Gladys Knight Mormon Convert - Un-Authorized Interview
Click image for Wikipedia on Gladys.
Click image for Wikipedia on Gladys.
Have they called Sammy Davis to be an Apostle today? - by flattopSF
Have they called Sammy Davis to be an Apostle today?
Duke Ellington? Count Basie? Cab Calloway?
Gladys Knight is all they've got -
One live pigeon in the pot.
So whence this dark-skinned disturbance of Mor[m]on cliché?
Now, inquiring minds want to know - by flattopSF
Now, inquiring minds want to know
After viewing this horn-totin' Bro:
They're well known for recruiting
Black crooners, then tooting
their horns, have they recently dead-dunked SatchMo?
Is this new Moroni a toot-torial - by flattopSF
Is this new Moroni a toot-torial
Meant for White 'n' Delightsome Utah-rial?
Monson's sending out hacks and baptizing blacks
Soon his African membership will max:
"We're diversifying our territory's all!"
Cried God "that MoTab just ain't got good licks - by flattopSF
Cried God "that MoTab just ain't got good licks-
How canst I get jiggy wid my chicks?"
Inspiration: Change Moroni to Marsalis
Then God don't need Cialis™...
...and back to those Temple-ygamy tricks!
So with lightning he touched ol' Moroni - by flattopSF
So with lightning he touched ol' Moroni
But he missed and scorched the bronze-oni!
Now he's gonna get Jazz
With some razz-a-ma-tazz!
'Cuz he turned ol' Moroni negroni.
Angel Moroni in black face - by BEMG
Angel Moroni in black face
blows his trumpet to the "cursed" race
"We now can be friends,
despite racist trends"
now hating gays is what we embrace.
No poem; just a fashion quote - by wine country girl
Black is the new gold!
Proud Moroni did beautifully stand - by JW the Inquizzinator
Proud Moroni did beautifully stand,
With horn outstretched from his hand,
But the storm struck back,
And turned the poor devil black,
Mark of Cain on his skin as a brand.
Atop the temple did Moroni thus stand - by JW the Inquizzinator
Atop the temple did Moroni thus stand,
Adorned in golden raiments so grand,
A storm did arise,
Lightning bolt to the eyes,
Now black is his skin rightly tanned.
Moroni his trumpet did blow - by munchybotaz
Moroni his trumpet did blow
that blacks to the Lord's church might go
Said, "Okay, I'll repent
but that's not what I meant
when I said I'd be shocked if they didn't show!"
The Lord and Moroni were talkin' - by munchybotaz
The Lord and Moroni were talkin'
'bout how to get black folks a-flockin'
"Play rap," said M, sincerely
And was punished quite severely
The Lord's reaction was shockin'
It seemed a small thing to suggest - by munchybotaz
It seemed a small thing to suggest
But the Lord's patience it did test
"You said you lacked black experience
and I thought you were serious.
Now shut up, or I'll blacken the rest!"
Turned black by lightening so hot - by Oderus Urungus
Turned black by lightening so hot,
There're now things that he should do not:
Our anger be brimming
If he's caught with white women,
For Bro. Brigham said "Death on the spot!"
O're the temple through heat and through cold - by Twinker
O're the temple through heat and through cold
Did Moroni stand proudly and bold.
But one strike to the gleam
Of Joseph's pure dream
Has show it was only "fool's" gold.
Cheers for the Church of Jazz and Beer! - by Mason
One day flattop's "revelation" got me thinking,
Our new church would have to have drinking!
We'd serve Miles Davis' most famous Brew,
Garrett Oliver would bring just the right stew!
Some Dizzy Gillespie and Mormonism is sinking.
Moroni sat high on his perch - by sd
Moroni sat high on his perch,
When from behind he felt a slight lurch,
Then came a CRAAACK that burnt him half black
And started a new course of research.
This electrical sensation
Has left him non-Caucasion
And in search of a new revelation
Moroni, delightsome and gold - by Turnip
Moroni, delightsome and gold
Morg angel for all to behold
God smote him with lightning
Made him dark and frightening
In the pre-life he wasn't so bold
(perhaps) in the pre-life he wasn't so bold!
My grandfather, he played the sax, - by Beth
My grandfather, he played the sax,
In a traveling band, he would ask,
Is there room in the inn?
I'm not black cuz of sin.
I need a place to relax.
His question, it was quite simple,
Like his daughter, he had a dimple,
In the side of his cheek,
He was exceedingly meek,
And now his likeness is atop a TEMPLE!
Another sign that the Judgment Day nears! - by iBear
Another sign that the Judgment Day nears!
Angels blackened and reduced to tears!
Said Joe Smith, "Mo, don't cry!
Though I don't quite know why,
I've been called 'BROTHER Joseph' for years!"
A blackened angel - by StationaryTraveler
A blackened angel
got his tooter sinched
by lightning oh so bright
the golden bong he was sucking on
did lack the assistance
of a desperately needed light.
There once was a sacred place - by Sandie
There once was a sacred place
Which Moroni, on top, did grace.
