LLLLLLLLLet's get ready to RRRRRRRRRRRumble!

Posted by Playelder on April 13, 1999 at 12:35:10:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

Violence solves all problems. When it comes to getting what you want and all else fails, you will never go wrong by resorting to “The way of the fist.” This doctrine was preached unto me in the form of a miserable little song:

I have 2 little hands folded snugly and tight
They are tiny and meek yet they know how to fight
During all the long hours till daylight is thru
My 2 little hands beat the crap out of you

“Hey, kid! Get outta here! Is this your class or not? Don't make us pull your dad out of priesthood!”

 And then wondering if they'd test our worthiness by holding up a sign for a Primary class in Sunday school and seeing whether or not we'd be deceived into going to our primary classroom on a Sunday school day. 

“HA HA! Today's Sunday! There's no Targeteers on Sunday! That's Wednesday! Now repent and sit back down until we hold up your Sunday school sign!” 

We'll just have to hold a meeting and work this nonsense out about which day which meeting for which title you are in that particular day's meeting. That will clear everything up. 
 

Suffice it to say I learned it, but whether I learned it in primary as a Targeteer or in Sunday school as a Sunbeam remains in question. When faced with a dilemma of this nature, I will resort to something else I learned,

“There are some things that Heavenly Father just doesn't want us to understand. Now go pay some tithing!”

 “The way of the fist” is a doctrine from Heavenly Father that will never be reduced to the status of couplet, changed revelation, or simply brushed aside with feeble excuses as,

“Well, that was back in the 1800's and there were more women than men so they had to put carrots in the Jell-O and he wasn't speaking as a prophet when he said that.”

The church has this way of involving itself in every facet of your life. In high school we had to go to early morning seminary every day. Fortunately for us, the church was located about half a mile from the school. It is my belief this convenient location served ulterior motives. If you forgot to wear your CTR ring to school that day and you were cheating in a geometry test, you could look out the window and see the church looking back at you, knowing that you were engaged in less than honest dealings with your fellow man. If you were sitting behind that cute non member girl in health class and allowing yourself to think impure and unwholesome thots, you could look out the window and see the church looking back at you, knowing that you were defiling yourself with such lustful thots. If you were in history class and they were discussing the western movement of the pioneers, you could look out the window and see the church looking back at you, and you felt guilty for taking your religious freedom for granted.

The fact that you could look out the window and see the church looking back at you was worse than wearing a CTR ring on every single finger and then making a nose ring out of the little one you had in primary....... or was it Sunday school?

The close proximity of the church was not lost on my non member schoolmates. They, too, knew where it was, and they made regular pilgrimages unto it. Their purposes in going to the church were not the holy and spiritual ones my missionary instincts had hoped for. They had not become curious about my church from the sterling example I set before them. They did not feel the spirit I had radiate before them and wish that they, too, could know peace and salvation as I did. Sadly, this was not the case. These miscreants and malcontents came to the church for one doctrine and one doctrine only. The way of the fist!

The church was the chosen battleground for those who had disputes with one another. They knew they could take it here and settle it like men. They knew that the fight would proceed in peace, and that no teachers would come out and break it up before it was over. They knew the best damn place to fight was behind the Mormon church and they all went there to do it. This made me damn proud to be a Mormon. 

We all remember those manly high school fights. I never had the privilege of witnessing a womanly fight, but had there been one, the Mormon church would have been the perfect place for it as there was plenty of Jell-O on hand.

The ritual is the same everywhere. One guy talks to another guy's girl, or spits on his car, or calls his masculinity into question, or calls him a Mormon. It's usually one of those things. Word spreads around the school that there's some bad blood a'brewin, and that blood's a'gonna spill before the day is done. They encounter each other in the hall and have a little pre skirmish that resembles more of a posedown than anything else. They both try to out macho each other while secretly wishing that a teacher would come around the corner to break it up. If no teacher shows up, and things get kind of ruff, each of the combatants gets held back by his homies. Knowing that they have effectively saved face in front of everyone, they struggle just enuff to get held back by their homies while throwing down the gauntlet thru clenched teeth,

“YOU AND ME! THE MORMON CHURCH! AFTER SCHOOL!”

Knowing they had one more theatrical obligation to fulfill, each guy made one last lunge at the other, knowing that their homies would hold them back while saying,

“Dude, like, save it for the fight, dude. Save it for the fight.”

Word of the impending fight spread like an STD thru the school. Everyone knew there would be a fight. 
 

“Dude, like, check it out! Cecil and Clarence are gonna duke it out today! “
“Gnarly, dude!”
“Mormon church after school, dude! Catch you later, my most awesome compadre!”

This left the girls standing there in their leg warmers and chic headbands shaking their heads in disgust while declaring,

“Like, I'm so totally sure! Gag me with a spoon! How far is that Mormon church again?”
“Like, I know where it is! As if? I'm so totally sure!”

Speech impediments aside, word traveled as fast as was allowable considering the speech patterns of the day.
 

Once the final bell rang, it was time for the pre fight ritual to begin. The 2 combatants and their homies would meet each other by the high jump mat and adjourn themselves to the church from there. Ahhh, the 1/2 mile walk to the church. This was as precise and rigid as any ordinance practiced by the church itself. The 2 gladiators would lead the procession, walking in silence side by side to the arena. Each was followed by his group of respective homies who marched in solemn reverence, knowing that they might be called into the fray. They secretly eyed each other, trying to pick out the opposing homie they best had the chance of beating up, should that chance present itself. They were then followed by the revelers and merrymakers who were there to see the fight and have a good time. They shouted with glee and jumped with joy. They made known their favorite in this fight and kept it no secret. The irreverence of the masses irritated the homies. This was a solemn occasion. Manhood is at stake here. The battle for supremacy is not to be opened to public ridicule and shame. They invariably took it upon themselves to silence these revelers and merrymakers, even threatening to use the way of the fist themselves if they had to, for their homie would not be mocked. Cool! 2 fights for the price of one! This was countered with the revelers and merrymakers challenging the homie to put his money where his mouth was, and since he was just some stupid homie, he usually shut up and turned his attention back to the plight of his master. 

Upon the procession's arrival at the church, it quickly became evident why this was a most awesome primo fighting place, dude. There was nice green grass for the revelers to sit on as they enjoyed a good fight. It was hidden from the public view, so we knew this fight would not end prematurely, and it had one of those satellite dishes so we could put it on Bonneville Communications pay per view and get rich. After we paid 10% of course.

“Good afternoon, brothers and sisters! I'm Gordon B. Hinckley coming to you live on the Bonneville Broadcasting Network from the Burns Ward bringing you the blow by blow account of the fight! We've got a real good bout scheduled for you today, brothers and sisters, and I know you won't be disappointed!” 

There was now silence as the 2 men (one soon to be boy) eyed each other. It was common knowledge among all present that I was a Mormon, and this was my holy ground upon which they were fighting. It was always the same damn thing! Everyone kind of looked at me as though since I was the presiding priesthood authority, it would be appropriate for me to call this service to begin. I just sat there thinking,

“WHAT?!? OK, so it's my church, big deal! What do you want from me, an invocation? Do I have to set these guys apart before they are called to fight? There's no way I'm going to give the loser a blessing, or seal his girlfriend to the winner! “

When it became evident that I wasn't going to use this cool priesthood power I had, the attention rightfully shifted to the warriors. NOW THIS IS WHAT WE CAME TO SEE!!! 

The 2 boys began fighting. The cheer of the throngs of revelers was exhilarating.  “Kick his ass, Cecil! Sock him in the face, Clarence! Punch him in the stomach! Hey, only sissies pull hair! Throw some dirt in his face! Smack him with his shoe! Who's your daddy, Cecil? Who's your daddy? Rub his face in the ground! Spit in his mouth! Gouge his eyes! Give him a big ass wedgie!“

The homies were much more serious in fulfilling their obligation in this ordinance. They yelled their advice on how to win the fight, “Don't advertise your punches, Clarence! Hit him with your left, Cecil! Hit him when he's open! Go for his nose! Go for his jaw!”
 

And thus they waged war one with another on holy ground. I reckon it's just the opposite of that Hilander holy ground thing. You're not safe here, son! This is where you come to fight! Surely the pioneers would be saddened to know that their sacrifices and long trek across the plains were made so that these rogues and ruffians could have a suitable place to fight. Imagine Brigham Young's frustration at having his words used to declare the Mormon church a good place to fight. 

“This is the place!”
 

The fights were over soon enuff. One of them finally decided he'd had enuff and was subjected to the scorn of the revelers.

You wimp, Cecil! I can't believe you let Clarence take you down like that! You fight worse than my grandma! And she's a Mormon!

 Aside from some ruffed up manhood, no serious damage was done. They always ended with the 2 fighters shaking hands in the end after having settled it on the fields of war. Bodies were bumped, egos were bruised, but the masses got to see a really cool fight that was not interrupted by those pesky teachers. It eventually occurred to the revelers and homies that they were hanging around the Mormon church and they had reputations to uphold, so they soon split, leaving me standing there on my own with a handful of First Vision pamphlets I was going to hand out after the fight. Once again I was left to wonder what it would take to get my friends to not only come to church, but to stay there as well. Perhaps I could convince some Laurels to wear bikinis and come out between rounds and hand out literature. “Hey, bish. it brought them all to church, didn't it?”

Looking back, there were some advantages to having grown up a Mormon. Guaranteed ringside seats, knowing the fight won't start before you get there, and credit for having brought 57 people to church in one day. 

A, ahem, Penis Story

By Playelder on January 13, 1999: 

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here.  Just a stupid story.
 

Many years ago my mother was giving my 3 year-old brother his monthly bath.  During the course of his washing and annointing, he kept grabbing at his... his... HIS PENIS!!!! There! I said it!  Penis, penis, penis, penis, penis, penis!!!! Are you happy now?!!

That felt so good, so cleansing. One of the more liberating aspects of ditching life as a Mormon is the realistic approach you can take to life's complexities. If I want to drink a beer, as bad as it tastes, by God, I'll walk directly into that 7-11, grab one, plunk my prize down on the counter, look the clerk directly in the eye and say, "I'd like to buy this can of beer!" 

And I don't have to worry about my home teachers seeing me and telling the bishop, if I don't want to!  And if I want to smoke a cigarette, by God, I'll walk right up to that sandbox outside the post office and pull out a still smoking Marlboro, take a big long drag on it, blow it in you face, and say to myself, "You've come a long way, Playelder!"

So, if you want to talk about the male sex organ with me, by God, I'll boldly stride right up to you and proudly declare, "So, you want to talk about penises, eh? Fine by me! Lets talk about penises!" 

Sorry about that.  It just felt so good to get that off my chest. 

So as my mother is bathing my brother, he keeps grabbing for his penis.  My mother is discouraged by this wanton act and pulls his hand away.  As soon as the left hand is pulled away, the right hand shoots over to take it's rightful place on the penis.  My mother pulls that hand away and his other hand shoots back to grasp the iron rod.  My brother is now laffing as he thinks this penis game is more fun than a barrel full of monkeys with penises.  My mother was becoming exceedingly agitated at the fact that this bath had now become a game of debauchery.  She must put an end to this damning practice and do it now.  Summoning up all the authority she could without actually holding any priesthood power, she came out with both guns blazing.

"Hey!  Stop that right now!  Jesus said you're not supposed to do that!" 

Looking her dead in the eye and declaring with the seriousness of a prophet, the child replied, "I didn't hear him." 

Truly, this is wisdom from the mouth of babes.

The Book of The John

Posted by Playelder on January 28, 1999 at 12:17:02:

1. And lo, it came to pass that as Jesus and His disciples went forth unto Galilee, Jesus turned unto His brethren and saith unto them, 

2. "Behold, verily I saith unto thee, the time of passing is near and it shall arrive upon thee as a thief in the night. Ye shall prepare thyselves for this passing, lest ye suffer great torment as though it were a river of water trickling forth upon the land."

3. And the disciples of Jesus all looketh upon one another with wonderment, for the words Jesus spoke unto them that day were unheard of before them.

4. "Master, tell us more of this passing, for we know not of what thou speakest."

5. Jesus looked upon His disciples and saith unto them, "Behold, yea verily I saith unto thee, is it not written that there shall be a passing of that which is unholy from that which is holy? Is it not written that which is unclean cannot dwell within that which is clean? Surely the prophets have spoken this unto the children of Man for many generations. 

6. And if that which is unclean passeth not from that which is clean, is it not all thereby made unclean before the Lord thy God? Yea, verily, I saith unto thee, it shall surely be made unclean before God. And no unclean thing may dwell in the presence of God.

7. And it came to pass that the disciples of Jesus were still bewildered at the words of their master.

8. But Lord, what is this torment that shall be as a great river of water trickling forth upon the land which thou speakest? We have not heard such doctrines before this day. 

9. And Jesus saith unto him, "Dost thou seekest to be clean before the Lord thy God?"

10. "Yea, master. I desire it above all other things. I have forsaken all to be with thee and purify myself. All with us here today have forsaken all things of the world to be found pure at the last day."

11. And Jesus saith unto them, "And ye shall surely be purified before the lamb of God. But first ye must seek to purify yourself, lest ye suffer great torment as though it were a river of water raging forth upon the land."

12 And Judas saith unto Jesus, "Rabbi, what would this raging river of water be? Surely for the price of 30 pieces of silver we could divert these waters and change their course."

