaign propagated by Christians of the Middle Ages and Hare Krishnas. Pastafarianism has also successfully correlated the rise of global warming to the diminishing number of pirates in the world. Here is a handy chart: CLICK.

Finally, the pirate-laden theology of Pastafarianism is the dogma of 50-48’s new favorite non-Razorback, Mike Leach, who personally gave the most disgusting scum on the entire planet—the Texas Longhorns—a nice big shitburger to eat this weekend. It was a fitting punctuation to a glorious day that also saw the Razorbacks hang on to win a tight one against another 50-48 favorite, Gus Malzhan, and his game Tulsa squad.

(Of course, these aren’t the only interesting elements of Pastafarianism. The existence of the group itself leads to insistent and fundamental questions such as, in the words of the Associated Press, “Does religion require a genuine theological belief or simply a set of rituals and a community joining together as a way of signaling their cultural alliances to others?” But, unfortunately, trying to unpack the ontological consequences of that one would only lead us down a winding road, far, far away from the Hogs’ win and the Longhorns’ loss. Que sera sera.)

So, let’s get to it, shall we?

1. I'd really rather you didn't act like a sanctimonious holier-than-thou ass when describing my noodly goodness. If some people don't believe in me, that's okay. Really, I'm not that vain. Besides, this isn't about them so don't change the subject.

Obviously, Hootie isn’t paying attention to these commandments. And, sure, if there was one dark blot on an otherwise great day, it was Tubby’s inability to make Auburn look like anything other than a Pop Warner girl’s field hockey team. We here at 50-48 imagine Hootie is sitting somewhere upon his vast promontory high atop his compound in East Jesus, Mississippi or wherever his shit-filled compound that passes for a Fortress of Darkness and Solitude lies, giggling with giddy glee at taking credit for another victory he didn’t deserve and plotting which players to blame for his next loss.

2. I'd really rather you didn't use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don't require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.

Sorry, Spaghetti Monster, but Coach Leach and his pirate horde oppressed the ever-living shit out of the Longhorns this weekend. But, in his defense, the students, faculty, fans, and alumni of the University of Texas are not people. They are Satanic demons from outer space sent to earth to give us all an example of how not to behave. Also, they’re vampires. Also, despite what they might tell you, they all have chlamydia. No, no, no. Trust us. Don’t listen to that slutty girl in the bar in Austin, slurring her words and telling you how deeply emotional she felt when Lance Armstrong returned heroically from ball-cancer. She’s a walking VD factory. The devil is a deceiver, and he comes in many forms.

3. I'd really rather you didn't judge people for the way they look, or how they dress, or the way they talk, or, well, just play nice, okay? Oh, and get this into your thick heads: woman = person; man = person; Samey = Samey. One is not better than the other, unless we're talking about fashion and I'm sorry, but I gave that to women and some guys who know the difference between teal and fuchsia.

Speaking of looks and judgment, I’ve come around the bend on the hallucinatory possum that lives outside of my building. After a weeklong stakeout in the wee hours of the morning, I have come to the reluctant conclusion that Scampers is NOT a figment of my imagination. Though I have not yet mustered the courage to touch him, his consistent presence and inconsistent behavior lead me to believe that I simply have neither the imagination nor the possum expertise to create the depth of character required to climb trees, steal catfood, and dive headfirst into fenceposts. So my self-diagnosis of my own mental state is improving! Still, I’m reminded of the old joke: I used to think the brain was the most essential organ of the body, but then I thought, “Right. Well, look who’s telling me that.”

4. I'd really rather you didn't indulge in conduct that offends yourself, or your willing, consenting partner of legal age AND mental maturity. As for anyone who might object, I think the expression is "go fuck yourself," unless they find that offensive in which case they can turn off the TV for once and go for a walk for a change.