Along came a storm
Which blackened his horn.
And visibly changed his race.
Moroni was once delightsomely white - by Bob
Moroni was once delightsomely white,
To think otherwise gave Morgbots a fright.
In leading the Nephites he was brazen and bold,
At least that's what, as a child, I was told.
He was so adored he was given a perch,
On top of all TEMPLES, not just some old church.
Yes!! White and delightsome was that Nephite guy,
Now decked out in gold, blowing his horn in the sky.
Then, one stormy day atop temple Oquirrh,
Mother Nature, herself, took care of that joker;
She sent down her lightning!! And, in one flashing bolt,
Did something that gave all Mormons a jolt!!!
Yes! In one sudden flash and a loud boombing CRACK,
Delightsome Moroni changed from white into BLACK!!!
A couple of months ago, the Oklahoma City Oklahoma South Stake sponsored a Gladys Knight concert. We did not attend, although we were invited. My wife’s sister was in Knight’s ward in Henderson, Nevada and was a choir member in Knight’s Grammy winning album. We were offered tickets to the event, but declined for obvious reasons. The event was held in the Oklahoma City, Oklahoma South Stake Center which is actually built in Moore, Oklahoma, a southern suburb of Oklahoma City. As I understand, Knight gave two or three evening performances. Church members were not allowed tickets, I gather, unless bringing friends with them. I am not aware if any baptisms resulted from Knight’s efforts. (Incidently, back when I was in the loop, the Oklahoma City Stake had declined to assist the South Stake with the Knight concert due to the large dollar amount Sis. Knight demanded to make the trip).
However, my family and I now have the opportunity to really hear Glady’s R&B classics. As we were traveling yesterday, we saw a large billboard with an image of a non-LDS garment wearing Knight advertising her upcoming concert at the Riverwind Casino, a tribal casino within ten miles from her previous venue at the Moore church building.
I wonder if the LDS Church will be pushing members and their friends to this event? I wonder if Knight will bother speaking about her LDS faith? But mostly, I wonder if she used her earlier “missionary” concert to set-up her Casino gig?
Disclaimer: Any resemblance the reader imagines between the persons, places and things in this story and persons, places and things of the living persuasion, of the dead persuasion, or of the Living Dead persuasion, should be assumed to exist purely in the wildly fertile imagination of the reader.
Announcer voice-over in the darkened auditorium: "From the historic Mormin Tabernapple in historic Temple Skwayer, located in historic Salt Lake City, Crossroads of the West, we welcome you to a historic Program of Inspirashunal Music and a Spokin Word. Bruthern an' Cistern, we proudly present to you — Prattice Gnocturne and the MoTaChips!"
*cue: drums, trumpets, bass guitar*
*cue: electric organ, and spotlights*
He said he's headin' West to find what's left of his world—
Brig's leavin' in that wagon train to Utah.
"Thank you! Oh, I'm so happy I could just CRY! Thank you, ever'body! May peace be with you, this day and always."
Prattice Gnocturne is garbed in a celestial gown designed by Zephanihah Coriantumr Moroni Inglehook, whose ancestors converted in 1850 in historic England, spent their very last Shillings on passage, walked coatless and barefoot across the historic Great Plains in the middle of the worst winter ever recorded in North America, and, so I've been told — they endured untold hardships. Dragging all their worldly goods behind them in a reticule, they nevertheless managed to bring along a prototype of that brand new invention, the Singer Sewing Machine, which possession of they had deprived Mr. Isaac Merritt Singer of in a confidence game worthy of the master himself: Joseph Christ, Junior. The loss set Mr. Singer back one whole year in production. The Inglehook family soon became Salt Lake City's busiest and most modiste couturiers. Z.C.M. Inglehook's creation is a fabulous but modest floor-length Greek Goddess robe in luminous white polyester micro-fiber, while around the waist are hand-embroidered light green and gold fig leaves. In her hair, Prattice sports a luminous white polyester micro-fiber miniature beret, shaped like a puffy baker's hat with a bow on the side.
*lights down*
From the audience, a three-year-old voice pipes up: "… but Mommy, SHE'S not the Mormin Tabernapple Kwire!! Daddy sez she's a (*stifled*)"
The audience chuckles nervously, shifting in their seats. Then the announcer's voice: "And now, Bruthern an' Cistern, on this historic day, the 23rd of June, 2007, we present to you the Party Boy himself, our Profit — heh-heh, just a little joke there! — Seer an' Reverlator, Pres'dent Mordden Be Stinckey!"