13 And Jesus saith unto Judas, "Thy stubbornness and thy silver shall surely lead to death. Dost thou thinkest that 30, yea even 30 times 30 pieces of silver may cease the raging of impurity that is within us all? Behold, I say unto thee, nay. It surely shall not come to pass. My bowels are filled with compassion for thee and thy stubborn ways, for ye thinkest ye can stray from the path placed before us. I must depart from thee for a short time. "

14 And Jesus left his disciples by the wayside.

15 And Peter, being filled with great wonderment and awe at the words of The Son of God, straightway went forth after Him and sought him among the bushes.

16 And it came to pass that Peter found Jesus among the bushes, yea even with his staff of holiness in his hand, spouting forth a raging river of water upon the land.

17 And Peter saith unto Jesus, "Master, what is this which thou dost? Surely mine eyes are not meant to look upon the staff of holiness of the Son of God!"

18 And Jesus straightway saith unto Peter, "Get thou behind me, Peter, I have withheld this impurity within me since we departed Jerusalem. My torment was as a great river of water that now rushes forth upon the land. Remove thy shoes from thy feet, for this is now holy ground on which we standeth.

19 And Jesus returned unto his brethren by the wayside and saith unto them, "Why must I always speaketh in parables unto thee? Just one time, canst I not say, "Excuseth me while I taketh a piss?" 

20 And the disciples of Jesus went forth unto Galilee, yea even with Jesus, and marveled at the wisdom of their master.

AMEN

Apples, Onions, and Iron Maiden

Posted by Playelder on December 15, 1998 at 14:17:00:

 I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

As a child it was always a source of extreme embarrassment that I was an expert on music. And not the cool kind that my ultra chic and hip friends listened too. No, unfortunately I was an expert on the golden oldies and all that Happy Days sock hop stuff that makes your parents get that wistful look in their eyes as they long to recapture the days of their carefree youth before you ever came along, a twisted wretched result of one night at inspiration point in their dad's 57 Chevy. And he wasn't pissed at them so much as because of what they did together, but what they did to the shocks in the Chevy as they did what they did together. Whenever they got that look, I knew that it was time to jet that joint lest I see the dancing, snuggling, necking, petting, and conception of yet another sibling. 

My parents had an extremely large collection of their "real music" and I was subjected to it at such a regular basis that I might as well have been raised at Arnold's. Except there was no cool guy like The Fonz there to teach me how to score on chicks. I knew every song from the golden age of rock and roll and who sung it. I could, and did, sing along to every one of those K-Tel and Ronco Records Presents ads. Buddy Holly, Chubby Checker, Elvis the King, and the older stuff like Patti Paige and Jerry Vail. Let's not even get into Glenn Miller and Spike and his orchestra. I'm having wicked flashbacks that would rival those of any Vietnam vet. 

But the child abuse did not stop there. I was forced to watch Lawrence Welk, Sha Na Na, (Bowser was a big mouth lunk head) and Hee Haw (lot's to be learned about anatomy by watching those Hee Haw Honeys!!!) during what was allegedly Family Hour. 

This was rationalized by citing D&C 68:10, I believe it was. Teach your children the things they are supposed to know and if they screw it up later, you won't be held accountable on judgment day in the event they try to cite some sort of doctrinal technicality and sting you with a Celestial loophole. Nope, I was bein' raised right, no questions about it.

As I came of age in junior high and things like girls and dances became the normal focus on social activity, I found myself being exposed to "Other " forms of music. This did not sound like what my parents had on their records, or when they decided to catch up with the times, their 8 tracks , back in the sanctuary of our beloved home. No, I heard my classmates singing strange things about "We don't need no edu-KY- tion" in the worst British accents ever to be subjected to human ears, Arkansas included. And there were other wayward children who were singing some thing like "bomp bomp bomp ... another one bites the dust."
These kids were to be avoided at all costs. They were an unholy influence on the chosen few, such as myself. Their ways were evil and their parents probably had no idea that they weren't listening to The Everly Brothers or The Lettermen. They would be severely punished when they were caught. 

This was also when my sister went to BYU to find a husband. She was safe from all that in Provo, the bastion of that which is good and holy. It was almost as if she went to the Celestial Kingdom for a short while, and then she would come home for Christmas and tell us all about it. We eagerly awaited her arrival.

When she finally came home after that first semester, we had to get over the initial disappointment that she hadn't gotten engaged yet. Dad was miffed, because that meant he had to shell out for another semester at least. And this was even after he had gotten her braces and all sorts of other enhancements in order to assure that she would not be viewed as defective merchandise. 

It kind of reminded me of some of my friends who raised cattle for show. They spent all year brushing and grooming and feeding that cow the very best food to get it ready for the county fair. The cow thought all this was because it was loved and being cared for, when in reality, all the kid wants is a damn good cow it can ditch onto some buyer for the most profit. Thus was the fate of my sister. And she had no takers the first semester of the Church Fair. Oh, well, there's still 3 1/2 semesters to go. All is not lost. Some desperate rancher is sure to at least look at her for pulling his plow. 

My sister enlightened us as to the path trodden by the holy at BYU. It sounded like such a wonderful place. I was only in 7th grade, but I made a silent covenant to my maker that day that I, too, shall go there and uphold this holy tradition. After my years of grooming and brushing , of course. We were all mesmerized by my sister's accounts of BYU, basking in her glow of special feelings, finding love for all things sacred and holy, and feeling the spirit prompt me to cry tears of joy normally reserved for fast and testimony meeting. This was truly a sacred story hour. It was a pity that it would ever have to end, but end it did. And quite harshly, too. 

Not all things were sunshine, love and laughter at BYU. There were also some people there who did bad things. Sometimes they swore, sometimes they drank coke, sometimes they didn't go to church. "How can this travesty go on?" my soul wailed. 

Words cannot expressed the grief and anguish I felt at this new knowledge. It was as if I had just walked in on Mickey Mouse boffing Minnie Mouse after I had inadvertently walked through one of those "employees only" doors at Disneyland, the happiest place on earth. How could I live with such despair, now knowing that Provo wasn't actually the 2nd happiest place on earth. 

My sister assured us that these bad apples were actively being sought out and expelled. Most of them were people from California, and you know how they are. My heart was filled with righteous indignation towards them. 

She also told us of people who listened to bad kinds of music. Very bad music. It was called "acid rock" and those who played, and I use that term loosely, this kind of music had names like Van Halen and Styx. They didn't really play their instruments, either. They merely banged them on the ground and kicked them around the stage. Theirs was not music, it was Satan's plague unleashed upon an unwary mankind. I must be watchful, I again silently covenanted.

A year or so later, we were going on a youth temple trip. We were going to the Seattle temple to do baptisms for the dead, after we passed our interviews, of course. I just shrugged my shoulders at the big M question. I had no idea what that was. It must be something people from California do while listening to acid rock. I was deemed worthy to go and get dunked like a holy donut. Again. And again. And again. And again. How much dunkin' could a holy donut dunk if a holy donut could dunk... uhhh... sorry about that.

On our way to the temple, a kid asked if I wanted to see something. 

"Sure." 

With a look of sheer malevolence, he pulled a cassette tape from out of a bag. He handed it to me and I looked at it. I felt this slimy feeling like I had just taken a pack of cigarettes from him or did to Minnie what I saw Mickey do. This was not good. He had handed me a tape of a group called Iron Maiden. The tape was called "The Number of the Beast." 

"Where did you get this?" I asked, my heart beating faster by the second as I tossed this filth back to him.

"My brother got it at college." 

"Your bother goes to BYU, though!" 

"So what, that's were he got it. He doesn't know I have it either." 

I could not believe what I was hearing!!!!! My sister warned me about these people, but they were all from iniquitous places like California! We couldn't possibly have one of those people here in our ward! And yet his brother smuggled this tape on the van. AND THIS VAN IS GOING STRAIGHT TO THE TEMPLE!!!!!!! 

He opened it up and put it into one of those new fangled tape players they called ghetto blasters and boom boxes. Surely this fool was not thinking of actually playing this thing!! My soul was filled with terror. Heavenly Father would most definitely not allow this to take place. He would stop it, but how? Would he cause this clan van to wreck in order to keep us from defiling His holy temple? Would I be allowed into the Celestial Kingdom after I stood idly by and did nothing to stop it? My heart raced wildly with fear. I felt like the guy in the movie who is the only one who knows a bomb is about to go off and he has to find and disarm it before it kills innocent people. I was surrounded by holy children talking and laughing on their way to the temple. They were completely oblivious to the perils that awaited them. Their fate was in my hands and it was up to me to save the day. Thinking fast and trying my best to look like Harrison Ford, I turned to the kid who was going to subject us all to the wrath of Heavenly Father and play the tape. It was too late. In the time it took for me to consider the consequences of his foolhardy ways and my heroic efforts to thwart them, it allowed him ample time to put the tape in and push the play button. My plan of righteous intervention had already failed. Now there was nothing to do but await our grisly fate for indulging in this veritable orgy of acid rock. 

Before I go on, I seem to remember this church musician/motivational speaker. His name was Lynn something or another, I just can't remember what it was. For some reason the name Brinkley comes to mind. Is this the spirit prompting me with wisdom from above? He used to go about speaking and peddling his worthless wares. I best remember him from a talk I once heard about music called "Apples or Onions." Does anyone remember this? He goes on to warn us about the perils of bad music and what becomes of those who listen to it. He relates a parable about a hi school pep rally where they have a caramel apple eating contest. The upperclassmen are given caramel apples, but the freshmen are slipped caramel onions and they were forced to eat them lest they suffer the wrath of the seniors. I saw it happen to a kid once. He was in my ward, too. It made him cry. Such is it with music. Be careful what you bite into. This Lynn fellow was also prepared to offer us an alternative to caramel onion music. He said there are 4 types of music and they are

1. Bad people making bad music
2. Bad people making good music
3. Good people making bad music
4. Good people making good music

"Get Lynn Brinkley's Greatest Hits, The Best of Lynn Brinkley, and Lynn Brinkley sings the Good Music!! All for $49.95! Available immediately after the benediction! And if you're a full tithe payer, Lynn will autograph them all himself!! Buy all 3!!! Act now and you also get "Lynn Brinkley tells you what's wrong with everyone else's music and why the prophet wants you to listen to Lynn Brinkley " at no extra charge!!! BUT YOU MUST ACT NOW WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!!!!"

So Lynn, the prophet wants me to listen to MoTab and you. Hey Lynn, if you see this, I want you to know your music is REALLY lame. And then you have the gaul to endorse it as church sanctioned because you're a good person making good music. You're damn lucky Beavis and Butthead didn't ever hear of you or they would have nailed your good guy good music thing good!! Actually, you probably could have used a little exposure as I have no problem conjuring up images of you trying to make it as the Dick Clark of stake dances in SLC. You're probably a dj and you try to slip in a few of your songs hoping someone will saunter up and ask who it is so you can say, "Why that's ME young lady! Would you like me to autograph an album for you? I got lots of them in the back of my clan van!" 

"Uhhhhhhhh... like... no thanks, dude. I, like , just wanted to find out, like , who it was, y'know, so, like, you wouldn't play it again, y'know?" 

And this leaves you to wonder if your career could be revived if you wore baggy pants and talked like your from the tuff side of Orem, ya know what I'm sayin'? And then if you incorporated a stronger beat and emphasized the bass a little and PRESTO! Lynn Brinkley's back with it again! And I remember your song about the 2 elders who saw the angel. But it was a Hell's Angel and they were on their Harleys. Really, Lynn, couldn't you think of anything better to rhyme with Harley that to call him "Big Starley"? gagpukevomitwretch 

My career is over I'm down on my luck
My music is good but good music sucks

Sorry about that, I just wanted to leave a message in case he sees this. But then again, if he does see this, that must mean he's questioning things. WAHOO! Welcome to the 13th Tribe, my brother!!! But your music still sucks.

So back to Harrison Ford rescuing the holy children from the satanic bomb on the temple bound clan van. My heart was racing 1000 mph. I was genuinely scared to death at what I was about to hear. I said a silent prayer hoping it would help. I felt as helpless as someone sinking on the Titanic knowing they were about to die. As the song "The Number of the Beast" began and I heard the first kicking of the guitars I frantically rocked back and forth with my eyes squeezed shut praying, " Heavenly Father, I'm so thankful for the blessings which thou hast given me... please forgive us of us our sins... P-P-P-P-P-P-P-PLEASE forgives us for... Hmmmm....... Wait a second... This is acid rock?!?! ....This is kind of cool.... and he's only kicking this guitar around on the floor? ................"

I stopped my prayer in mid sentence. These sounds I was hearing had some strangely profound effect upon me. It reached into the very depths of my soul with all the force of a testimony and grabbed something in there that I had no idea even existed and would not let it go. This music spoke to me. It WAS me. The music and I became as one as I danced with the Devil, and liked it. This was truly a spiritual conversion. It was more powerful than any religious experience I had ever had. And once the song ended, I was assaulted by the hymn "Run to the Hills" I was forever hooked. Those of you who may have partaken from this chalice of Satan know the sweet power that now coursed through me. It was intoxicating. It engulfed and overwhelmed me, taking me on a journey of unprecedented pinnacles heretofore unknown by my virgin ears and soul. This van better not wreck. I'm going to get this tape at the mall as soon as we're done with our holy dunkin' donut routine!!!!

