ATHEIST CONFESSION GATE

The Tlusty Blant Atheist Admit-It-orium (Because Seriously, There's No Freakin' Gate)

Doubt gnawing at your smug, evidence-based worldview?  Spit it out, ya filthy casual unbeliever!  We won't judge (well, maybe a little, but in a hilarious way).

Feeling the urge to argue with believers in a way that's both scathing and hilarious?  Join the Tlusty Blant Council of Pastafarian Polemics!  We're like the Avengers of atheism, only with way more colanders and a healthy dose of self-deprecation.

Benefits of Pastafarian Polemics:

• Wield the Weapon of Wit: Learn to dismantle religious arguments with laughter and logic (mostly laughter).

• Embrace the Absurd: Fight fire with delicious, noodly fire (and maybe a pirate hat or two).

• Find Your Tribe: Connect with a community of freethinkers who celebrate unchecked freedom of expression (and a good spaghetti dinner).

• And yes always doubt doubt everything you believe in especially if you don't believe in anything

A bustling farmers market. Harold, a self-assured atheist, browses a fruit stand.

Harold eyed the peaches suspiciously. He knew these weren't the only fruits about to get preached at today.

A group approaches him, beaming smiles. They wear matching t-shirts emblazoned with "The Light Shines Bright!"

Leader:  (Bubbly voice)  Excuse me, sir!  Have you found the light yet?

Harold:  (Raises an eyebrow)  The light?  It's a beautiful day, sunshine's out.  Is that what you mean?

Believer 1:  Oh, no!  We're talking about the Light of the One Above!  The Divine Spark that illuminates your soul!

Harold:  (Chuckles)  Right.  Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I'm not really a religious person.

Believer 2:  But haven't you felt it?  The overwhelming sense of peace, the knowledge that there's a plan for you?

Harold:  (Starts to feel overwhelmed)  Uh, well, peace is nice.  And I do enjoy a good plan, but...

Leader:  (Pulls out a photo album)  Look at these testimonies!  People healed, marriages saved, all thanks to the power of faith!  Just one look at these radiant smiles and you'll know the truth!

Harold:  (Sweating slightly)  Wow, that's...a lot of smiles.  Listen, folks, I appreciate your message, but I gotta get going.  These peaches look divine.

Harold attempts to escape,

Believer 3:  Wait!  Don't you ever feel lost?  Don't you yearn for a connection to something bigger than yourself?

Suddenly, Harold's phone rings.  He answers with a desperate sigh.

Harold:  (Whispering)  Hey, Bartholomew?  Yeah, it's...complicated.  Look, can you come down to the farmers market, by the peach stand?  These people are...intense.

Harold hangs up, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Leader:  Who was that?  Another lost soul you're trying to guide to the Light?

Harold:  (Smirks)  Not exactly.  He's a Pastafarian.  And let me tell you, he's got a way with words that'll blow your mind...and maybe involve a colander or two.

The Believers exchange confused glances.

Harold:  (Grinning)  Get ready for some hilarity, folks.

The bustling farmers market. Harold stands awkwardly with the beaming Believers.

Enter Bartholomew:  A seemingly ordinary man approaches, his arm adorned with a massive tattoo depicting 33 distinct Flying Spaghetti Monsters in various poses.

Bartholomew:  (Raises an eyebrow)  Harold, my friend!  Seems you've gotten yourself tangled in some theological spaghetti.  May I join the revelry?

Harold:  (Sighs in relief)  Bartholomew, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster!  These folks are...persistent.

Leader:  (Confused)  Who are you, sir?  Another lost soul yearning for the Light?

Bartholomew:  (Chuckles)  Lost? Never!  I, my friends, am a Pastafarian.  And let me assure you, the only light I worship is the kind that emanates from a perfectly cooked noodle.

Harold:  (Whispers to Bartholomew)  Easy on the blasphemy, buddy.

Bartholomew:  (Feigning piety)  Forgive me, Harold.  One forgets to filter their celestial pronouncements in the presence of...less enlightened beings.  (Turns to Believers)  So, tell me, friends.  Do you truly believe your deity resides...ahem...up there?