*cue: spotlights*
The crowd catches its collective breath as the most important person they know next to Jesus Smith himself is rolled out onto the podium in his solid-gold wheelchair, thickly upholstered in red velvet, by his two counselors, Psalmus "Ace" Monsoon and Jimmsie da Fist. Mordden Be Stinckey is dressed in his trademark black polyester ZCMI® "designer" suit, double-starched white polyester ZCMI® "designer" shirt, and blue polyester ZCMI® "designer" tie. Over his suit, there is a white cotton terrycloth bib that catches his drool. Psalmus "Ace" Monsoon and Jimmsie da Fist are dressed in matching brown polyester ZCMI® "designer" suits, double-starched white polyester ZCMI® "designer" shirts, and brown polyester ZCMI® "designer" ties. Their suits are almost identical in color to the wood of the historic Tabernapple pulpit: historic white pine painted to resemble historic oak in 1867 by poverty-stricken and starving master craftsmen who converted in historic England, spent their very last Shillings on passage, walked coatless and barefoot across the historic Great Plains in the middle of the worst winter ever recorded in North America, and, so I've been told — they endured untold hardships, rendering them almost invisible. Rendering Monsoon and Fist almost invisible, that is, which is quite a feat in itself.
Then the crowd goes wild — eight thousand True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins a-cheerin'! A-stompin'! A-hootin' an' a-hollerin'! Woo-Hoo! Woo-Hoo! Normally manly and reserved Gawds and Priesthood Holders in Zion wearing their best Sunday go-to-church polyester suits are enthusiastically tossing Triple Combinations into the air and catching them again! Woo-Hoo! Normally docile Handmaidens and Priestesses in Zion wearing the latest in acrylic maternity jumpers are enthusiastically tossing baby-formula bottles into the air, though since Mormin women are never allowed to do anything athletic the catching part becomes a bit, uh, messy. But NEVER MIND — this is the biggest shindig historic Salt Lake City, Crossroads of the West, has seen since Brigham Young married his fifty-fifth wife, Hannah, in 1872, but who's counting? (Naturally, for True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins, the Olympic Celebrations in 2002 don't count, because "all those people were Gentiles.") Woo-Hoo! Woo-Hoo!
And then the lights dim again, and Prattice Gnocturne approaches from behind Mordden Be Stinckey's solid-gold wheelchair, thickly upholstered in red velvet, and begins crooning to him in her inimitable a cappella:
Happy birthday to you,
Thanks, Brother President—
Everybody! — Happy Birthday to you …
From the other approach to the podium, ten strapping young missionaries, complete with nametags, stagger up the steps bearing a GARGANTUAN fifteen-foot-high birthday cake: the whole tower balanced upon the backs of twelve life-sized marzipan oxen and decorated all over with royal icing handcarts and covered wagons, with seagulls encircling the uppermost tiers and a rock-salt model of the Crossroads Plaza Mall surmounting it all. The master chef at the historic Motel Utah, E.D. "Eat-y" Gourmé (who, by the way, bears a striking resemblance to that movie star, Dom Deluise), has been bakingbakingBA-KING and icingicingI-CING for just DAYS, and is nervously following them up the steps. Wringing his hands and rushing from side to side, he directs the placement of the cake: "Oooh! Oooh! WatchitwatchitwatchIT!!! Keep that cake LEVEL, I told you! Oh. My. Gawd. IthinkIamgonnahaveaheartattackRIGHT! HERE! AND! NOW! … OK … OK … easyeasyEASYeasyaroundthecornerthere. EASY I SAID! Oooh, if they drop this cake, I will just die. I! WILL! JUST! DIE! … OK, we're here. Whew! OK … keep it leVEL! Lower gentLY! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Oh! PerfectperfectPERFECT! You boys were FABULOUS! WONDERFUL! MARVELOUS, even! Weren't they marvelous, everybody? I wasn't worried about a THING!"
And as the sound of eight thousand terrible singers squawking Happy Birthday dies down in that wonderful and marvelous historic auditorium, the historic Senior Tabernapple Organist, Ophicleide "Twinkletoes" Longfinger, takes his place. Seconds later, the historic giant old Tabernapple's Mighty Wurlitzer Organ creaks, cranks and groans into the historic opening notes of:
Wee-hee-THANK-THEEEyo-gaAWD-FERRaPRAAAWfut
The spectacle is overwhelming. And when I say that, Bruthern an' Cistern, I mean there hasn't been a cacophony like this since the fabled Tower of Babel blew. Prattice Gnocturne is dang glad she remembered to put in her FlentsQuietDown!® fiber-filled ear plugs before she went on tonight. Now, sitting there in that cushy red-leather armchair normally reserved for some Fat-Cat General Authority, she feels quite Fat-Cheshire-Catty in spite of the racket; in fact, she thinks this thought: "Dude — I feel like The Man! I feel JUST like Condoleeza Rice!"