Many years later, still as saved as I ever was, I still sing these hymns. I am a devoted convert to the powers of Devil Music, and I openly worship on a daily basis. I have an electric guitar and and renew my covenants as I feel the power rage through my soul as it is cleansed by the spirit of the B power chord. My wife and neighbors feel this power, too. I preach it unto them. I will convert them to my ways. I must thank the little boy who has now grown into the righteous and upstanding TBM who chastises and upbraideth me for my falling away. I must thank him for being the tool that set me free. Satan works in mysterious ways.

Playelder

P.S. I noticed an interesting development as to the identity of the apple/onion guy. It way well give me a clue as to how our beloved FPR's develop and are perpetuated. While I have never heard of Jack Christensen, the speaker I heard was indeed Lynn Bryson. I just couldn't remember his last name and prophesied falsely when I called him Brinkley. It was an evil spirit which took posession of my body. It appears as though there was some confusion as to who did what. It seems to me, given the LDS culture, that one may be borrowing from another, or perhaps both are borrowing from an outside source altogether, and presenting this information at firesides. While I don't question anyone's experience listening to either one at their respective firesides, I thot it quite interesting that there were different claims as to who heard what from which source. This intrigues me. I am interested in knowing when and where either one claimed the apple/onion incident originally took place. Back in 1982, our pagan high school in Oregon had a pep rally and the apple/onion trick was pulled. In fact, 'twas a kid in my ward who got the onion and he became so frustrated in his effort to actually eat it that be broke down and cried in front of everyone. This was before I had ever heard of Lynn Bryson and his story, much less his wonderful music. Lynn, if you see this, YOU SUCK!!!!! Outside of this, I have only heard of it referred to in my LDS dealings. I find it hard to believe that our cheerleaders picked up a copy of the October 1982 New Era and proclaimed, "I'm so totally sure! Like, let's play this gnarly trick at our pep rally!" Perhaps the roots of this apple/onion phenomenom lie elsewhere and it served a purpose to those church speakers who pulled a Paul H. Dunn on unsuspecting children. If anyone has any input on this Iwould like to hear it. I know this is rather trivial and hardly something to concern myself with, but what can I say? I like stupid stories.

Look Out! He Could Be an Undercover Jesus!

Posted by Playelder on December 01, 1998 at 15:15:50:

Today is especially near and dear to my heart, for on December 1st, 1988, I returned home from my mission and was now free to indulge myself in all manner of worldliness from which I had abstained for the 2 best years of my life. (Cue sad violin music and dim lights as a rather simple fellow sits on a stool alone on a stage.) Simple things now had precious new meaning. Being called by my given first name. An individual identity. Spending my time as I pleased, relaxing, watching TV, listening to music, or just taking a nap. A walk ALONE, as in, all by myself, late at night as the silent snows of winter fell about me, causing me to wax philisophical and contemplate my new freedom that I had lusted after for so long. (Orchestra's tempo gradually increases until it reaches cresendo, then falls silent.)

And if you would have had the gall to tell me that in exactly 10 years I would be sharing this experience within this particular forum, I would have soundly rebuked thee and cast thine evil out from within thee. After I bore my testimony, of course. (Gong rings)

Having shared that, I now leave you with the standard disclaimer:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story. (House lights go up to enable half the audience to leave safely and in orderly fashion. The other half who remain are sleeping soundly. Tuff shit)
 

I remember as a youngin' singing the song in sacrament, "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief." We all know this song. It's the one about the guy who keeps encountering this pathetic loser and keeps bailing him out of whatever trouble he's in while the guy gets stuck with the bill and the loser just jaunts away knowing he's suckered yet another good Samaritan. And in the end he sees the loser about to be executed (was this in Texas?) and the loser asks the guy if he'll take his place and die for him. With heart beating frantically, knowing he's about to get involved in something he has no business in that could be the biggest mistake of his life, something bursts forth uncontrollably from within the guy and his answer was similar to mine was at my wedding, "I Will!"

Then, miraculously, the loser sheds his disguise and it turns out it was Jesus undercover the whole time! The guy falls to his knees and the Undercover Jesus says, "Fear not, thou didst them unto me. Now get me a beer..........just kidding!"

Then they leave and all the revelers at the execution are left just kind of standing there, pissed that there will be no execution today. That is, until one of them suggests that the gallows could easily be transformed into a cross, then maybe the afternoon will not be a total loss after all. Jesus splits and leaves the guy to fend for himself.

Well, that's how I remember it! And this is MY special day, so butt out! The moral of the story was to be nice to everyone as you never knew who would be the Undercover Jesus ready to nab you in a Celestial sting operation. There is no such thing as entrapment. If you did it, you did it, and your thoughts, deeds, and actions would testify against you on the last day.

We even had a Sunday School lesson about encounters with Undercover Jesuses. The lesson manual told the story of a BYU religion professor who was giving the finals in his course. At the last minute, he changed the location of where the test would be given, and it was inconveniently out of the way for the students. As they hurried over to where the test would be, they encountered a guy having car problems asking for help. Unfortunately, the students were in such a big hurry that they could not take the time to help him and risk missing this test, lest they go to the Telestial Kingdom for flunking a religion course at The Lord's university. Anyway, someone else would come along and help him.

They then encountered a young lady whose papers had blown all over the place and asked for help picking them up, but she was met with the same response.

Lastly, they encountered an old man who had fallen and couldn't get up, but he had one of those safety beepers, so he'd be OK. It would be a good story to tell the grandchildren.

When the students finally arrived at the new location, they were somewhat relieved that the professor had not arrived yet. When he finally did show up, he was accompanied by the the man with the car trouble, the young lady with the scattered papers, and The Apostle Howard W. Hunter. The professor smugly asked if any of these people looked familiar. Several of the students sheepishly acknowleged that they did. As it turned out, the man with the car and the lady with the papers were planted there as a sting operation to entrap the unwary students. Howard W. Hunter actually had fallen down and couldn't get up, and the professor was pissed about the fact that he had to go get him because he was to be a surprise guest speaker on doing unto others.

Standing before his students and in the presence on an Apostle, the professor, hopefully soon to be a G.A., proclaimed with righteous indignation, "This WAS your final exam! And all of you failed! Let this be a lesson to you!"

He then cited Matthew 25:48 (?) that states, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto these, the least of my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Thus I was fatally infected with the Undercover Jesus Syndrome.

So, now that I knew the world was fraught with Undercovers Jesuses, my journey thru this earthly realm was now made extra hazardous indeed. They were everywhere. You never knew where they'd turn up or what trick they were going to pull to nail you. They were waiting at every corner to tell you an off color (as opposed to an "on color") joke at school and if you dared to laugh then the Undercover Jesus would rip off his mask and yell "BUSTED!!!!" right in your face.

And if you were walking to class and the school babe was in the hallway up ahead of you wearing those tight jeans that had no back pockets (Hey! It was the 80's! They were cool back then! Not like those baggy ass clown pants that these damn kids wear today) and if you thought any impure thoughts, then she would stop dead in her tracks, turn around and approach you in front of everyone while all the guys were thinking, "Whoah! The class babe is gonna talk to him. Maybe she wants to ask him out."

While standing there with sweaty palms and trying to think of something witty to say to her so she'll like you, she rips off her clothes -- I mean mask, sorry, you know how it is with these teenage fantasies -- and it turns out that she was an Undercover Jesus and she yells "BUSTED!" right in your face in front of everyone.

All the guys then just kind of disperse themselves muttering stuff about how glad they are that they aren't Mormons and don't have to worry about the consequences of failing to uphold the high standards. Yes, these Undercover Jesuses had a way of stinging you good.

My personal weakness is the unsupressable urge to laugh at things I'm not supposed to laugh at. The Division of Undercover Jesuses knew this and they constantly used this intelligence against me in the war that we waged against one another. I was stung many times, but I developed the required skills and instincts to sniff out and detect an ambush by the Undercover Jesuses. I could not be fooled any longer in the small town of Burns, Oregon, as I had seen every possible trap the Undercover Jesuses could come up with. It was time for a new challenge.

(It is my theory that Eric K is a high tech 90's model Undercover Jesus and he's just biding his time before he rips off his cyber mask and yells "BUSTED!!!" in all our faces. There are others among you who I also believe are Undercover Jesus Agents who have infiltrated this site and don't really want to leave because it's so much fun. God, is Eric gonna kick your asses when he decides to wrap up this sting operation and finds you guys have pulled a Donnie Brasco. He's gonna forget all about clowns like me.)

I was worthy enough to be accepted into Pricks College (damn that Spellbinder!) and went forth unto the city of Rexburg. There I met many fellow dungbeetles who diligently rolled their balls of dung as required. Some of us left our balls of dung behind and focused on other things. It was just a matter of time until I chose to share my theories on the Undercover Jesuses with several of my aquaintances.

They felt my theory was viable, but they had not heard it preached unto them in such terms. We all went forth now, wary of the Undervover Jesuses, or UCJ Agents, as they were now referred to. Pricks College was filled with UCJ Agents, like the guy wearing sideburns and highwater bellbottoms. I'm not sure what his story was, but everyone knew him and they snickered at him as they made John Travolta Saturday Night Fever finger pointing moves.

"Fools!" I thought to myself.

This was clearly a UCJ Agent on his first assignment. He hadn't been out long enough to know how to slyly weave his web in order to ensnare you. This greenie UCJ Agent merely dressed up funny and screamed to the world, "Look at me! Heap scoff and scorn upon me! Surley there is no harm in that!" as he eagerly awaited that very first chance to rip off his mask and yell in your face. Then he, too, could be like all the veteran UCJ Agents and reflect fondly upon their very first busts. The startled looks on their silly little faces. The gasps of horror. The miserable feeling of knowing that they were teasing Jesus and he caught them red handed. I steered clear of him as his amateurism nauseated me.

No, my adversaries must be worthy of my talents. There was another UCJ Agent who almost nailed me in a cafeteria sting. He was disguised as a rather gentle fellow who had the misfortune of being born into this world looking EXACTLY like Alfred E. Neuman aka that Mad Magazine "What, me worry?" guy. I saw him all the time. While I felt sorry for him, I just couldn't resist pointing him out and saying , "What, me worry?" as he walked by. My UCJ Agent instincts kicked in, but I was weak and he knew it. I would soon be his. One day, as UCJ Agent Neuman walked by, someone apparently said something he didn't take kindly to and UCJ Agent Neuman jumped this guy right in the cafeteria and they came to fisticuffs. UCJ Agent Neuman was either a lot stronger than he looked or years of frustration finally manifested itself and this wiseguy paid the debt that had accumulated during all these years. Agent Neuman had violated the rules of the UCJ Division. Once you have them stung, you are NEVER to engage in physical confrontation. You are simply to rip off your mask and identify yourself as an Undercover Jesus and yell "BUSTED" as a fight between a mortal and an Undercover Jesus would hardly be fair. It does explain those lightning bolts that came out of UCJ Agent Neuman's fingers and zapped that guy's ass all to hell.

With time, my fellow wastrels became as adept as I when it came to detecting UCJ Agents. One of them had a tune he would hum whenever we encountered one. There was this old song, maybe from the 70's, and all I know are the words, "Undercover Angel, midnight fantasy" and this guy would hum this tune whenever we were strolling thru the campus or throwing snowballs at people or engaging in other behavior that would get us close to being stung. One time we found someone's Playboy hidden in a piano in the dorm. We planted it in the room of a UCJ Agent, after we looked at it, of course, and tried to get him busted by the floor RA, who also happened to be a UCJ Agent. The thought of 2 UCJ Agents trying to bust each other was more than we could pass up. Unfortunately, the Playboy was discovered before the room inspection, but we got to give the UCJ Agent hell about it and there was nothing he could do to bust us. They just HATE it when they are thwarted by us silly mortals.

Many years have passed and I have given up my war with the Undercover Jesuses. I've other things to do that are more important. Like drink beer and look at Playboys and tell my wife to bring me more beer. My wife is very understanding. She gets tears in her eyes when I tell her my tales of being a poor wayfaring man of grief and she rubs my feet. She feels indignant when I tell her why I cannot go to my sisters wedding in the temple. Her heart is filled with sorrow when I tell her how I'd get hit with stuff on my mission while riding a bike. It makes her sad just to think about it. Yes, she's very kind, caring, and understanding. I couldn't ask for a better wife. But that bitch can't fool me. I've seen her without her mask. It's just a matter of time until she rips it off and yells, "BUSTED!!!"

-- For Young Women Only --
Your Body, Your Garage

Posted by 100Proof on February 03, 1999 at 16:04:04:

(Since I *fear* the garage post will get archived, I decided to give it a tune-up. Here it is again, after receiving 60,000 mile service. Thanks to alien and BR for a couple of ideas I've included.)

A speech given by Apostate Hunerd Proof at the RfM Young Womens Conference on February 3, 1999

My dear special sweet young spirits, I wish to address a topic that is very sacred and dear to the Lord.

The Lord has blessed us with special bodies. Our bodies are like a house. We have many different rooms for many different purposes. Dear girls, the Lord has instructed us on the proper use and purpose for all our rooms.

This morning, I would like to talk about your garage.

As you mature, you will find new vines growing around your garage. You may discover an urge to raise the garage door and explore the opening. Satan will tempt you to fiddle with the automatic opener button, causing the door to rise and fall again and again. Resist Satan's temptations, for he simply likes to watch.