The Hogs ALMOST gave away a sure victory this week, and Casey practically gift-wrapped their comeback with a late interception that kept us from scoring and gave the Golden Hurricane a final drive to win. BUT THEY DIDN’T. So no criticism this week. The running game seemed to die on the vine, but Michael Smith’s 27-yard run in the first quarter was brilliant. Casey’s late interception hurt, but his 385 yards gave him more than the superior talent of David Johnson. The Hogs let a 17-0 lead evaporate, but they didn’t panic, even though Tulsa had one of those fancy ranking numbers prefacing their name. Sure, it’s now seventeen in a row against Tulsa for the Hogs, but this was a fundamentally different dynamic than years past. Tulsa’s offense would be a legitimate test for anyone—led, of course, by demigod and future Petrino-successor Gus Malzhan. Finally, the game-winning score came from little Dennis Johnson. After Tulsa tied the game with a field goal late in the third quarter, Johnson took the ensuing kickoff 96 yards for the winning score. Despite the frustrations that come from losing, WE ARE GETTING BETTER. And we here at 50-48 would much rather have steady improvement than some sort of baseline inferior mean, exacerbated every once in a while by a “defining win.” (Good luck with that, Rebels.)

5. I'd really rather you didn't challenge the bigoted, misogynistic, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat, then go after the bitches.

Nine of my last 10 meals have consisted entirely of Cheetos and candy bars. Why is that? What is it inherent in Cheetos that fosters such obsessive behavior? I don’t know. But I want out of this cheese-coated cage. Still, despite my best efforts, I have yet to find a hotline for such problems. I tried to call the suicide hotline, but the operator didn’t seem to think that Cheetos addiction constituted a viable reason to suck on a gas pipe. I called her a turd, then hung up. And then I ate some more Cheetos. Cruel mistress!

6. I'd really rather you didn't build multi million-dollar synagogues / churches / temples / mosques / shrines to my noodly goodness when the money could be better spent (take your pick):
1. Ending poverty
2. Curing diseases
3. Living in peace, loving with passion, and lowering the cost of cable
I might be a complex-carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I AM the creator.

This one seems to be a message to you, Little Rock. Stop trying to gild that shithole stadium with scoreboards and new aluminum siding. It isn’t helping. Instead, use that extra money for something positive. Perhaps you could pay for ego-reductions for everyone in West Little Rock. Or maybe you could teach everyone in North Little Rock to read and bathe. I also envision a fancy new government-subsidized whorehouse for use by visiting Razorback fans from out of state. Here are some name suggestions: The Pig In A Poke; Crazy Dirty Hog Sex; Woo Pig Do Me. You’re welcome.

7. I'd really rather you didn't go around telling people I talk to you. You're not that interesting. Get over yourself. And I told you to love your fellow man, can't you take a hint?

Prior to the start of games on Saturday, I was accosted by an angry group of psycho-Protestants who came knocking to ask if I was interested in attending their church. When I told them I wasn’t, they began questioning my motives. I told them those, too. And, whoa! They didn’t like that. The conversation got a little heated, as it always does with psycho-Protestants, and it was all I could do not to mention that I had to be going, because I had an appointment to ass-rape virgin orphans at the particular request of my lord and master Satan. But I didn’t. I was the picture of restraint. Besides, those people looked like they had just stepped off the Texas bigamy compound. Not the sort of folks you want to tempt. Still, I love being accosted by angry psycho-Protestants. It was like the Flying Spaghetti Monster was looking down upon me, promising me that the day was going to go my way. “You see,” he said. “At least you aren’t like that.” Right on.

8. I'd really rather you didn't do unto others as you would have them do unto you if you are into, um, stuff that uses a lot of leather/lubricant/vaseline. If the other person is into it, however (pursuant to #4), then have at it, take pictures, and for the love of Mike, wear a CONDOM! Honestly, it's a piece of rubber. If I didn't want it to feel good when you did it I would have added spikes, or something.

NOTE TO LITTLE ROCK: This would make a great sign for the bathroom wall at the Woo Pig Do Me.

So, what have we learned today? Well, the Hogs are continually improving, and as the recruiting classes continue to pour in, we can all look forward to competing nationally very, very soon. Also, we were reminded of what dirty fucks the Texas Longhorns are. But most importantly, we spent time meditating on the commandments of the great pirate religion of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, in honor of Mike Leach and his Texas Tech Red Raiders. Without them, Saturday still would have felt a little hollow. And so, we here at 50-48 exit for the week, stage left, by saluting the team that provided the perfect punctuation to Arkansas’s win over Tulsa:

Guns up, motherfuckers.

50-48
Fuck Texas
WPS

PS: Praise be to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and his noodly appendage of grace and redemption. Ramen.

PPS: Remember, those wanting to be on the 50-48 mailing list, to be updated when new installments come online, all you have to do is send an email to fiftyfortyeight@gmail.com.