As the noise dies down, Mordden Be Stinckley is wheeled to the microphone, and Jimmsie da Fist positions himself behind the wheelchair, holding up what looks like a small wooden cross and some string. He yanks a couple of the strings and Stinckley's mouth starts wobbling up and down, drool slopping everywhere. At the same time, Psalmus "Ace" Monsoon pulls a remote control from his pocket and pushes the "play" button. The audience hears the broad drawn-out monotonic apostolic vowels they have become so accustomed to in Genrul Confrunce. They slump back and their eyes glaze over as the mooing voice of Mordden Be Stinckley pleonastically bombinates: "My-y-y-y b'luved Bruther-r-r-rn 'n' Cister-r-r-rn, I can now re-e-e-etire from ruh-ligion aftur-r-r having had Ha-a-appy Bir-r-rthday su-u-ung to me-e-e in such a swe-e-et, who-o-o-olesum way. Heh-heh. Tha-a-at's a joke. I am humbled — tha-a-at's a joke, too — to sit b'fore yew in this histo-o-o-oric Ta-a-aberna-apple an' be ser'naded by this mawrv'lusly talented Dau-u-u-ghter of Ca-a-ain, de-e-escendant of Ha-a-am and E-e-egyptus. Yore grew-w-wvy singing ma-a-akes me-e-e wawnt to bo-o-o-ogie do-o-own. I can dig yew, Cister-rn. I-i-isn't she wunderf'l? I-i-isn't she mawrv'lus? It remin-n-n-nds me-e-e uv whe-en I used ta hold my-y-y-y b'luved wi-i-i-ife Majorlie's ha-a-a-and and t'gether we-e-e-e would wa-a-a-atch the La-a-awrence Welk Sho-o-o-ow. My-y-y fa-a-a-av'rite pawrt was watching that colored boy ta-a-ap-da-a-ance. I wun-n-n-nder if yew kno-o-ow him. Do you ta-a-ap da-a-ance, too, Cister-r-rn Gnawck-turne? Ma-a-ay I a-ask whut color yo-o-ore Ca-a-adillac is?"
"What th' Hay-ell?" Prattice Gnocturne sits up, forgetting that eight thousand people can hear her every word, unmiked.
Assigned to sit next to Prattice is Bruthern Sskjölddólffurr Nephi Rrassmurssenn (who refers to himself ecumenically as "S. Nephi") on his first job as a real live security guard for the Big Guys in Mormin Central. A twenty-five-year-old six-foot-four platinum-blond undiluted Norwegian with linebacker shoulders hailing from Salt Lake City, Crossroads of the West; his ancestors had converted in 1860 in historic Oslo, spent their very last Kroner on passage, walked coatless and barefoot across the historic Great Plains in the middle of the worst winter ever recorded in North America, and, so I've been told — they endured untold hardships. Lugging all their earthly possessions behind them in a portmanteau, they nevertheless carefully carried with them Old Great Uncle Ssiggurdd Rrassmurssenn's copper still and an ancient family recipe for Aqvavit that could "knawck der sawcks offer der milck cow atder tree-hundert a-feet," or so Old Great Uncle Ssiggurdd used to claim. Don't ask me why a milk cow would be wearing socks: I'm just telling you what he said.
Bruthern S. Nephi Rrassmurssenn, spurred into action by the discordant note of profanity, whispers: "Why Cistern, whut languidge!"
Prattice suddenly feels like the main course at a Mark E. Petersen Family Reunion dinner. "Tap-dancin' Daughter of Cain? Ham and Egyptus?? My CADILLAC??? Just WHAT is that dodderin' ol'…uh…'scuse me, here. I think I have to go powder my nose. "
But Bruthern S. Nephi Rrassmurssenn grabs her by the arm and hisses in her ear: "Cistern Gnocturne, sit daown! Yew've gawtta obediently show respay-ect four th' Prawfit!"
Prattice stops, looks down at his hand on her arm, then looks up into his granite-grey eyes.
"Excuse me, what did you say? Did you just tell me to show some…respect?"
Now, Bruthern Sskjölddólffurr Nephi Rrassmurssenn, having spent his entire life in Salt Lake City, Crossroads of the West — uh, well, except for those two years he was on a mission in Bountiful, Utah and those four years he was attending the YBU Security Institute in Provo, Utah to become a security guard — has never ever witnessed anything more authoritative or momentous than a midwinter snowfall. Since he was baptized at the accountable age of eight, he has obediently attended all his meetings; obediently paid all his tithes and fast offerings on time; obediently obeyed the commandments of the Lard, the Prawfits and the Apawstles; and obediently fulfilled all his callings: Deacon, Deacon's Quorum President, Teacher, Teacher's Quorum President, Priest, Priest's Quorum President, Elder, Elder's Quorum Secretary, Home Teacher, Home Teaching Supervisor, Ward Nursery Leader, Sunbeam Chorister, Aaronic Priesthood Campout Morality Adviser, Ward Single Adult Representative, Stake Single Adult President. He has been trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent all his life; every day he has done one good deed; and he has never EVER had a wet dream, an unclean thought of any kind, or touched himself in a lustful manner. He doesn't understand why he got beat up on the way home from school every day, why he wasn't called by Gawd to be the Elder's Quorum president, or why he isn't married yet; but his mother, Ssieggllindde Emma Rrassmurssenn (who refers to herself ecumenically as "S. Emma"), tells him to turn the other cheek and persevere in being obedient, and his father, Ssveinnbjørnn Abinadi Rrassmurssenn (who refers to himself ecumenically as "S. Abinadi"), tells him it will make him a better man, and he believes them. All this makes S. Nephi totally unprepared for what will happen next, which is that one or two of the Awesome and Terrible Forces of Nature have been unleashed deep in the bosom of Cistern Prattice Gnocturne, and even now have reached a high boil, surging furiously toward the surface. And like many Laws of Nature, cause will have its effects here tonight, as well. But I digress:
The air inside the historic Tabernapple is now rare and crackling with electricity, or something. Prattice Gnocturne rises to her feet, her eyes dark, her mouth grim. Outside the historic Tabernapple, lightning flashes and thunder rumbles and booms, echoing off the everlasting hills and rattling the building as if in an earthquake. The audience of True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins glance nervously at each other, E.D. "Eat-y" Gourmé pauses mid-slice in the act of slicing and dicing his magnificent cake, and Morrden Be Stinckley looks perhaps just a little smug. The lights flicker once, twice, then the transformer blows, plunging the historic Tabernapple into pitch-blackness and mordant silence. With her polyester micro-fiber Greek Goddess robe glowing blue-white in the darkness, Prattice appears as a pillar of light exactly over their heads, above the brightness of the sun! She stretches herself to her full height and assumes the stance of the Five Points of Domination: eyes flashing, sleeves pushed up, chin pointed out, hands on hips, feet spread. And in a deep voice that fills the hall and loosens the mercury-silver dental fillings in 8,000 heads, she bellows:
RE—SPECT?!?