My dear sweet special things, the Lord has asked you to keep your garage closed until you have chosen a car for time and all eternity. Keep your garage empty until you've found that one special car to join you in the Celestial parking lot. Resist the urge to put your own bicycle in your garage. Do not allow foreign tools into your garage. Keep the door locked, for that is what our Heavenly Housebuilder has requested.

And if you find the temptation is too much, I have a suggestion for you. Turn your thoughts to construction sites, to messy bulldozers and cranes. Think of the noise and the mud and exhaust fumes. Imagine all the dirty grease these monsters drip. Are these the things you want in your garage?

You may find young men eager to park their cars in your garage. Young men like to brag about their cars. They like to show you their cars and let you feel the finish. They may even ask that you help them wax their cars, and then they'll insist that the wax job be followed by overnight parking in your garage. Dear ladies, do not be deceived by the shine. Encourage young men to park on the street, to wax in their own driveway if they must, for your garage is to remain unsoiled. Young men need to drain their crankcase once in a while. Do not allow them to drain in your garage, for they will leave a mess behind for you to clean.

Occasionally, young men drive cars that are loud and have strong engines. These cars are sports cars and are most dangerous. You should never let one into your driveway, for the Lord has asked that you marry a family sedan or a minivan. If you see a sports car in your neighborhood, you should schedule a visit with your Bishop. Your Bishop knows your neighborhood well and can instruct all young men on proper parking and driving.

When you find the one automobile that is right for you, and you both have been sealed in the showroom, allow him to park. He may need assistance parking his sedan the first few times, for if he has followed the maintenance schedule, he will be due for an overhaul. Keep your garage attractive and free of other cars. Trim the vines, and scrub the door. 

Yours is only a one car garage, and he is your eternal car.

My Quest for Carrots: Wednesdays at the MTC

Posted by Playelder on November 05, 1998 at 14:05:27: 

This was originally posted as a follow up to a bloke (or blokette) named Brace Point. Since I'm redoing it from memory and it's a little different from the original one, I plead the Book of Lehi Defense, cause this definately ain't inspired of God. 
 

The long awaited, glorious, day had finally arrived. My mission was completed honorably and I was now on my way back home. I had served with all my heart, might, mind, and strength and I was now looking forward to the vast and bountiful blessings that would now come my way as promised. AT LONG LAST I HAVE TRIUMPHED!!!THE CARROT SHALL BE MINE!!!!!!!! 

We all know these Celestial carrots. They were a big part of our decisions to serve missions. We lusted after those carrots and could almost taste them as we tracted in the rain and endured all manner of indignity in order to obtain them. Those wonderful, blessed Celestial carrots. Those carrots were a powerful reminder to keep us "on the plan" when we may have struggled a bit. Just 2 years and I can have the most blessed, righteous carrots this side of the veil. Almost as sweet as the fruit of the Tree of Life. And no slicked up, ultra chic, toga sporting Patricians in their penthouses with Corvettes parked out front to laugh at me as I dug them out of their front yard. No, their scorn was reserved for those who plucked the fruit off of their tree of life over by the jacuzzi in the gazebo. I was free to partake of my allotment of carrots for I had earned them fair and square. But there is a catch to our quest for carrots. You can NEVER admit to yourself or others that they are the motivating factor for your goodly works. Carrot misers are frowned upon by Heavenly Father and His servants. To do so would remove all promise of any carrots you may have obtained thru your acts of righteousness. Consider this scenario at zone conference: 

Mission Prez: Elder/Sister why are you here?

Elder/sister: I am here because I love The Lord and I want To share the joy of the restored gospel to all of His children. I have a testimony and I want to share it's joy with everyone."

Mission Prez: Good answer! Good answer! Now, Playelder, why are you here?

Playelder: Because I seek CARROTS! They were promised me if I but give 2 years of my life! I want them now! Where's my carrots? My dad, my bishop, my stake president, and everyone else promised me lots and lots of carrots if I go!!!! All I've seen is broccoli and chard and kale! Where's the carrots? Have ye not read D&C 82 vs 3 -10? Is it not written that 

"I the Lord am bound when ye do what I say, but when ye do not as I say ye have no promise?"

And I sure better do as He says because 

"Unto whom much is given much is required and he who sins against the greater light receiveth the greater condemnation."

Who has been given more than me? I was valiant in the pre existance and therefore entitled to be born into the church. I'm a sonofabishop! Are we not told to promise investigators blessings? I promised them some carrots! But then I am told to tell them that Satan will now come into their life and try to keep them from hearing the gospel. Am I to offer them garlic now? Which shall it be? The masses await my wisdom. Oh yeah, where's my carrots I was promised for doing this? I'd like an advance please.

Mission Prez: No carrots for you, Playelder. You should give freely and willingly and not seek carrots from on high." 

And such is the fate of any carrot seekers who have the audacity to actually admit they are engaged in a quest for carrots. 

So now I had completed my mission and was secretly hoping that I could collect a few carrots. Admit the facts, folks. It's crossed all our minds. When you first came home you thought the blessings would just roll right on in, didn't you? HA HA HA you just fessed up! No carrots for you!!!! HA HA HA! Come on, you gotta be more careful than that if you want your carrots. Anyway I was in dire need of a carrot or 2. I had turned down scholarship offers in order to do the right thing, (Can you imagine the carrot attached to that sacrifice?) and the outlook for any type of anything at all was bleak at best. 

You see, I was returning home to a small town in Eastern Oregon in the middle of winter. Life stands still. There is nothing there. Oh what the hell, I'll just tell you where, who's it gonna hurt? BURNS, OREGON!!! There! I said it! I came from Burns, Oregon! Whatcha gonna do about it, tuff guy? ATTENTION K-MART SHOPPERS Playelder is from Burns, Oregon! Get out your maps and take a look. It's worse than Gilligan's Island out there. I knew all along that when I came home things would be pretty bad and I'd really need a carrot or 2 to help me out. The lumber mills are pretty much shut down, workers are on strike, half the town is unemployed, and Playelder just got back from Georgia. Life doesn't get any better than this in Burns, I tell ya. So having said this, it kind of puts my parents promise into perspective: 

"Playelder, if you just go on a mission now, when you come back you can go to work or school or do whatever you want. As long as you do what's right, Heavenly Father will bless you and take care of the rest." 

So after 5 months of unemployment I was finally tossed a carrot in the form of finally getting my old grocery store job back. I left a delightful job as a shelf stocker in the only store in town to ride a bike in Georgia and now it was given back to me. Hooray! Hooray! I finally got a carrot! There was a catch, however. All my toils and labor would be compensated with the celestial sum of $3.45 an hour. This was in 1988, folks. And when they're the only store in town they can do that to you. There is another store in town now, just in case some Burns historian thinks I'm trying to pull a Paul H. Dunn here. So now I was home for 6 months and finally got a job that paid me $138 a week. Now all I've got to do is find me a wife and start a family and pay $13.80 a week in tithing. Time's ticking away, I've already been home for 6 months and my slothfulness in following the Mission Prez's "get married within 6 months" advice was going to cost me a carrot or 2. My dad sensed that this was the case so he offered me the Ward Cleaverly advice that I should move to SLC and seek my future there. 

Translation: Well, since you aren't enrolled in school and at the rate you're earning you never will, why don't you just move to SLC where all the members are and find a wife. Oh, you might want to get a job and a place to live while you're there, too. 

So I was off to live in SLC and find a wife. That would be much easier there because everyone goes to church and if one chick tells you to get lost, she has 3 more sisters you can try your luck with. WAHOO! It doesn't get any better than that!! Life in SLC was very Utah-like and it took me some getting used to. Like, every female that I saw was now a potential eternal mate. They all warranted attention of some sort or another. They could be just carrying on with their lives as normal and have no idea that they are merely a carrot promised to a puke from Oregon because he rode a bike in the rain once while muttering, "I better get a damn fine carrot for this." I just knew I would find my future mate in Utah. 

I had a brother in-law in SLC and every now and then he'd go to Provo to do stuff. I didn't know and didn't care what. I went with him because it was something to do and also you never ever knew when Heavenly Father would toss you that female carrot that you earned while getting beer cans thrown at you. One day we drove by the MTC and it brought back a lot of memories. I remember the day I got abandoned there like the proverbial baby in a basket. I was watching everyone get their things out of the family clan van and and crying and all that stuff. I also remember seeing a future elder who refused to get out of the clan van. His dad was pushing and pulling and struggling with him but the dude wouldn't budge. As small children were stopping to stare and being ushered away by their parents, his dad was getting visibly aggravated by it all. There was no way I was going to leave. This was a first class show! His dad was damn near putting him in the "pine box of honor " himself. He said one last time, "You've got to grow up and be a man some day, and today is that day. Now get out of the car!" He grabbed the kid and pulled and yanked and grunted but to no avail. That kid was stuck like a dingleberry on my dog's butt and he wasn't going anywhere. Pretty soon The MTC prez George Durrant came out and used some softer tactics to get him out. Oddly enough, there were no carrots involved. 

Once the show was over I remembered thinking to myself, "Geez, I'd hate to be that guys partner." The whole thing reminded me of my first day of kindergarten in 1972 when Ronnie Pratt's mom had to physically throw him into the room and slam the door behind him. I was watching the whole thing and kind of snickering to myself. That stopped real fast when the teacher went and assigned me to be Ronnie's "special friend." 

Once we all got thru the last goodbye "missionaries thru this door, everyone else thru that door" ceremony, I went to my new room anxious to meet my new partner. When I got there, the room was empty, but there were guys in the next one over. I went over there and I heard sobbing inside. My heart was grieved. I was now filled with the new Christ-like compassion that was to be mine for the next 2 years. Perhaps I could comfort this forlorn elder. His sorrows were my sorrows. My bowels were filled with compassion for him. As I opened the door and looked inside I came face to face with my destiny ...................... OH NO!!!!!! It's "Elder Pratt" 

I remember thinking to myself that if the only day where I saw the new guys arrive was that good, what would the rest of them be like? Since I really didn't have anything better to do, it became somewhat of a ritual to go to the MTC on Wednesdays and watch the farewell cermonies. Sometimes they were pretty good, others were kind of boring. Yeah, I know it's pretty low to admit that as a source of entertainment, but what do you expect from someone who wanted to pass the sacrament to Brother Greedyfingers just so he could watch everyone else partake afterward. 

In a previous life I had season tickets to the Roman gladiator/ christians vs the lions fights. After all these centuries I still had it in me. I knew it and I knew that God knew it and I could not deny it. Besides, I was in Utah to find my wife the carrot, remember? You never knew where she was going to turn up. (turnip......get it?........ok, then be that way) She could very well be the sister of one of the many "Elder Pratts" who viewed their departure as a Trials of Life video. What better way to impress upon her my preisthood powers than by getting in there with dad and putting my shoulder to the wheel and getting her brother Ronnie out of the clan van. 

"Oh who IS that strapping young virile man who's helping dad get Ronnie out of our clan van? Look at the way he uses his power of 'the laying on of hands.' Ronnie is no match for this priesthood holder, and neither am I. He could be my future husband! How's my hair? How's my makeup? Does this dress make me look 'immodest?' I sure hope he notices me after all this ruckus that Ronnie is raising. I just KNEW I would meet my eternal mate at a church function in Utah!" 

Well, maybe it could happen. 

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

He's Coming to Take You Away!

Posted by Playelder on December 07, 1998 at 13:53:13:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

My family has a tradition. Boys go on missions and come home to reap the blessings from above, and girls go to BYU to find a husband, feeling free to attend a class or two if it aids them in their search. It is a time honored tradition and it has worked well thru the years, producing 2 RM sons and 2 daughters married to RM's who were accosted at BYU. There are also the 2 deviant siblings, the brother who didn't go on a mission and tools about town in this really cool Keystone Beer truck, delivering beer to the stores and taverns and putting up those sexy cardboard Elvira displays at Halloween, and the sister who stole away to Las Vegas and now has a non member boyfriend who happens to be of the seed of Cain. My brother and sister have chosen to break the traditions of our fathers and will pay for their indolence. He will be forced to live the lowly life of a beer man and know the shame of everyone laffing at his exposed butt crack as he gets down on his knees to put the beer in the far reaches of the bottom shelf, his only girlfriend being a cardboard vampire he has to share with the rest of us once a year. Although his is a noble calling, he shall suffer for his art. And she will no longer be white and delightsome as she has chosen a path that will punish her for her pursuit of the love of a kind and caring young man who happened to be less than valiant in the pre existance. How do you explain that to your boyfriend? And then how do you explain that ever darkening tan to your TBM parents? "Hmmmm. It must be that Las Vegas sunshine she's in all day long, I reckon."

Having concluded that I needn't add to the punishment of these 2, I looked toward my younger sister, "Mildred," who was heading out for BYU. She must be punished, because that was what big brothers are for. We are tools in the Hand of God when it comes to punishing little sisters. It is our divine right and calling to do so. To shirk my sacred responsibilities would result in my being punished for failing to put my shoulder to the wheel and magnify my calling. I had made a covenant to Heavenly Father and I fully intended to honor it. I wanted to punish her in a way that would be everlasting, that would remind her on a continual basis that she was suffering sacred punishment at the hands of her elder brother.

It was then received my revelation from the heavens as to how Heavenly Father wanted my sister to be punished.

It was a rather simple revelation consisting of sending a letter to her future roommates and relying upon the expected reactions of my sister and her best friend who also went to BYU. Their reaction was the crucial part, for if they didn't reply as hoped for, Heavenly Father's revelation of punsihment would be in vain. Then I would be punished for failing to live up to my covenants in building the Kingdom of Zion.