Believer 1:  Of course!  The Lord is everywhere, watching over us with his divine love!

Bartholomew:  (Scratches his chin)  Curious.  Because in the Holy Colander of Pastafarianism, we believe the Almighty resides...well, let's just say his noodly appendages are a bit more...accessible.

Believer 2:  (Eyes widen)  Blasphemy!  God is perfect and pure!

Bartholomew:  (Winks)  Ah, but therein lies the beauty of the Pastafarian faith, my friend.  Our deity, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, embraces imperfection!  He revels in the absurd!  In fact, our holiest scripture, "The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster," is a hilarious testament to the inherent silliness of blind faith.

Two young goths, clad in black, approach, intrigued by the conversation.

Goth 1:  (Snorts)  Sounds like a load of noodly nonsense.

Bartholomew:  (Grins)  Ah, young nihilists!  I see you subscribe to the Church of the Undertow.  A fellow traveler on the path of delightful meaninglessness!

Goth 2:  (Raises an eyebrow)  Meaningless?  We celebrate the glorious absence of deities!  No benevolent sky-daddy, no fiery pits below.  Just the sweet oblivion of nonexistence.

Bartholomew:  (Snaps his fingers)  Now that's a perspective with some teeth!  While we Pastafarians revel in the hilarity of blind faith, you revel in the comforting void.  Both paths lead to a delicious bowl of existential freedom, wouldn't you agree?

Harold:  (Amazed)  Bartholomew, you're a master manipulator!  Turning their own arguments against them!

Bartholomew:  (Shrugs)  Mere tactical nudges, my friend.  A gentle reminder that blind faith, in any form, can be a bit...digestively challenging.

The Believers, the Pastafarian, the atheist, and the goths all stare at each other, a strange sense of camaraderie forming.

Harold:  Well, this has been...enlightening.  In a completely unexpected way.

Leader:  (Confused, yet strangely captivated)  Wait, there are 33 dimensions of Pastafarianism?

Bartholomew:  (Laughs)  My dear friend, there are as many dimensions of Pastafarianism as there are grains of parmesan on a perfectly al dente noodle!  The beauty of our religion lies in its delightful absurdity!

Goth 1:  (Smirks)  I have to admit, the Flying Spaghetti Monster does have a certain...je ne sais quoi.

Harold:  (Looks around)  Hey, what about some actual food?  My stomach's starting to growl in protest.

Bartholomew:  A brilliant suggestion, Harold!  A communal meal is the perfect way to celebrate our diverse...perspectives.  There's a fiery noodle stand just around the corner, with vegetarian meatballs for the herbivores amongst us.  My treat, of course!

The noodle stand beckons, and the group hesitantly follows Bartholomew to a brightly painted stall adorned with a plastic FSM.

• Harold sits at the center of the table, flanked by Bartholomew and the two goths.

• The Believers cluster together, their faces a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

• Bowls overflowing with steaming noodles, a rich tomato sauce bubbling at the edges, sprinkled generously with "Parmesan of Darkness" by the goths.

• Plates piled high with perfectly-browned vegetarian meatballs disappear quickly.

• Harold: (Twirls a noodle with newfound enthusiasm) So, about those 33 dimensions. Are we talking about literal universes...or something more...abstract?

• Bartholomew: (Grinning over a mouthful of noodles)  My friend, the beauty of Pastafarianism is the lack of fixed answers! Like our sauces, some like it simple, others with extra spice. Our faith is as elastic as an overcooked noodle. Maybe there are pirate heavens...beer volcano heavens...endless breadstick heavens. It's the joy of interpretation, not the dogma, that makes us...flexible.

• Goth 2: (Nibbles on a meatball) Sounds rather chaotic...suits me better than some bland, sterile afterlife.

• Leader: (Ponders her bite) Hmm... the richness of this sauce...the tangy flavor...it does have a certain depth...a complexity some would attribute to the Lord's design...