I ain't gonna bash yo' church while you're gone—
I'm about to give you all my devotion
Eight thousand True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins sit flattened against their pews, dead ringers for Mister Blown Away in the Maxell ads: hair, ties, hair ribbons and baby rattles all stick straight out behind them. Prattice Gnocturne is like a hydrogen bomb blast! These people have NEVER experienced anything so spirichully ATOMIC in their entire lives.
Ooo, your misshies— (ooh-ooh)
R-E-S-P-E-C-T!
Oh!
ReSPECT, honey. That's where it's AT.
And, Baby, all of those eight thousand True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins are, like, FROZEN. They are the FROZEN CHOSEN, Baby. All their drab little lives in their drab little meetings in their drab little chapels they have testified of this and that and that and this, but now they know that those testiphonies were as NOTHIN'. Tonight they are seeing testifyin' cubed: they are witnessing a NUKE! U! LER! display of 'TUDE-IFYIN'!!! Cistern Prattice Gnocturne is possessed of some righteous powers of magniTUDinous proportions! Don't mess with the Cistern, Baby.
Frozen into his seat, staring entranced as Prattice's glowing, magnificent, vital, Gaea-licious figure flexes and struts right in front of his face, Bruthern S. Nephi Rrassmurssenn is feeling the nucleus of a feeling he has never EVER felt before. Immediately he is seized upon by some power which entirely overcomes him, and has such an astonishing influence over him as to bind his tongue so that he can not speak, and to bind his body so that he can not move! It starts low in his Holy Garment of the Lard-girded loins and spreads swiftly like a warm spirichul glow from there — but this is not the same warm spirichul glow he's been trained to recognize. And here he is, sitting in the historic Mormin Tabernapple in historic Temple Skwayer! Oh, MY! He looks down. *PLINK* His zipper pull nicks his cheek as it ricochets into the choir seats behind him. Blushing bright red, he covers his crotch with both hands and slams his knees together. Thick darkness gathers around him, and it seems to him for a time as if he is doomed to sudden destruction. "Oh! My! HECK!" he thinks: "WhatisthiswhatshappeningtomewhathaveIdonerighthereintheTabernapple?!? Oh, NO! FETCH! I'M GOING TO HECK! I wonder if I can call th' Biship this late t'night…"
Suddenly the transformer clicks and the lights flicker and come on. There on the podium, slumped in his solid-gold wheelchair, thickly upholstered in red velvet, the Profit, Seer, an' Reverlator Mordden Be Stinckey sits with a dreamy expression in his eyes and an ecstatic smile playing about his slack mouth, trails of drool running down to his cotton bib. Psalmus "Ace" Monsoon and Jimmsie da Fist exchange a significant glance over his head. Later, in Flat & Testiphony Meetings across Utah, many True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins will testify that Mordden Be Stinckey had "a Holy Aura about him as if he were experiencin' a Visitayshun of Ayngels. "
Psalmus "Ace" Monsoon quietly says to Jimmsie da Fist: "I did it last time." Jimmsie da Fist mutters under his breath: "fetch!" A heavy green-colored fog is beginning to drift across the floor of the podium as Monsoon says: "Let's go." They pull small oxygen tubes out of their suit pockets, bite down on the mouthpieces, and propel the solid-gold wheelchair swiftly through the green fog toward the backstage exit ramp. Only a couple of people hear Jimmsie da Fist say: "Man, what do they FEED this grunt? Changing his Depends® gives me hives — I cain't stand it!"
Prattice Gnocturne is striding in the opposite direction up the aisle toward the exit: "… and I'm goin' OUT the way I came IN: through the FRONT DOOR!"