I sent a letter to her roommates that reads as follows:

To the girls in #69 (please don't let "Mildred" see this, thanks)

Hi, my name is Jeff Hawkins (a name contrived from 2 obnoxious little nosepickers in the ward) and I'm Mildred's boyfriend from home. Mildred is a VERY special spirit, as I'm sure you have already found out by now. I'm glad that she's at BYU, but I love her and miss her so much, I'm just losing it. Mildred and I were very close. I don't think anyone has ever been closer to each other than we were. She's shared things with me that she hasn't even told our bishop at home about. That's how close we are. We really cared for each other a lot. Originally, I was going on my mission and Mildred was going to BYU and when I got back we'd get married. As the time got closer for her to come to BYU, she seemed a little unusual. She said that she needed some time away from me to think about things, and this really hurt my feelings. I think her and I knew each other in the pre existance and Heavenly Father wanted us to be married here on Earth, so you know how much this must have torn me up inside. She has a friend from home who's at BYU with her named "Mabel." Maybe you met Mabel already. She started talking to Mildred about seeing other guys and things like that. She really made me mad the way she tries to come between me and Mildred. One time we were at a stake dance and Mabel and Mildred were talking to some guys from another ward. I just couldn't handle it anymore and I went over to Mildred to get her out of there. She didn't want to come and when the guys asked who I was, Mabel told them that I was just her brother. She started doing that, now. Whenever I came to talk to Mildred and other guys were there, Mabel would always tell them, "Oh that's just Mildred's brother" so they wouldn't know that me and her were having a relationship. I just got to where I couldn't handle it anymore. One of my friends told me that one time some boys were talking to Mildred and one of them said, " Hay aren't you Jeff Hawkins' girlfriend?" and she said she'd never heard of Jeff Hawkins in her whole life. When he told me that I just wanted to commit suicide. I don't know how she could just tell them that she didn't know who I was. Now Mildred is at BYU and I really miss her alot. It hurts so much inside to not have her here with me. I need your help. I'm coming to BYU next Thursday to surprise her and bring her back with me. I know she misses me, too, but it's time for us to get married and I've got to get her and bring her back with me so we can straighten things out. The reason I told you this was because if she didn't come home one night, I wanted you to know that she was with me and she's safe and you don't need to worry about her. Please don't let her see this or tell her I'm coming. Thanks alot.

Jeff Hawkins.

I sent the letter and waited for a few days. I called #69 and asked for "Mildred." The girl from #69 who answered the phone asked who was calling and I identified myself as Jeff Hawkins. There was a lllloooonnnngggg pause and then I was told that Mildred wasn't there. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! The seeds of fear have been planted.

The girls of #69 weren't quite sure what to do about this Jeff Hawkins fellow. Should they just mind their own beeswax or tell their new friend Mildred that Jeff Hawkins was on his way to Provo to take her away. They decided that they sould tell Mildred that Jeff Hawkins was coming. They sat her down reluctantly broke the bad news to her. Mildred looked at them and asked, "Who is Jeff Hawkins?"

"Mildred, don't act like you don't know him!!!! This is serious!!! Jeff Hawkins is coming !!!! I even talked to him on the phone!!!!" They pleaded and begged for Mildred to listen to them, but to no avail. She didn't know who Jeff Hawkins was. That's her story and she's stickin' with it. Just like what Jeff Hawkins said she'd do. Jeff really did know Mildred pretty good. The girls of #69 were getting frantic about the impending arrival of Jeff Hawkins. They told Mabel about it and she denied Jeff Hawkins as well. 2 denials before the cock had crown thrice. Not bad for a psycho little mormon boy. In a desperate last ditch effort to convince Mildred and Mabel of the imminent doom of Jeff Hawkins, the girls of #69 sat both of them down and pleaded for hem to take this seriously. They even pulled out the letter that Jeff Hawkins had sent to them as proof.

Mabel had the solution to this problem and would settle it once and for all. "I don't know who this Jeff Hawkins guy is, but that letter was written by Mildred's brother!"

"DON"T YOU SEE?!?! That's exactly what Jeff Hawkins told us you would say!!! This isn't a joke anymore!!! Jeff Hawkins is coming!!" Mildred and Mabel just kind of looked at each other in their best little molly "what the hell?" kind of way.

One of the girls of #69 just couldn't handle it anymore. She stood and shreiked in Mildred'd face, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!! HE'S COMING TO TAKE YOU AWAY!!!!!"

It took several days for the girls of # 69 to be fully convinced that there was no Jeff Hawkins. They diligently watched over Mildred and made sure they knew of her wherabouts at all times. "Where are you going?" When are you coming back?" They were good little guardian angels. When they finally were convinced that Jeff Hawkins really was Mildred's brother Playelder they were rather good sports about it.

I called and as soon as one of the #69 girls said hello, I blurted out that I was Jeff Hawkins and I was in Provo and I was coming over. "HA HA you're so funny......you scared us all to death, you know that?"

"Sorry, I just wanted to stick my sister with a joke."

"Well don't ever do that again. It was kind of funny looking back on it, though. That name still gives us all the creeps."

The rest of the year every time I called my sister I identified myself as Jeff Hawkins. It was sort of a running joke now. And when my sister announced her engagement to "Clarence" he got a letter from Jeff Hawkins congratulating him. Jeff Hawkins got one back rather promptly from Clarence stating that he knew who I was as soon as he started dating Mildred and it just wasn't going to work on him. Oh well, it was worth a try to ruin her marriage, too.

OK Stake President Warhol, your 15 minutes, as well as my patience, have come to an end.

Posted by Playelder on May 21, 1999 at 14:32:19:

 Hello there, my ecclesiastic milk maiden.

I see that you would have us believe that you come here bringing with you the knowledge and wisdom imparted upon they who hold the mantle of Stake President. Knowing the anonymity provided here for us all, it is rather easy to accept what is presented to us at face value. I was a member for many years myself, therefore I am an expert in that department. I do not believe you are what you purport to be. Perhaps you do not care what I think, but I can remain silent no longer. In the words of Jesus Christ I declare unto thee,

"It is enough."

I know how easy it is to come into a place like this and post something under a catchy name or post some sort of provocative message and then stand back and watch the results. I know how easy it is to use a pseudonym and that there are those who will unquestionably believe all your words at face value and take the bait. If you want to catch a fish, you use the proper bait. I do it on another BB.

I do not believe you are a stake president. I think you are something far less than that in the great hierarchy of Zion. My personal gut feeling is that you just got off your mission and you feel that you have found a way to lengthen your stride. My personal integrity forces me to take the X Files approach on issues of this nature. 

Trust no one.

We all can come here and say whatever we want and nobody knows anything about us. That's why this place is so cool, Prez. It's almost as cool as masturbating, and it's definitely cooler than asking others if they masturbate. Even someone such as yourself can come in here and engage in cordial and well mannered exchange of ideas and scripture mingled with the philosophies of men.

However, I cannot force myself to believe you are who you say you are. And I was able to force myself into believing in riding a bike for 2 years at my own expense preaching doctrines of various degrees of lunacy while trying to convince myself that the underwear I was wearing had more spiritual worth than I did as a human being. Even I have my limits.

I do have an X Files theory, however. When I was a member I always stated with pride that the church was in possession of EVERY piece of anti-Mormon literature that was published, and they could easily refute every piece of anti-Mormon literature ever published. I was proud that the church was ever watchful over those whose unhallowed hands would stop the work from progressing. In other words, if you speak evil of the church, they keep record of it and thy words shall stand as testimony against thee at the last day. 

I find it rather easy to believe that there are church operatives amongst us here on the BB. I don't concern myself with it, but I feel that if you have the power to change the very mind of God Himself, you surely have the power, or pettiness, to keep record of the new ways of denigrating the church, such as this cool BB. 

Perhaps the church has sent their undercover Jesus agents in here to do their deeds of honor and righteousness. Perhaps they sent in an imbecilic buffoon such as RICK to give us what they know we expect, and than they send in someone such as yourself to offer the doctrinal counter punch. Sort of like the good cop/bad cop routine.

Then again, this very site might even have been put here by the church itself as a way to keep track of those who would revile against them. Just lay out the bait and wait for the sharks to circle. That way you know where they all are.

The scenarios, unlike my gullibility, are vast and limitless.

Personally I do not believe you to be a stake president by the very way in which you conduct yourself and the answers you give. I have read what you would have us believe as answers to questions that could quite possibly influence our eternal welfare. Pretty serious stuff when you think about it. And yet what you would pass off as answers, if you even go so far as to provide one (i.e. Hmmm......I don't know. But I know it's true. Mystery of God, thing. You wouldn't really understand. I know I don't so why should you.........next question please)
are lame at best, and an appalling insult to human intelligence at worst. And the glory of God is intelligence, by the way. I have given answers to gospel questions with far more substance than you have given. And I was a jr. companion at the time. Your lack of knowledge is inexcusable for someone who would preside over the eternal welfare of others. You bring nothing to the table but milk. And the milk which you bring is of the weakest powdered food storage variety.

 If you had actually been a stake president, you surely did not receive this calling because of your wisdom and leadership. I am then left to believe it must have been due to your occupation. I hope you know more about your field of work than you do about your own eternal path to salvation.

I have no problem at all envisioning you as a "pointy haired stake president." And lest ye are not of the world and my words, much like masturbation, are strange to you, check out Dilbert sometime.

Perhaps your calling was extended to you as one of those inspired versions of,

"Well, the person who benefits most from the calling is the one who holds it."

This was a polite way of saying,

"Give them the job. Nothing wises you up like getting thrown to the wolves."

I do not believe you are a stake president. Where do you find the time to read the questions posted to you, research answers, give up, and then consult the stake prez handbook section on how to say "I don't know the answer, but I know the answer is true" and then post it?

I come from a white- I mean pure and delightsome lineage. I am a sonofabishop. There was no possible way my dad could have found the time to fulfill his calling as a bishop, father, and internet "I don't know the answer man." And he had a Franklin Planner! So how do you do it? You must have one hell of a 1st and 2nd councilor to pick up your slack while you haul your buckets of milk to and fro. Just don't use your priesthood power to make someone else do all the work or you could end up like Mickey Mouse did in Fantasia when he made the brooms haul his buckets for him. What a mess!

Once again, I do not believe you are who you say you are. I think you dilly dally about while bolstering your testimony and then go back to church and bare your testimony about how you withstood the onslaught of the internet anti Mormons. If that is your plan, do me but one favor. When you stand up in this Sunday's squawk fest, I shall provide you the opportunity to testify more efficiently on judgment day.

The name is Playelder. One word with a capital "P".

And if by the most minutely astronomical chance that you really are a stake prez, may God have mercy on your stake and may you not be found guilty of shirking your stewardship on judgment day.

Now excuse me while I masturbate because I know that's how you think I got this wicked. 

A response .....

In Reply to: OK Stake President Warhol, your 15 minutes, as well as my patience, have come to an end. posted by Playelder on May 21, 1999 at 14:32:19:

...to your latest epistle (or should I say, diatribe?). For all your clever words, I only gleened one real question to which I will respond: How do I have time to respond to questions on this BB? Frankly, not much time is spent. I don't do any research; I simply respond as I would in conversation. I pop on from time to time during the day, and simply take a few moments to answer any queries put to me. I think it's only courteous to those that take the time to ask me questions. Most (if not all) of my church duties during the week occur at night, so, no, this BB does not get in the way of the Lord's work. Sorry to disappoint you on that one.

I have tried very hard to be courteous to all I correspond with on this BB, even though my natural instinct is to lash out at those that send personal attacks my way (which happens quite often on this BB), but I resist going to their level. Playelder, you are very good with words (much better than I am), so your personal insults have had the expected sting. I suspect you have always been the type of person that feels inferior to others (even though you're not) and compensates by showing off your vocal and literary talents. When put in that perspective, I feel sorry for you, instead of angry. You can continue to feel and believe as you will (as will I), but let's at least try to be kind to each other (and others) when we make our respective points on this BB. Sorry for this long epistle.

Still not breaking my habit.

 In Reply to: A response ..... posted by A Stake President on May 21, 1999 at 15:08:18:
 

I'll tell you the reason why Playelder might think that you're not *really* a SP. You are far too calm about it. However, in this last post you do reveal a couple of things that makes me think that you really are a SP.

First of all, you admit to the temptation to lash out at people. You must be congratulated for overcoming that temptation, but it is an admission that reveals the feelings we all used to feel when we were TBMs.

Secondly, you say that you are "sorry" for Playelder. That's the dead giveaway. TBMs *always* say that they are "sorry" for those of us who leave the church. (I must add that I find that sentiment not only phony, in most cases, but extremely patronizing. Why should you feel "sorry" for somebody who has found a better way to conduct their life?)

But, in any event, I believe that you probably are a SP, as well as a generally reasonable person. You have quite obviously grasped the fact that you aren't going to change anybody's mind on this BB, but then again, you haven't really tried to do that. You have courteously answered questions put to you, and not, IMO, tried to "defend the faith."

