His Noodly Embrace

By Krazydiamond

Max rushed down the gray corridor, hiking his robes above a blindingly white pair of thin hairy legs that hadn't seen the light of day since his missionary work in Bermuda. A state of emergency was called early this morning, demanding attendance from ALL denominations currently present on the planet.

No exclusions.

It was his time to shine. Of course, being a half hour late, scurrying down the halls with a soggy piece of toast dangling between his lips was not the impression he hoped to make among this elite gathering of religious individuals. The freaking pope was here! Not to mention any number of priests, rabbis, imans, and other miscellaneous holy men, all brought together by the mysterious summons.

Technically, Max wasn't supposed to be here. He'd wasn't aware he was going to be here at all until roughly six this morning, when Gary, the current prophet rang him up on the phone.

"Hey, Maxie, I need you to cover for me, yeah?"

"Mpf?" Max spoke through his toast.

"Big hullabaloo at the Pentagon, all religious leaders the world, blah blah blah, you know how it goes. Think you can sit in and take notes?"

"Whpf Rpf Ypf Dopf?"

Gary appeared to have no problem translating toast. "What am I going to be doing? There's a game on, man. Last one before the play offs."

Max might have questioned the man's priorities, as he was supposedly a leader of their religious sect, but honestly, the move was notoriously Gary. He hated people in general and preferred the comfort of his recliner to dealing with the lot of them, a duty he left to Max.

Like a well trained assistant without the pay or respect.

Which brought Max to this point, sliding in his trackless shoes across the linoleum, behind the ancient Rabbi from the Synagogue on 54th street. He managed not to collide with the old man, puttering along at a pace that put snails to shame, taking care the scraps of his toast weren't ensnared by the rabbi's impressive hedge of snow white hair spilling out of his yarmulke . Skirting around him, Max made his way along the back of the room, looking for his station amid the sea of nameplate plaques.

He paused, squinting, swallowing the snarl that fought its way up his throat when he caught sight of his 'station'.

Someone must have made the poor coordinator aware of his attendance at the last second, if the hastily scrawled sharpie on scrap paper was any indication. As if that wasn't bad enough, they'd shoved him in the farthest corner of the room, the literal nosebleeds. He wouldn't be able to get a word into the proceedings, never mind straining to hear what was going on. Max sighed, slumping in his seat. The action caused the colander to slip over his eyes. He ignored the uncertain looks of the others as they filed in around him, and the occasional confused comment sent his way until the Speaker of the House finally emerged from the back room and urged everyone to be seated. Max leaned forward with mild interest as the smaller man's mustache fidgeted and jumped on his face.

"You must be wondering what I have called you all here today?" The Speaker cleared his throat, taking a nervous sip of water. "Holy men from every religious sect across the globe brought together for what purpose?" He licked his lips, clearly conflicted by what he had to say.

"We are in a unique situation at the moment. NASA is currently monitoring an entity orbiting the globe, tracking its movements. For all intents and purposes, it appears to be an extraterrestrial life form. At first, we believed the entity to be a ship carrying more but upon further inspection our readings indicate this massive entity is a singular creature, roughly as large as the state of Texas."

That comparison brought on a few whistles. Texas was a big place, bigger than some of the smaller countries. One of the holy men, a large fellow in an ankle length cassock raised a hand.

"Young man, what are you suggesting? Why have we been gathered for such a discovery?"

The Speaker held up a hand. "You have been gathered here because the entity has contacted us, and it claims to be a god."

Silence fell over the assembly, so acute the passage of the old Rabbi's wind sounded like an angel's trumpet. Max raised an eyebrow, wondering what the Speaker intended for them to do with this piece of information. So an obnoxiously large alien claimed to be a god. Anyone could claim to be a god. Hell, Gary claimed he was a god after four beers, a veritable light weight. Max made a face, tugging the hairs that poked through the holes of his colander as he listened to the Speaker forge ahead, holding up his hands in an attempt to staunch the bickering holy men. Max shook his head, pitying the man. Dropping the G word into a crowd of religious types was spoiling for a fight.

"We have called you here today to ascertain what truth could lay in this claim. Any at all, and if so, what edicts he demands be met before he takes further action against the human race."

There was another beat of silence before a Iman stood. "What actions has he taken so far?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortable at the thought. The Speaker wobbled a bit when asked but managed to hold himself upright for the next announcement.

"Well, uh, well," he sputtered, shifting from foot to foot. "As as 6:00 hours this morning, we are officially missing...a chunk of the rocky mountains."

A note of incredulity ricocheted through the mass of holy men, tangling their beards and disrupting the peace of the room. Questions were flung, the legitimacy of the missing mountain was called into question, and someone asked the Speaker if he was playing with the lot of them. When they finally fell silent, the Speaker looked around at all of them.

He took a deep breath, his expression serious and haunted. "Is it possible?"