And Baby, if you have never witnessed a Diva STRIDING in a pair of five-inch-stiletto-heeled hand-embroidered white satin open-toed Cesare Paciotti pumps before, well, all I can say is, mmm-mmm-MMM! You ain't seen NUTHIN'! The historic pews collapse into the historic aisles in her historic wake.
From her cantilevered decolleté Prattice draws a cell-phone and punches the quick dial: "Harry? It's Prattice: yeah, I'm outta here. Listen, I don't care if they ARE payin' me a huge retainer so they can attract more of my Brothuhs and Sistahs; I can't take these godDAYum crackers any more. Get me a booking at Caesar's Palace. Who? CeLINE DiON?!? Why, that little… OK, OK, Harry. What about the Hilton? Barry MANILOW?!? Isn't he dead yet? OK, what about the Rio? Penn & Teller. Sheee-hit. Well what IS there, Harry? Huh? WHAT?!? I OUGHTA FIRE YOU, HARRY! THE MARRIOTT?!? THAT ISN'T FUNNY! STOP LAUGHIN', YOU SONOFA…"
Blinded by the lights but looking around desperately, trying to locate his charge, exerting all his powers to call upon Gawd to deliver him out of the power of this enemy which has seized upon him, and at the very moment when he is ready to sink into despair and abandon himself to destruction — not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who has such marvelous power as he has never before felt in any being — just at this moment of great alarm, Bruthern S. Nephi Rrassmurssenn finally sees Prattice — whose righteous African-American brightness and glory defy all description, Baby — exiting the Tabernapple at the opposite end of the building. Wiping the trickle of blood from his cheek, he vaults over the podium rail and sprints up the aisle after Prattice. Behind him, the horde of eight thousand True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins is just now beginning to grasp that the party is over, and the din rises like a tsunami. Outside the building, panting hard, his pulse beating in his ears like Tito Puente's tomtoms, S. Nephi sees Prattice standing at the curb as her Mercedes-Benz stretch-limo screeches to a stop in front of her. The door springs open as S. Nephi races to her, catches her by the hand, and breathlessly blurts out: "Prattice, wait! YOU'RE THE ONE!"
"I know I am, Baby. I've ALWAYS been the one. Now let go of my hand and get outta my way. I've got a plane to catch."
"NO! I mean you're the one for ME! Prattice, I've had a revelayshun! I'm in LOVE with you! Marry me!"
"Say WHAT?!?" With that, Prattice Gnocturne loses it and goes all kung-fu on S. Nephi Rrassmurssenn: she gives him the ol' swift knee-jerk, sending him into the standing fetal position, then she grabs him by the wrists and does a spinning karate flip, landing him on his butt. As he curls up on the pavement like a dying cockroach, she dives for the back seat and yells: "…and stay away from me, you freaky-ass nut-job! PUNCH IT, driver!" The door slams and the rear tires screech and smoke as the limo speeds away into the evening grid of Salt Lake City, Crossroads of the West, heading for the airport.
Groaning in agony, trying to deduce what just hit him, Bruthern Sskjölddólffurr Nephi Rrassmurssenn lies on the sidewalk pavement and ignores the homeless man who walks up to him and feels in his pockets for his wallet. Dimly, as the throbbing pains in his…uh, yeah, there, and in his head die down a bit, S. Nephi can hear the low roar of eight thousand True Blue Temple-Recommended Mormins grabbing for their cell phones to gossip about…er…spread this late-breaking news around their wards and stakes, while over that chorus Chef E.D. "Eat-y" Gourmé is wailing like Sarah Brightman trying to sing a Verdi aria: "…my CAKE! Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo will eat my ca-ha-ha-ha-hake??? I spent DA-HA-HA-HAAAAYS on this cake! OoooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!" And by the high notes now floating on the summer air, he realizes that Ophicleide "Twinkletoes" Longfinger has finally woken up again and taken his place again at the historic Tabernapple's Mighty Wurlitzer Organ; at first fingering a lively fandango in the upper registers and then pulling out all of the percussion stops and throwing the weight of the giant pipes into action with a thunderingly Mambo-licious rendition of "Brazil," Mormin-style (Hymn #666 in the new, re-revised hymnal), as everybody straps on their roller blades and heads for the shadows of the historic everlasting hills in an "ALL SKATE" recessional:
We handshake all our bruthern.
Then,
Tomorrow is another day;
Now,
Escaping chill
Finis (In more ways than one)
It is her calling. I wonder if it listed in the Church Handbook of Instructions as an official calling?
http://www.meridianmagazine.com/arts/070115light.html
“It is indeed a miracle that I belong to this church,” Sister Knight said. “The image of the Church in the past has not been conducive to my being here. It shows His hand in motion. An African-American woman: Who knew I would have a calling such as this?”
Knight has indeed been given a special calling by the Brethren to travel throughout the world giving her testimony both in speech and through song. Given her fame and her reputation, she may be a vessel for bringing thousands of tens of thousands to investigate the Church.