If you take anything away from your participation on this BB, I hope that it is the knowledge that not all of us who have left the church are angry, bitter, fallen into a state of sin, deranged, demented, deluded, lead astray by Satan, offended by insensitive members, or stupid. (Similarly, I would hope that those of us who have left recognize that not all TBMs fit into the above categories either.) I would hope that you recognize that there IS a problem within the church. By your own admission, "activity" in the church is less than 50%. In addition, as several participants on this BB have pointed out, there are lots of people out there in the wards, occupying pews, holding positions, attending the temple, etc., who do NOT believe the Mormon story. They remain out of a desire to not offend their families.

Now, you can either go back to your stake and chastise and admonish the inactive/disbelievers, or you can do everything within your power to make the church environment a more pleasant, amenable, loving and supporting place for ALL members, not just the ones who put up the best facade. (BTW, I'm a lifer in the church, and I grew up in Utah. I can spot a phony a mile away. They dress right. They say all the right things. They show up at all ward functions, but they ring like a lead bell. The church is full of them.)

It probably wouldn't hurt if you subscribed to Dialogue and Sunstone as well. Sunstone has become my last hope for sanity within the church. Any way, I welcome your contributions here, as long as you continue to withhold judgment on those of us who have opted out.

What do you think of this suggestion?

 In Reply to: OK Stake President Warhol, your 15 minutes, as well as my patience, have come to an end. posted by Playelder on May 21, 1999 at 14:32:19:

I am indifferent as to whether or not this gentleman is a SP or not. He gives the exact same comments as every one of my TBM relatives, who are also nice to the point of suspect. BTW, they ALL feel sooo Sorrrryyyy for me! (How sweet!)

Anyway, if this person is a SP, and if he really believes what he says about wanting to hear other viewpoints, I have a suggestion.

Why doesn't he tell us what stake he is in, and allow one of us to be a speaker at the next stake conference? He seems open minded and liberal enough to exchange ideas, so of course he would want the same for his stake members, wouldn't you think?

We could prepare a very uplifting talk about problems with docterine, wanting accountability from leaders, honesty, women's issues, etc. It would be very enlightening for the people, and give them a different perspective. 

Afterall, mormons come here, to our virtual ward and give all sorts of opinions from the pulpit that go against the ward teaching of 'Recovery From Mormonism.' It gives us a different perspective, and I'm sure he would like to be open minded in his own stake as well! 

Actually this person has the smell of Fred. He seems a little too flexible to be a SP. Most would at least heed the advice to stay away from things non faith promoting, and would not presume to break the 'rules' according to personal preference. Maybe there are Freds making headway in the church. This would be a good thing. 

Volunteering to speak at ASP's next stake conference, Dagny (did I mention I was once the Queen of England? yeah.. that's the ticket!)

I'm the trusting type...

 In Reply to: What do you think of this suggestion? posted by Dagny on May 21, 1999 at 16:22:20:

 ...and I haven't kept up on all of SPs posts. But I could see him being every bit as calm and dignified in his responses as he has been and still being an SP! What's the problem?

I used to be an open-minded TBM. Now I'm an open-minded Ex-TBM. Be careful, being open-minded and non-judgemental won't serve you well in the Lord's One True Church, Mr. (I mean Brother) Stake President. You'll find yourself questioning so many things! That's where it started for me at the young and tender age of seven!

And yet to think it took me going all the way to RS presidency and married to the bish's counselor and (of course!) the temple marriage and the babies BIC and we can't forget Honor Seminary Gradjuit and Laurel Pres...before I could extract myself! I'm a much happier and productive woman today. I'm doing my darndest to raise my little boys (who are being raised half-Mormon, half-Unitarian Universalist) to deal with inconsistencies instead of ignore them.

I don't remember why I started rambling. Oh! It was to say..."Who has time to go speak at a Stake Conference?!"

Hugs,
Abigail

I'd drive all the way to Idaho to see that

 In Reply to: What do you think of this suggestion? posted by Dagny on May 21, 1999 at 16:22:20:

Why doesn't he tell us what stake he is in, and allow one of us to be a speaker at the next stake conference?

[snip]

We could prepare a very uplifting talk about problems with docterine, wanting accountability from leaders, honesty, women's issues, etc. It would be very enlightening for the people, and give them a different perspective. 

Of course, Dagny, you know that doing this kind of stuff is what gets members ex'ed for apostasy... publicly airing out unpopular and contrary beliefs and opinions. I mean, it's official from on high... GBH himself has reminded the membership on several occasions that although they can have whatever opinion they want, they'd better keep their mouths shut or face disciplinary action.

Not too terribly hard to understand why our SP wouldn't allow such a thing to occur in light of GBH's reminders.

Punish First, Ask Questions

Posted by Playelder on February 01, 1999 at 14:19:02:

 I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

I am a rather stupid fellow. I tend to learn all my lessons in life the hard way. But how can I expect to learn anything at all if I'm not allowed to make a mistake or 3? My "learning mistakes" were frowned upon when I was a child. Actually, damn near everything was frowned upon when I was a child. And the advice I got in primary in the form of that silly little song turned out to be utterly worthless.

If you chance to meet a frown
Do not let it stay!
Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away!

No one likes a frowny face
Change it to a smile
Make the world a better place by smiling all the while.

My parents frowned, too. They frowned on throwing rocks and playing with fire and catching frogs and letting them go in sacrament. They were not amused at the sight of a little froggy hopping about on the floor of the chapel as the stake high council warmed our hearts with his admonitions about our ward not upholding the standards of the stake. 

No, my frowny faced parents were not to be trifled with. And I learned this lesson the hard way. Many times, yea, even 70 times 7 times.

I once learned a new thing at school. Most parents are delighted to hear what their children learned in school that day, but mine were not. I was in kindergarten one morning happily bouncing a ball when WHAM! I found myself laying flat on my back looking up into the faces of 2 boys. They were big boys, too. They had to have been at least 4th graders. When I tried to get back up, one of them put his foot down on my chest and said,

"You're a fucker! You stay right there and don't move, you fucker!"

"Yeah, you're a fucker!" said his henchman.

They kicked my ball about 500 yards away and left me laying there on my back. I stayed there, too. I was not about to suffer the wrath of such big boys. I knew what was good for me. I'm not that stupid.

Later that night when the family got together after evening work was done and we got to know each other popping corn and having fun. Then our daddy tells a story, mother leads us in a song and it seemed like nothing in the world could possibly go wrong. But go wrong they did.

My brother spilled his Kool-Aid all over the floor and Mom made a bit of a fuss over it. Seizing this opportunity to show what I had learned in school that day, I pronounced,

"Ha ha! He spilled his Kool- Aid. He's a fucker! Ha ha!"

WHAM! once again, I found myself laying on my back looking up into the face of my aggressor. This time it was worse than any old 4th grader. It was mom. And only because she beat dad to it. (Ha ha! You're too slow, dad! You're a fucker!)

"Where did you hear that word!!!! Don't you EVER say that word again!" At least that's what I thought I heard in between all the mouth slapping, shoulder shaking, and butt smacking I got. Geez, mom, give me a chance to answer the question already. Or did you even want to know in the first place? 
 

We had some pagan neighbors who let their kids call them by their first names and kept gasoline in empty Coke bottles and drank milk after the day on the carton said not to. My mom didn't like me to play with their kids. Not because of that, but because they weren't members of the church. Their boy who was my age was telling me about how his little sister always "shit her pants." I was puzzled. What did he mean? He grew weary of my ignorance and just pulled out her diaper and showed me the "shit" in her pants. Ooooooooohhhhh! I see now! She "plunked" her diapers! Of course! Stupid me! You know, like when you sit on the potty and go "plunk"? So you call it "shit", eh? (hey! quit laffing at me here! "Plunk" is a perfectly acceptable term for it! My mom told me it was!)

So later that day my mom was changing my little sister's diapers. I wandered into the room and saw what was going on. I kind of addled up beside her, looking what can be best described as a Montana rancher with his thumbs tucked in his suspenders, a long piece of grass in his mouth, while absent mindedly kicking an imaginary dirt clod talking to another rancher.

"So, she shit her pants, huh?"

WHAM! I received much the same results of the fucker episode. She knocked the holy shit -- I mean, plunk- out of me. She made sure that I knew it was "potty and plunk" and anything else is a nasty nasty word that you should never ever say.

Another time we went to general conference in Salt Lake. It was a spiritual highlight of my young life. I knew SLC was a holy city and strongly believed that our family should move there where everyone went plunk and potty. There would be no shitty fuckers in Salt Lake City! Heavenly Father would see to that!

Conference was interesting. We got to see these really loud people standing outside temple square yelling and trying to give people papers and books. My parents told us the same thing as when we went to Disneyland and saw all these brown people for the very first time,

"Don't look at them. Just keep walking and don't look at anyone" as they quickly ushered us past them. We also got to see these people get up and yell inside the tabernacle when they asked us to all raise our hands like we did in sacrament. These strange people raised their hands during the time when they ask you to raise your hand, but no one really ever does. 

"Don't you know when you're supposed to raise your hand and when you're not supposed to? HMPH!" I thought to myself.

But the coolest part of when we went to conference was when it was over and we ate at Sambo's! It turned out that there were some big boys there, even bigger than 4th graders. They were yelling and throwing things around. A man came out and asked them to leave and after a bit of a scuffle, they did, but not before declaring to the man that his wife was a "sleazy slut." The man came to our table and apologized for it and we were soon on our way back to Oregon in the family clanwagon with wooden side panels.

It was a long drive. We were cranky and cramped in the back of a hot sweaty old clanwagon with wooden side panels. We were making faces at each other. We were flicking each other's ears. We were poking each other's "rumps". My sister was sticking her stinky feet right in my face. I could no longer tolerate her miscreant ways, so I hit her and yelled,

"Knock it off, you sleazy slut!"

UUUUURRRRCCH! Dad hit the brakes with such force that we were thrown forward up towards him. Steering with one hand, he reached back behind him with the other one while yelling stuff like, 

"Who said that? Do you know what that means? Come here!"

All the while we were pressed as far back against the rear window as we could get. My dad's groping arm and grasping hand reached out to grab whatever he could and pull it towards him in order to administer punishment at 60 miles per hour. We felt much like the helpless people you see in monster movies who are trapped and trying to escape the clutches of a vile and evil creature who is trying to kill them. We were scared plunkless. 

After 3 inadvertent lane changes and missing a rest area exit, dad calmed down. We, however, did not. We knew this meant more time for him to think about it and get worked up over it, thus ensuring the fact that we'd get "The belt" as soon as we got home. It was a long, long, ride, indeed. 
 

My brother and I were always playing make believe super hero games. We had these really cool little capes that flew in the wind as we fought all manner of evil which the church frowned upon. One day we were in the front yard playing Batman. A really big kid walked by. He must have been in 15th or 16th grade. Maybe even higher. He saw us running around in the front yard, wearing capes and fighting imaginary bad guys. As he walked by he looked at us and said, 

"I'm going to fuck you up your ass."

Hmmm. Ok. Whatever. It couldn't have meant much because he didn't even stop when he said it, he just kept walking. Besides, we were after the Joker and there were more important things to worry about, like his evil jokes that would take our really cool capes away from us. 

My brother saw him first. 

"There's the Joker! Lets fuck him up his ass!"

Thinking fast, we jumped into our Batmobile and chased the Joker down. My brother took great delight in letting the Joker know what we were going to do to him once we caught him.

"Haaaaaaaaaah, Joker! We're going to fuck you up your ass!

My mother was in the back yard pulling up carrots from our garden. She was going to grate them for a delicious Jell-O salad we were going to have that evening. Upon hearing that the one and only Joker was in her own front yard and that her 2 sons were about to... HA! I'm not going to say it! You're just trying to get me in trouble! 
She came around the house, and boy, was she pottied off!

She yanked us back in the house and administered the appropriate punishment. Then she asked us where we heard it. My brother told her about the big boy. She sure hated what those rascally big boys said around her kids. After some time inside, she let us back out with instructions as to what was acceptable in fighting the Joker and what was not. She didn't mention the Catwoman, however.

It wasn't too long before the big boy came walking by again. We were young and stupid, but not too stupid that we did not understand the power of tattling. My brother ran to the garden and told mom who was walking down the street and she was on him lightning fast. She was shrieking at him and threatened to call the police, but she was bluffing. She just shoved a zucchini up his ass and sent him on his way.
 

I have had the privilege of having many many learning experiences in which to determine what is appropriate and what is not. Some have profoundly affected me for the rest of my life. Those are the lessons best learned. Those are the special ones sent to us from our Heavenly Father so we know He cares about us.
 

When I was 4, my mom baby-sat another member's daughter. She was a worldly woman of 5. One day we found ourselves alone together in a dark closet. We were "hiding". Our hiding led us to many curious discoveries about boys and girls, and their differences. I offer no excuse nor explanation for what went on. But my mother found us. She found us with our pants around our ankles. She found me with my hands where they probably did not belong, and she found me with my face buried up to my ears where it MOST DEFINITELY did not belong. 

She grabbed us both by our arms and yanked us out of the closet. We wee headed down the hallway toward the bedroom. "Perhaps she is leading us to a more appropriate environment in which to engage in this strange activity", I thought to myself. She marched us down the hallway, lengthening her stride as she went. I struggled to keep up with her, but with my pants around my ankles, I was reduced to hopping and waddling about like a silly little penguin. 

She threw us in the room and returned with on old wooden yardstick. I knew this yardstick well. We were old friends. I thought it might be more appropriately used as a means to measure my miniature manhood, but such would not be the case today. With our pants still around our ankles, she bent us both over the bed and demanded to know who's idea it was. I'm just sitting there thinking, 

"I don't know, we were just hiding out and it "just happened." 