The Scientologists' representative jumped up, an empty smile plastered on his face. "Well as you know, we are all alien souls, forced into this life of pain and misery--"

"Oh, not this again," groaned a Lutheran priest, rolling his eyes to the heavens.

The Speaker frowned. "A simple yes or no would do, sir."

Max raised his hand, waiting for the Speaker's wandering gaze to notice him.

"What demands has it made?" Another holy man piped up, though Max could not recognize which church he represented.

"The demands were not entirely clear from the recording," the Speaker hedged, clearly uncomfortable with some unspoken piece of withheld information.

"Good lord man!" Exclaimed another one, causing a whole row of holy men to cross themselves. "What do you expect us to do here? Sit and argue the legitimacy of its claims? What does this creature look like?"

Max put his arm down, disappointed. That was his question.

"Ah, that I can answer," said the Speaker, giving a signal to the back of the room. A large white screen lowered behind as the lights dimmed. Max leaned forward, excited for his very first glimpse of an alien, one the government had taken great lengths to keep hush hush from the media.

The screen flickered to life, as a blurry shape slowly came into sharp, unmistakable focus. Max' colander clattered to the floor.

All eyes turned on his, with varying degrees of incredulity, anger, disbelief, and plain contempt. Max shifted, aware he was quite naked under his robes as he bent down to pick up his colander, setting it carefully on his crown. The assembly might conveniently forget about him, scoff him, and despise him in general, but they knew there was a pastafarian in their midst.

The Speaker noticed the direction of their stares, following them to the unassuming man in a monk's robes and kitchen implement on his head.

Max gave a weak smile. "Did his request have anything to do with pirates?"

The Speaker blinked. "Is that a pasta strainer on your head?"

Max shifted uncomfortably. Until this moment, he'd never considered himself a true believer. Sure it was fun to say he was high ranking member of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which fought hard for its credentials. It was actually a good line to pick up chicks. They liked a guy with a sense of humor. That was all it was, to him anyway, satire, one that Gary and some of the others actually took serious to a point. Max never thought he would be the one in the room to see the NASA imagery of the FSM, hovering above the planet, his noodly appendages waving around him.

It wasn't supposed to be real! None of it, a farce of a religion, except here he was, peerless in a room of his peers, his skepticism thrown off kilter. The Speaker continued to look at him as if he'd crawled out from beneath some rock.

"Young man, could you come forth?"

The other holy men broke out into not so quiet murmurs. "He can't be serious?"

"This has to be some elaborate hoax, some ploy for media attention."

"What would a Flying Spaghetti Monster want with a chunk of the Rocky Mountains?"

Max struggled forward, determined to ignore the haters. This was his day to shine. He forced himself through the agitated crowd until he face the Speaker.

"You really are from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster," he murmured, eyeing Max's get up with a quirked brow. "I thought they were a joke."

Max huffed, hiding his own thoughts on the church behind indignity. He might think their religion was a sham, but he would be damned if he let someone else slam it. "We are quite serious sir."

The Speaker made a face. "Do you really believe the human race evolved from pirates?"

"Yes," said Max, sulking.

The Speaker rubbed his face, clearly too exhausted to put up much of a fight with the absurdity of this situation. He beckoned Max closer, pulling up something on his touch screen.

"Alright, young man, can you make heads or tails of what this message means?"

Max stared down at the message, reading it once, twice. He read it a third time, swallowing hard. He really wished Gary was here today. Soggy toast congealed in his belly as a tingle ran up his spine. "Oh dear."

The Speaker looked alarmed by the expression on Max's face. "What is it?"

Max looked him dead in the eye. "He has come to take us into his noodly embrace."

The ground quivered ominously beneath their feet, the sour sweet smell of pasta sauce filling the air.

"What does that even mean?" The Speaker yelped, clutching at Max's robes. "Wasn't this a joke of a religion? How could it possibly be real?"

Max sniffed, casting a dispassionate glance at the room of panicking holy men. "Honestly, considering what everyone else expects us to believe, is it really so difficult a concept to wrap your noodle around?"

The Speaker shook him. "Yes, you idiot! How do we fix this? How much time do we have?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not much time at all," said Max sadly, clutching his colander tight to his head. "If you had brought this time sensitive material to our attention before now, we might have been able to do something, perhaps parlayed with him."

"Its made out of noodles!" The Speaker screamed in his face as the walls shook and cracked around them.

Max clucked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. "Ye of little faith."

Something burst through the walls, wide and flat, with the rich scent of boiled pasta.

The holy men scattered, one Catholic Italian screaming "Linguine!" as he fled.

Max looked up, beholding the visage of his god, suffering the brief philosophical quagmire of a skeptic suddenly made a true believer. A small pool of piddle collected in his shoe. He was never taking Gary's morning phone calls again.