I think she is being used by the suits downtown like a pimp uses his girls. Just MHO.
I was a missionary in Oakland, CA right after "the revelation" - 03/06/2007 - by scutter
and let me tell you we had every black missionary (few, very few) sent to our mission at the time. They were certainly the poster boys of
the church. The church's racist ideas were quite well known to the locals ("That's real gold on those spires, and we aren't allowed in!!!") and
these poor missionaries were just the poster-child ticket the church needed at that time. They really used it full tilt, as the "white" companion
to a couple of these poster-boys I was given scripted door approaches and discussion addendums that made me gag even then as a True Believing Mormon.
The scripts were just a sheet that was given to me by the Assistants to the President. It looked pretty official but I suspect it was written by the
mission president at the time (Lindsey R. Curtis). It was pretty moronic (as one would expect) in that it was a reminder that my companion
WAS BLACK!!!! (even at the time I was like: "Hmmmm, I hadn't considered that!?!?!" ... duh).
It wasn't very politically correct and although it was never stated to me directly it was delivered to me in such a way as to keep my companion
in the dark (okay, intentional pun) about the whole subject, and I confess, I never shared it with either of my two poster-comps.
It was basically just encouragement to stress the fact that the church wasn't prejudice against blacks and to "utilize" (yep, I know it had that word) my
companion's very presence as a "softening tool" (pretty sure that was how they worded that). It would be pretty offensive in light of
today's PC scrutiny. It did set off some pretty big bells in my head.
I can't remember if the letter had the mission logo/heading at the top or the church's heading, but I suspect it was the former.
It did have a couple sample door approaches, and kind of "Mr. Brown" dialog example of dealing with race issue questions during a discussion.
Gladys Knight Gets a New Calling - 03/07/2007 -by Primus
Gladys Knight sat outside of President Gordon B. Hinckley's office. She was a bit nervous and excited at the same time. It had been a while since she had seen the true prophet of God and wondered what he had to speak to her about.
"Ah Sister Knight. So good to see you." The short wizened Hinckley said with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face. "Please do come in."
Gladys got up and walked into the office and sat down on the chair Hinckley indicated. Hinckley moved to sit in the nice plush leather office chair behind his desk. Gladys thought it was interesting that the chair she got was a metal fold out chair.
"Ms. Knight, I want to commend you for the great work that you are doing in promoting the Church. Since you have joined the baptisms of African Americans have gone up 100 times." Hinckley said smiling.
"Wow, so like thousands have joined since I did." Gladys asked.
"No, just 100 African Americans. That's 100 times you singular."
"Oh."
"You have been marvelous in magnifying your calling as an African American Woman. You do a very good job at it. In fact I have never seen anyone else do such a great job of being an African American woman for the Church. I thank you and the Lord thanks you." Hinckley said smiling graciously.
"Wow. I don't know what to say. Thanks for the complement. It's pretty easy being an African American Woman for me actually." Gladys said shrugging.
"The brethern and I have prayed about this seriously, and we would like to offer you a new calling." Hinckley said still smiling.
"Sure, anything! I can do more tours overseas if you like." Gladys said.
"No, I am going to release you from being an African American woman." Hinckley said always maintaining the smile.
"Say what?" Gladys said in shock.
"We would like to call you to be a White Corporate American Man."
"Say WHAT?" Gladys said more sternly.
"Well you did such a good job in getting African American Women interested, we thought you could do just as well with White Male Corporate types like Bill Gates. If we got his tithing receipts just think of how many new temples we could build!"
Skeptical- Regarding an upcoming concert of Ms. Knights you said..."I wonder if Knight will bother speaking about her LDS faith?" I did not realize that it was required of every person, in whatever their chosen profession, to speak out about their faith while performing/working at their chosen profession. I am in the military and it could actually get one into some hot water if I did this, depending on how I went about it (approached by a co-worker or walked around spreading the Word etc.). I hope you are able to get over your prejudices before they consume you.
- 03/03/2010 - Fishfive
Reminders to Clueless LDS On Their Church's Racist Past:
"Shall I tell you the law of God in regard to the African race? If the white man who belongs to the chosen seed mixes his blood with the seed of Cain, the penalty, under the law of God, is death on the spot. This will always be so." (Young, Brigham; Journal of Discourses, Vol. 10, p. 110)
"You see some classes of the human family that are black, uncouth, uncomely, disagreeable, sad, low in their habits, wild, and seemingly without the blessings of the intelligence that is generally bestowed upon mankind....and the Lord put a mark on him, which is the flat nose and black skin...." (Young, Brigham; Journal of Discourses, Volume 7, pages 290- 291)
"And he had caused the cursing to come upon them, yea, even a sore cursing, because of their iniquity.-..wherefore, as they were white, and exceeding fair and delightsome, that they might not be enticing unto my people the Lord God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them." (2 Nephi 5:21)
Pimping Gladys Knight is spot on! - 02/27/2010 - freeurmind
Who are you idiots?? From a non-lds intelligent guy. - 11/28/2009 - scott
I didn't waste much more time reading this whole thing but the parts that I did see were extremely offensive and rude. Maybe you should evaluate your own life instead of judging others.