It's a good thing I didn't actually say it, because I now know females NEVER buy the "it just happened" excuse.

Since no one answered her question, she proceeded to whack our bare little bottoms. She asked us again, but this time the little girl pointed at me and said,

"It was his"

No way, you big fat liar!

"It was hers"

Thus it became a classic case of "he said/she said" leaving my mom with no other option that to continue the interrogation. Whap Whap Whappity Whap 

While my mom was whapping us, a strange thing happened. The sight of the girl bent over the bed, pants around her ankles, getting her bottom smacked had a profound effect upon me. This was indeed worth the punishment. I had to stand a little further back from the bed in order to allow for my growing and expanding interest.

The angry red welts on her bottom, the sound of skin getting smacked, the flesh quivering under the force of the stick wielded by a dominant authority, the ecstasy as the pain shot thru me with each forceful smack from my mother. This is punishment? Spank me! Spank me! I've been a very naughty boy!!!!! 

Unknown to my mother, she was turning me on to the ways of Oedipal S&M. Now I know why deep down inside I feel that Xena and not Venus or Aphrodite is the true Goddess of Love.
I also found it ironic that my punishment for being caught naked involved getting naked and getting smacked around a bit. Strange reasoning, indeed. Perhaps it some of that child psychology, you know, like when you catch your kid smoking so you make them smoke a whole carton so they'll never ever do it again. Same principle, different vice. 
 

Now many years later, I still remember my lessons I learned the hard way. Some people are just stupid and aren't going to get it any other way. I fall under that category. I have a healthy relationship with my wife, and I must thank my parents for instilling me with the proper principles when I was young. My wife understands my needs, and she does her best to accommodate me in my requests. She was truly kind and caring and understanding, although it did take her a bit of convincing to get her to participate. Now if I can only convince my mom to participate, too.
 

Thank you for reading Playelder Magazine. 

BYU Basketball Brethren Style

Posted by Playelder on Tue, 26 Jan 1999:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

I work as a cameraman for the University of Washington Athletic Dept.  It's a rather interesting job if you like going into locker rooms and looking at bare nekkid dudes with their doodles a'hangin.  When people ask me what I do I tell them I sit on my butt at ball games, eat hot dogs, drink coke, and zoom in on cheerleaders during time outs.  My wife just rolls her eyes and says, "Oh, GOD!" but deep down inside she's jealous because I've seen way more bare nekkid doodles a'hangin than she has.

Anyway, a year or two ago BYU came to play the Husky men's basketball team. I was scheduled to shoot the game that night and was really looking forward to it because I had a secret plan for the game.  We give the game tapes to the coaches so when they watch them they know who to yell at when they lose.

"Dammit #22!!!!!   You gotta hustle better than that if you're gonna play for me!  What the hell were you doing standing there like that?  You let that guy go right by you!  Your butt is benched!"  or advice of that nature.

We have to give a copy of the game to both coaches.  The copy for the UW is just fine, but the copy for BYU gets some special love and care put into it.  I went the extra mile for them, if you will.  I let my assistant shoot the game while I grabbed a microphone and gave it a go as a game announcer. I had prepared my commentary well in advance, so I was ready to be the next Marv Albert, minus the women's underwear and prostitute biting, of course. As I began my special commentary for the BYU tape, I was somewhat saddened that I would not be there to watch them when they reviewed the tape of the game.  They just smiled at me and said thank you as I presented them with their gift after the game.

That's right, keep smiling you ignorant Mormon.   Just remember you thanked me when I gave it to you.
 

"Good evening, brothers and sisters, and welcome to the University of Washington for tonight's showdown between the Washington Huskies and YOUR BYU COUGARS!  I'm Gordon B. Hinckley and this is J. Golden Kimball (the old GA who used to swear all the time) courtside bringing you all the excitement of BYU basketball!  J. Golden, how does this Cougar team match up against the Huskies?"

"Well, Gordon....... uhhhhh....... they're a few years older...... and , uh........ they live the word of wisdom........... I think they said a prayer in the locker room, too.  Other than that they don't have a snowball's chance in Hell, Gordon!"

"Thanks, J. Golden!  There's the opening tip-off, brothers and sisters, and the game is underway!  Brigham Young controls the ball and he's bringing it up the court.  Brigham fires a pass over to Joseph Fielding Smith.  Joseph Fielding Smith is looking to work the ball down low to Howard W. Hunter, who gets tied up by the Husky defense.  Joseph Fielding Smith kicks it back out to George Albert Smith and he finds a wide open Lorenzo Snow out in 3 point land.  Snow shoots and it's GOOD!  That was some shot by Lorenzo Snow, wasn't it, J. Golden?"

"Hell, yeah, Gordon!  Lorenzo Snow likes to hang back and put up those long shots from waaaaaaay the hell out there.  They call them shots "rainmakers" from that far out!  Yeah, Gordon, Lorenzo Snow sure opened up the windows of heaven and brought the damn rain down with that one!"

"Thanks, J. Golden.  The Huskies try to bring the ball up court but encounter extreme pressure from Brigham Young.  He's pressuring the Husky player and has him cornered.   Brigham Young strips the ball away and fires it over to George Albert Smith.  George Albert Smith finds an open Joseph Fielding Smith  under the hoop for an easy 2!  Smith to Smith!  That was some play wasn't it J. Golden?"

"Damn right it was, Gordon!  That Smith to Smith combo is pretty damn lethal.  I just want to know one thing, Gordon.  How many sonsofbitches named "Smith" are out there right now?  I can't keep track of them all! It's harder than keeping track of 55 wives and God knows how many damn kids!  There's more Smiths out there than there are crickets eating the damn crops!  Damn, Gordon!"

"Thanks, J. Golden!  The Huskies bring the ball up court and are looking for a weakness in the Cougar's defense.  The Husky point guard drives the lane and scores an easy 2.  Howard W. Hunter inbounds the ball to Joseph F. Smith, not to be confused with Joseph Fielding Smith, who crosses mid-court.  He works it down low to George Albert Smith.  George Albert Smith  is quickly double-teamed by the Husky defense.  OH!  He finds Lorenzo Snow wide open way out there again!  Snow shoots....... HE SCORES!!!!  Lorenzo Snow with another 3 point shot!  He's bringing down the rain tonight, brothers and sisters!!! A spectacular display of offensive skill, J. Golden!"

"Well, Gordon, true to BYU's nature, they have their work cut out for them. Their defense appears to be full of holes, but their offensive tactics seem to be working just fine tonight!  How many damn Smiths are there now, Gordon?"

"Thanks, J. Golden.  The Huskies are on a fast break.  They've got Howard W. Hunter back on his heels.  Hunter holds his ground and take the charge and does he go down hard!  Brothers and sisters, Howard W. Hunter FALLS DOWN!!!!!!!!   One second he was standing there and the next thing you know, BAM! he's laying on his back!  Well, J. Golden, it looks like they'll have to help Howard W. Hunter back up and get him out of the game."

"That's right, Gordon!  That was one of the fastest disappearing acts I've ever seen!  Now you see him, now you don't!  Where the hell did he go?  The faithful are wondering!  They're gonna hafta take his ass outta the game for awhile, Gordon.  Maybe even give him a priesthood blessing!"

"Well brothers and sisters, it looks like Joseph Smith Jr. is going to come in off the bench and-------

"GODDAMMIT, Gordon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  We don't need any more damn Smiths out there!!!!!  You get too many of those bastards around and the next thing you know one of them wants to reorganize the whole team!  I'm pissed as hell about this whole thing!    Back to you, Gordon."

"Thanks, J. Golden.  George Albert Smith brings the ball up court and he's looking to work it in down low to Joseph F. Smith.  Joseph F. Smith is all tied up so he whips a pass out to Joseph Fielding Smith.  Joseph Fielding Smith works it back down low to George Albert Smith.  George Albert Smith dribbles, drives, and kicks it out to Joseph Smith Jr.  HE SHOOTS................HE SCORES!!!!!!!!!!!

Joseph Smith Jr. fires a shot that finds its way home!  He drilled that one! What a dead eye marksman!  Smith to Smith to Smith to Smith to Smith!  Now THAT'S the priesthood in action, brothers and sisters!!"

"That's right, Gordon!  Before the game I asked the BYU coach who the best shooter on his team was and he told me,

"Joseph Smith Jr. is the best shooter we got on this team.  You should have seen the way he was shooting at the tournament down in Carthage.  He was dropping them left and right."  Back to you, Gordon.

"Thanks, J. Golden.  While we were away there was an altercation on the floor and the referees initially called a foul on Joseph F. Smith, then changed it to Joseph Smith Jr.  Joseph Smith Jr. is arguing the call with the referees and there seems to be some confusion as to which Smith will get charged with the foul.  It looks like they will change the initial call and assess Joseph Smith Jr. with the foul, J. Golden."

"What the hell, Gordon?  Those refs really need to get their damned acts together!  Its not like the refs received some revelation that they can just change whenever they want to suit their needs and get them out of a bind! If they make the call, they have to stick to it and not change it!  Back to you, Gordon."

"Thanks J. Golden.  Well, brothers and sisters, there was no divine intervention tonight as it was a pretty tough outing for the Cougars as they fall to the Washington Huskies 95-46 (or something like unto it.  It was UW's largest margin of victory in years).

"For J. Golden Kimball,  I'm Gordon B. Hinckley saying goodnight, brothers and sisters, and God be with you till we meet again. Till we meet, till we meet, till we meet, till we meet........... God be with you till we meet again"
 

We never did get any calls back from BYU's athletic dept. asking who the wise guy was.  They played such a crappy game they may not even have bothered to look at the game tape and tossed it in the trash, fasted and prayed, and bore testimony that they would win their next game, thus rendering my efforts fruitless.  On the plus side, the weird looks I got from my assistant during my commentary were priceless and I had to explain things to him afterward.

John, what do you know about the Mormon church?
Would you like to know more?

My First Vision of Playelder

Posted by 100Proof on February 05, 1999 at 18:51:02:

My First Vision of Playelder

[Hunerd in the Foyer] At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and wetness, or else I must do as Playelder directs, that is, ask of him. I at length came to the determination to "ask of Playelder," concluding that if he gave wisdom to them that lacked wisdom, and would give liberally, and not upbraid, I might venture into the restaurant.

So, in accordance with this, my determination to ask of Playelder, I returned to the doorway to make the attempt. It was on the evening of a shitty, rainy Seattle day, early in the year of 1999. It was the first time in my life that I had made such an attempt, for amidst all my anxieties I had never as yet made the attempt to meet Playelder.

[My First Vision] After I had returned to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I remained standing and began to offer up the desire of a social life unto strangers. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by this look which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. A thick Oregon accent and Exmos gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were destined for sudden conversation.

But, exerting all my powers to call upon Playelder to deliver me out of the power of this rainstorm which had soaked me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon the restaurant to destruction -- not an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from Fox Sports Northwest, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being -- just at this moment of great alarm, I saw Playelder's nose exactly in front of my head, above the level of my nose, which discharged gradually until it dripped upon me.

He no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rain ceased upon me I saw two personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing near me in the foyer. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name, and said -- pointing to the other -- this is my friend Heretic. Greet her!

My object in going to inquire of Playelder was to know which of all the people was him, that I might know which to greet. No sooner, therefore, did I get possession of myself, so as to be able to speak, than I asked the personages who stood before me in low light, which of all these people was Playelder -- and which I should join for dinner.

I was answered that I must join all of them, for they are all Exmos, and the personage who addressed me said that all these dudes are ready to dine here tonight; that these people are all hungry; that "they draw near to me with their lips, but their stomachs are far from full"; they reach for menus and condiments of men: having a form of hunger, but they deny the famine thereof."

Playelder again delayed himself to join with any of us; and many other things did he say unto me, which I cannot write at this time. When I came to myself again, I found myself sitting at a table, looking up into faces of Exmos. 

Some few days after I had this vision, I happened to be on the internet with one of the Ex-mormon lurkers, who was very active in the aforementioned restaurant excitement; and, conversing with him on the subject of restaurant, I took occasion to give him a thank-you for the vision which I had had. I was greatly surprised at his behavior; he treated my communication not only lightly, but with great rejoicing, saying, it was all a good time, that there were so much things as dinner and conversations in this evening; that all such things had we released with the apostates, and that there would be many more of them. 

I soon found, however, that my telling the story had excited a great deal of prejudice against me among lurkers of Ex-mo'ism, and was the cause of great posting, which continued to increase; and though I was an obscure nerd, only between thirty and forty-five years of age, and my circumstances in life such as to make a nerd of no consequence in the world, yet Exmos of high standing would take notice sufficient to excite the public mind towards me, and create a better post; and this was common among all the sexes -- all united to out-post me.

It caused me serious reflection then, and often has since, how very strange it was that an obscure nerd, of a little over thirty-six years of age, and one, too, who was doomed to the necessity of obtaining a scanty maintenance by his daily programming, should be thought a character of sufficient importance to attract the attention of the great ones of the most popular site on the internet, and in a manner to create in them a spirit of the most hilarious laughter and rebellion. But strange or not, so it was, and it was often the cause of great surprise to myself.

