Her Noodly Master
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," praise and worship for deities old and new, lightly used and recycled! Waste not, want not!
Yesterday we dropped my daughter The Heir off at her new college. We could have left my daughter The Spare there too, because even though The Spare's only 14, everyone thought she was an incoming freshman. Especially the guys.
The Heir loaded our car with all kinds of stuff, her California Raisin collection, her musical saw, her pet rock, her pimple cream, on and on. And when we got there, she had no pillow for her bed. It had taken us 90 minutes to drive the 36 miles to her college, so we decided it was easier to go pick up a pillow at Target than run home and get hers. (Which proved true, as it also took 90 minutes to drive home. Could have walked faster.)
In the time it took Mr. Johnson and myself to go to Target for a pillow, The Heir did a little exploring of her new environment. She was thrilled to find, scrawled on a dumpster next to her butt-ugly dormitory, a likeness of the Noodly Master ... the Great Flying Spaghetti Monster!
As I hugged The Heir farewell, we both took solace in knowing that a fabulous deity will be watching her from the side of a dumpster. The Heir has Pastafarian leanings. It won't take much persuasion for her to embrace the FSM in a very serious way. Thank goodness for that, because she's heard enough non-noodly dogma this summer to gag a goat.