Holy Pete

The Great Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Out in my garage between the dust
there lives a monster that I trust;
he's made of semolina wheat
he is my friend, I call him Pete...
(He never told me his name.)

I come to Pete in spirit and truth
having learned of him in my youth;
I'm sure it was my dear aunt Ruth
(perhaps while in a Domino's booth)
so I am in the game.

Now great spaghetti cares for me
even though it's something I can't see;
For long ago did Pete command
to separate the sea from land
and form a meatball in his hand.

Pete flew around and set the clocks
because of the sins of pickpockets;
Pete twirled the earth with his aplomb,
loves colanders and bootlegged rum,
has a nephew named Tom.

He came to me one winter night
all a-drip in clam sauce white,
a frigid breath from pasta lungs
he spoke to me--I was so young;
it was no use... he spoke in tongues.

Still Pete is with me, this I know
because my garage door tells me so;
behold an image oh so thin,
some angel hair, Al Dente chin,
I'll bet it is lasagna kin.

Reviews

[Inci 2]

lasagna kin.. haha!!
very funny indeed :))

[LiveLaughLove]

lol! lov it
its a good write

[Baz]

This is excellent!! There are too many great lines in this to mention, but I think my favourite is:

behold an image oh so thin,
some angel hair, Al Dente chin,
I'll bet it is lasagna kin.

Classic! Long live Pasatfarianism...