- 03/20/2009 - Unpleased
You are so wrong. Enjoy an eternity of regret.
- 12/04/2008 - Smith
Boring...Snooz... - 12/03/2008 - anon
whoever wrote this is nothing else but stupid!
- 08/14/2008 - anon
That is good of you, Sister Knight, please do keep it up and I know you will
be blessed a thounsand times more! - 08/02/2008 - anon
you are all crazy bigots!
- 06/11/2008 - case
I do not quite understand what you are trying to accomplish. This site
is hatefull, biased and mean spirited... not to mention demeaning to not only Gladys
Night, Mormons, African Americans and Caucasions. I think that you need to have
more respect for peoples beliefs and values and find some of your own.
- 11/08/2007 - Amy Johnson
Post your comments in this text box.
So Brig's leavin' with wives and kids in tow.
The world he left on Kolob so long ago.
Said he's goin' there to find a Mormon life of worth.
I'll be with him in that wagon train to Utah—
I'd rather live in Salt Lake than live without him on Earth.
Joe kept dreamin'
But tar, feathers and bullets showed him that dreams don't always come true.
So Brig took all his wives and through Misouri-i-i he will trod,
On a one-way trip out there to life begun anew.
Said he's goin' there to find a Mormon life of worth.
I'll be with him in that wagon train to Utah—
I'd rather live in Salt Lake than live without him on Earth.
(Ooo-ooh) Brig's leavin' (leavin')
in that wagon train to Utah.
(leavin' in that wagon train)
Said he's goin' there to find (ooh)
a Mormon life of worth.
I gotta be with him
(I know you will)
in that wagon train to Utah—
(leaving' in that wagon train to Utah)
(Mmm-hmm) I'd rather live in Salt Lake
(live in Salt Lake)
than live without him on Earth.
(Salt - Lake - it's his an' his alone)
Ride on, (gallop on) Ride on,
In that wagon train to Utah!
I got to go!
I got to go!
I got to go!
To the polite applause of the capacity crowd massed in the historic Mormin Tabernapple in historic Temple Skwayer, located in historic Salt Lake City deep in the shadows of the historic everlasting hills, recording artist Prattice Gnocturne and her backup group, the MoTaChips, take a bow.
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, Brother President—
Happy birthday to you!
For all the things you've done:< br>
Court battles gays have won;
Your mind blanking—
With Larry King;
Resignations by the ton;
We thank you so much!
Too-hoo-GOIDE-US'nTHEEEZE-LADderDAAAZE
Wee-hee-THANK-THEEEfer-seENDINGtheGAAAW-SPUUUUULL
Too-LI'N'areMINES-WITHitSRAAAZE …
What you want—
Baby, I GOT!
What you need—
Don't you know I GOT IT?!?
All I'm askin'
Is for a little RESPECT where I come in.
Hey, BRIGHAM! (just a little bit)
Where I come in. (just a little bit)
Bruthern! (just a little bit)
Ain't gonna do you wrong 'cause I don't wanna.
All I'm askin' (mmm-hmm)
Is for a little RESPECT where I come in. (Just a little bit)
Hey, HEBER! (just a little bit)
Where I come in! (just a little bit)
Yeah! (just a little bit)
And all I'm askin' you, Land o' Goshen,
Is for to get the notion
When you see me! (just a, just a, just a, just a)
Yeah, MORDDEN! (just a, just a, just a, just a)
When you see me! (just a little bit)
Yeah! (just a little bit)
Sweeter than honey. (ooh-ooh)
AND GUESS WHAT? (ooh-ooh)
They-all so PHONY! (ooh-ooh)
All I want you to do (ooh-ooh) for me
Is give it to me when you see me. (re-, re-, re-, re-)
Yeah, baby— (re-, re-, re-, re-)
SHOW it to me (respect, just a little bit)
When you see me, now! (just a little bit)
FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME!
R-E-S-P-E-C-T!
ACT IT OUT TODAY FOR ME!
A little RESPECT!
C'mon, SPENCER— (just a little bit)
A little RESPECT! (just a little bit)
LORENZO, (just a little bit)
Keep on tryin'— (just a little bit)
You're runnin' out of foolin' (just a little bit)
And I ain't lyin'! (just a little bit)
(re-, re-, re-, re-)
'SPECT!
In your Tem-ple! (re-, re-, re-, re-)
Or I might serve y'all (respect, just a little bit)
A li'l supoena! (just a little bit)
I got to have (just a little bit)
A little respect! (just a little bit)
Freewill!
When hearts go apostate in June;
We stand beneath a bloody moon
And softly pray "Atonement soon."
The Danites find them miles away—
With still a million things to say…
When twilight dims the sky above,
Promises made to God above
Make them not so certain of
In a landfill…
So Gladys Knight is going to bring thousands even 10's of thousands into the church - 03/06/2007 - by Not the girl you used to know