A theological question

I recently discovered Flying Spaghetti Monsterism and, being a sucker for a new religion now and then (although not as big a sucker as, say, Tom Cruise), I thought about joining up. After all, their heaven has something called a Beer Volcano! As Thomas Henry Huxley said after he read The Origin of Species, I feel like a complete tool for not thinking of that myself (I may be paraphrasing here). But I digress. Before I could submit myself to His Noodly Appendage, I had to know if the Flying Spaghetti Monster is open-minded enough to accept certain activities on the part of his followers. So I wrote to the FSM to find out. If He responds, I'll let you know how it works out.

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Dear Flying Spaghetti Monster,

I'm interested in becoming a Flying Spaghetti Monsterite and I want to know a little more about the tenants of Flying Spaghetti Monsterism before I commit to anything. Just so we're clear, FSMism isn't the first "newly emergent religion" with which I've become affiliated. My previous experiences have given me some ground rules: I don't ride to retreats with vegan truckers (too much gas); the proceeds from my bead necklaces don't count as income for tithing purposes; and although I will smoke just about anything, I will not hotbox a sleeping bag again, especially if there are other people inside.

Basically it comes down to this: I have a huge jones for Galadriel as played by Cate Blanchett in The Lord of the Rings. I have friends who are Christians and they tell me that my naked Galadriel lust won't cut it with the Hebrew God. Evidently I can't even describe my fantasies without some sinning going on, although I'm not sure if they mean that I'm sinning when I talk about it or they're sinning when they ask me to tell it again, or what. My Tolkienite friends are no better. They insist that Galadriel is immortal and pure and not to be sullied by the gross talk of foolish mortals (I think they're lying--anywhere you find a life-size Galadriel poster and that many Kleenex boxes, you know there's been some sullying going on). I mean, I'm down with that 'fairest and wisest of all beings' business, but let's be real: you'd hit that and you know it.

Bottom line: me and Galadriel up in one of those treehouses, with an uncut tube of wet bologna, a shop vac, and a big-ass stereo pumping R U Da 1? If you're cool with that, then I will go forth and kill in your name. If not, get stuffed. Those meatballs make you look fat.

Your humble supplicant,

Dr. Vector