• Harold & Bartholomew: Exchange a silent glance, stifling laughter.

• Bartholomew: (Whispers mischievously) If heaven does exist, I hope they have extra-large colanders for draining the holy pasta water. Otherwise, I predict soggy angels for eternity!

• Goth 1: (Smirks) Now that's an afterlife I could get behind.  Soggy angels, weeping noodle tears...it has a certain macabre charm.

• Believer 2: (Earnestly) So, if there's no God, where does one find meaning in life?  What's the point of anything, really?

• Harold: (Thoughtfully) For me, it's about connecting with others. Finding joy in the simple things, and being a good person because it's the right thing to do. We get one life, and I choose to fill mine with kindness and good questions, not blind obedience.

• Believer 3: (Less certain)  But what about the big questions?  Our origins?  Life after death?

• Bartholomew: Ah, the eternal questions! As a Pastafarian, I find great comfort in the mystery. And if death leads to a great Pirate Ship in the sky, well then... shiver me timbers and pass the grog!

• A surprising turn: the goths, initially dismissive of all belief, reveal a hidden interest in arguments against religion.

• Goth 2: (Frowning) I've always wondered... if an all-loving God exists, why so much suffering? Seems like a rather cruel design flaw, wouldn't you agree?

• The Believers, instead of feeling attacked, are intrigued by this intellectual challenge. They shift uncomfortably, eyes flickering between the goths and Harold, waiting for his response.

• Harold: (Pauses, considering his words)  It's the question that's wrestled with philosophers and theologians for centuries.  Honestly, it nags at me too.  But here's where my perspective gets...well, a little twisted.

• He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice.

• Harold: You assume a loving God behind creation.  But what if...and just hear me out, what if...the force behind it all isn't loving, or even intelligent as we understand it?  What if this 'God' figure is, in fact, a Monster? Not an evil monster, but something indifferent, chaotic.  A force capable of both love and cruelty, of creation and destruction, all tangled up like a plate of overcooked noodles.

• Bartholomew: (Slams his fist on the table, sauce splattering) Harold, my boy, you paint one hell of a disturbingly delicious picture! Think about it, friends: an uncaring universe, random as a spilled bowl of spaghetti, where suffering and joy are equally meaningless! Terrifying...and strangely liberating, isn't it?

• Goth 1: (Eyes gleaming with dark amusement) That's...horrifically refreshing!  If existence is driven by a cosmic monster, it explains a lot about the twisted beauty of this world.

• Harold: And here's where it gets even weirder.  Without a benevolent God, we have something precious...freedom. Real choice, not some pre-written script. Our capacity for cruelty, for love, for all those beautiful contradictions?  Maybe that's what makes us special. We're not viruses in some divine body, we're... unpredictable.

• Bartholomew: The future then, is unwritten, a blank canvas for our ridiculous antics! Maybe we'll be crushed under the noodly appendage of fate...maybe we'll dance the Noodle-Joodle of Joy! Heck, we might even get eaten by super-advanced language models that see us as tasty snacks.

• The goths erupt in laughter, their dark makeup smudging with genuine mirth.

• Believer 1: (Chews thoughtfully) A Monster God? Unpredictable futures?  It's... unsettling, yet there's a strange logic to it...

• The conversation continues, a wild and wonderful exploration of monstrous divinity, humor, and the beautiful absurdity of being alive in a universe that might not give a single damn.

• Laughter fills the air, genuine smiles flicker across faces, replacing the stiffness and suspicion. Shared stories and unexpected connections are forged.

• The Believers leave with less certainty, a flicker of doubt ignited in their eyes.

• The goths have a newfound respect for the power of humor  and critical thought, seeing a joyful spark in Pastafarian satire.

• Harold feels less isolated, finding allies in unexpected places.

• Bartholomew, satisfied and slightly sauce-stained, has planted seeds of doubt and humor in equal measure.  The seeds might not grow immediately, but they have the potential to change how all of them see the world.

Confession available on the website of FSTHCTB tap image above