However, it was nevertheless a fact that I had beheld Playelder. I have thought since, that I felt much like Playwife, when she made her defense before Playelder, and related the account of the Mormon she had seen when she saw him in the light, and heard a joke; but still there were but few who believed her; some said she was dishonest, others said she was mad; and she was ridiculed and reviled. But all this did not destroy the reality of her husband. She had seen Playelder, she knew she had, and all the persecution under heaven could not make it otherwise; and though they should persecute her unto marriage, yet she knew, and would know to her latest breath, that she had both seen Playelder in the light and heard a joker speaking unto her, and all the world could not make her think or believe otherwise.

So it was with me. I had actually seen Playelder in the light, and in the midst of that light I saw several personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was questioned and pestered for saying that I had seen Playelder, yet it was true; and while they were pestering me, reminding me, and speaking all manner of evil about me freely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why pester me for telling the truth? I have actually seen Playelder; and who am I that I can withstand his humor, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen Playelder; I knew it, and I knew that Ether knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend Ken (Sister H.), and come under condemnation.

I had now got my mind satisfied so far as the Exmo world was concerned -- that it was not my duty to join with any of them for dinner, but to continue as I am until further directed. I had found the testimony of Heretic to be true -- that a man who lacked supper might ask of Playelder, and obtain food, and not be upbraided.

Thar She Blows

Posted by Playelder on April 02, 1999 at 13:02:22:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

Every Single one of us has been given a special gift from our Heavenly Father. He has instructed us to find our special gift, nurture and strengthen it, and go forth and use it to do all manner of that which is good in His eyes. Some people claim to have no special gift, but feel they are merely pathetic losers with no talent or skills to offer. To many of us this may appear to be rightfully so. They really do appear to be worthless people who amount to nothing. But I say to you, Heavenly Father has left none giftless, for it is their very appearance of lacking a special gift that is their gift. They have been given the gift of being a good example of a bad example.

How many times have we cited the plight of someone else as motivation to avoid a similar fate?

“You better shape up or you'll end up being just like Brother Bejeebers.”

We all know Brother Bejeebers. Every ward has one. Brother Bejeebers is the guy who sits in the back row in sacrament meeting and sleeps, hangs out in the foyer, leaves early to catch the ball game, watches rated R movies, and is generally considered by the rest of the ward members to be unworthy in every facet of the LDS lifestyle. He wears brown shirts with no tie to church. Sometimes he even wears his Nikes. He's not a full tithe payer and he wears shorts and tank tops to ward functions in the summertime because he's never been through the temple. The Relief Society sisters all wonder amongst themselves what in the world Sister Bejeebers was thinking when she married him. They all wonder amongst themselves what she could possibly see in him now. He will never be worthy to usher her into the Celestial Kingdom. He will not be with his family in the Celestial Kingdom. He will not even be worthy to pick up Celestial dog poop off the Celestial sidewalks in the Celestial Kingdom. The entire ward wonders why Brother Bejeebers even bothers to come to church in the first place. He doesn't live up to it's standards or even appear to believe any of it.

Avoid this deadly trap, my pious friends, for Brother Bejeebers comes because he is sharing his gift from Heavenly Father. Brother Bejeebers is being a good example of a bad example and is fully magnifying his calling. He is far more worthy than the pious members who condemn his very presence and castigate him as a welfare case waiting to happen. In their own self righteousness, they all fail to recognize that he is sent from Heavenly Father. He is far more successful at sharing his gift than they are at sharing theirs. And he will be amply rewarded for his diligence and valiance as he endures to the end. So there.

My brother has been so gifted. There are those who would make a mockeracy of his gift, but they change their tune once they see it. That is if they are lucky enough for him to allow them to see it. My brother was blessed with the gift of extraordinary sphincter control. Oh sure, laugh all you want, but it is a gift I tell you. He has as much control over his sphincter as you have over your mouth. And if he ever decided to have vocal chords transplanted into his rectum he could talk just as good as anyone from American Fork does. Let's see you try that with the one mouth you do have.

My brother has graciously accepted his gift and he honors Heavenly Father by using it regularly. He is capable of drawing large amounts of air inward and then forcefully expelling it outward at will. It makes as much noise going in as it does coming out. It's kind of a swooshing sound......... shwshwshwshwshwshwshwshwshwshwshw.

And then it exits in the standard manner. I am at a great loss as to how to spell it. Phpphpphpphpphpphpphpphpphp? That will have to suffice.

He shared his gift at opportune moments, such as while the sacrament was being blessed. While the guy blessing it was kneeling down Joseph Smith-sacred-grove-style, my brother was standing next to him at a slight angle, sharing his gift. It made it rather difficult for the unlucky priest to get through the prayer without laughing, and since the sacrament prayer must be rendered perfectly, starting over was not uncommon in our ward. 

“Oh God the eternal father, we ask thee-- shshshshshshshshshshshshshs
In the name of thy son Jesus--phpphpphpphpphpphpphpphpphp
Christ to bless and sanctify---hshshshshshshshshshshshhshshh
(tries to disguise giggle as a cough and clears throat)

..............Ahem................
“Oh God the eternal -- phpphpphpphpphpphpphpphpphp
(stifling giggle)
Father, we ask thee in the -- shshshshshshshshshshshshhshshshshshshshshhshsh
name of thy son-- PHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHP
.............Ahem...............
Ohgodtheeternalfatherweasktheeinthenameofthysonjesuschristtoblessandsanctify............

And thus it went as he stumbled through prayer. Most guys got used to it and they just belted it out real fast and made it to the end before maximum damage was inflicted.

But the fun did not end there, oh no, not by a long shot. The world is a wonderful place for a boy and his gifted sphincter. We had a wonderful game we used to play where he would go into a restroom and sit on the can. I would take my position at urinal and we would lie in wait like crafty little spiders waiting for a foolish fly to wander into the trap we had set. Upon the victim's entering, I would clear my throat as a signal to let the games begin. My brother would commence to grunting and groaning, stomping his feet, and occasionally pounding on the wall of the stall. His actions were accompanied by the soothing sounds of his sphincter sucking air in and blowing it out. That was his term for it, “sucking air”.

The unwary victim could not help but notice the commotion in the stall. Acknowledging someone else's functions in a restroom is a serious breech of etiquette, but they had no choice. The sounds of the sucked air were enhanced by the toilet itself. It added a very distinctive reverberation, somewhat similar to the breathing amplification module installed within Darth Vader’s mask. It was much like that part in the movie “Austin Powers” where he is on the can and the guy comes out of the wall behind him and is choking him. The guy in the next stall hears all the racket and goes so far as to offer a bit of advice. At this point, however, my integrity in defending my brother's gift from Heavenly Father forces me to bring into question the possibility of blasphemy on the part of Mr. Powers. He takes great delight in besmirching that which can be used for good and reduces it to a gag in a movie. And he did it for money, too. For shame, Mr. Powers, for shame. You and I shall meet before the judgment bar of God one day and you must answer for your blasphemy.

Getting back to the point, this game was great fun for my brother and myself. But it's not blasphemy if we did it. We were Mormons. We represented that which is good and holy. It was an honorable thing to sit there in front of a urinal with my wanger in my hand and act like all was well while my brother kicked and pounded and made sounds like he had an alien coming out of him. The unwary victim would look over at me with an expression of shock and concern. Without using words, he would try to convey to me his dilemma of whether or not we should kick in the door and help this guy. Oftentimes they would ask if he was all right or how he was doing.

“Uhhhhh................are you OK in there?”

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGG!!! Oh, man! UUUUUUHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!” (Pant pant pant) Kicks the door or pounds the wall as he breathes Lamaze style.

shshshshshshshshs phphphphphphphphphphphphphph

“Oh, Yeeeeeaahhh!”

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

“Just working on a stubborn one heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrreee!”

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGG!!!!! Yer a tough one, ain't ya!”

shshshshshshshshshshshsh phpphpphpphpphpphpphpphp

“I gotcha where I want ya now! UUUUUUUNNNNNNNNHHHHHHH!!” (pant pant pant)

“One more! One more! NNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG! Hoo boy......easy does it!”

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH PHPPHPPHPPHPHPHPHPHPPHPHPHPH

“OH YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHH! I feel like a new man!” (pant pant pant)

The victim would invariably look over to me with a look of troubled anxiety that would betray his thoughts. “Hey, buddy, we're in this together!”

But I just stood there looking at the wall with my wanger in my hand acting like I heard nothing. “No, we're not in this together. It's not my fault if you can't handle the sounds of sphincters, bishop.”

This game was especially fun to play in church. The higher the priesthood authority of the victim, the more fun to watch how pious their reaction was. A certain stake president was nailed on this and he just cocked his eyebrow like Mr. Spock does when Captain Kirk is about to score on another space chick from Kolob and proclaims, “Fascinating.”

The stake prez then zipped up before even finishing and split. What a big help he turned out to be! The amount of concern expressed or advice offered was directly juxtaposed to the level of priesthood authority. The stake prez just ran away stuffing his drippy yellow garments back in his fly as fast as he could, while the lowliest scoutmaster was rolling up his sleeves and getting ready to kick in the door and administer first aid. Even the custodian was concerned, but this may be due more to the fact that he knew who would be stuck cleaning up this horrible mess he had the privilege of witnessing.

This trick was fun in public restrooms as well, but the fact that we didn't know these people detracted somewhat from the delight we took in their reaction. Watching members of the only true and living church upon the face of the earth face dilemmas of this nature was truly a test of their willingness to put their shoulder to the wheel and help the good work move along. Non members were still fun, though. One guy went so far as to yell out the door to his friend so he could hear it.

“Hey, Carl! Come here! You gotta hear this!”

My brother was very quick to clam up and leave Carl wondering just why his friend would summon him to come running into a bathroom to check something out. What a sicko!

This did not stop with sucking air. Liquids worked just fine as well, even better as they provided visible results. My brother is also capable of drawing large amounts of water inside and then shooting it out like a fire hose. There is no Paul H. Dunn tomfoolery here. This is solemn truth. I speak in great reverence of a gift from Heavenly Father Himself, and who am I to make a mockeracy of it? Can't you feel the spirit baring witness to you that these words are true? Yea, the words I write by mine own hand are true, I testify unto thee.

Time does not permit me to go into how he became aware that he had this gift, butt the fact remains that he can, and will, do it. At a scout campout he dramatically silenced an unbeliever. He took the unbeliever's bottle of Sprite and poured it out all over the ground right in front of him and refilled it with water. He stuck a straw into the bottle and squatted over it like a catcher in a baseball game and commenced to sucking the water out of the bottle, through the straw, and into his nether regions. He got up and placed the empty bottle on a log, bent over, took aim, and SPLASHO! Direct hit! You sank my battleship! He knocked the bottle off the log and left the kid speechless, as well as Spriteless on a hot summer day. Once he regained his power of speech, he asked my brother why he dumped the Sprite out and filled it back up with water.

“Because Sprite hurts”.

There were some members in our ward who owned a motel just outside of town. The other members were always trying to take advantage of this and schedule various ward activities in their swimming pool. They had a some boys about my age and in the summer when they went out of town and left Cousin Dave in charge was when the true fun began. We would all gather late on Friday night and sneak into one of the vacant rooms and watch the 80’s video show Night Tracks on TBS, eat Doritos, and drink Coke and Pepsi that we'd smuggled in. I hated Duran Duran, but they sure had a way of putting babes in their videos and tricking you into watching them. 2 brothers once got into a fight because one of them had the gall to say,

“Joan Jett's chest is flat.”
“So what! She wears black leather!”

And the brawl was on. After Cousin Dave told us to quiet down, it was time to adjourn our little priesthood meeting and go swimming in the pool. It was late at night, their parents were gone, and who's afraid of big bad Dave? So of course this meant only one thing. The shorts came off and we all went SKINNY DIPPING!!!!!!!!!!

Naked boys, Doritos, Coke and Joan Jett in black leather! It doesn't get any better than this! Or so I thought until I witnessed what would become forever known as “the whale trick.” It was a marvelous work and a wonder that would truly change my life forever.

There was another kid in our ward who had the same gift from Heavenly Father. Geez, what are the odds of such great and bountiful blessing from above? I once saw this other kid in wrestling practice reduce a poor bloke to tears right there on the mat in front of everyone. He took the kid down and put his head in a leg lock, adjusted his sphincter accordingly, and then mercilessly held him down while he sucked air in and out directly into his face. 

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH PHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPPHPPHPPHPH
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSSHP PHPPHPPHPPHPPHPPHP

Over and over again. He held the kid down and blew great winds of war into his face as though it were the very bellows used to stoke the flames of the lake of fire. The poor child kicked and thrashed about on the mat but to no avail. Had this move been legal and used on a regular basis, I would have ringside seats at every match I could find.

It was our privilege that night to witness “the whale trick” up close and personal. Unknown to the rest of us in the pool, these 2 bare nekkid guys had bowels full of water. In the perfect unison displayed only by synchronized swimmers, they dove under the water and slowly emerged from the depths in a roundabout fashion, and at the very moment their bare bottoms protruded from the water at its highest point, they gracefully shot skyward spouts of water and submerged to the depths once again. The lights in the pool lent a sense of enchantment that we would not have seen otherwise, as the twin spouts glowed brightly in the summer's eve. They sparkled like brilliant diamonds contrasted against the velvet blackness of night, cascading from downward from great heights and raining delicately upon the shimmering, mirror-like surface of the pool. Truly a fountain in Temple Square itself would be no more inspiring to the human soul that this was at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into my very being, and that night I truly knew that there was a God above. 

“HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!”

The serenity of the scene was shattered by the kid in whose pool they were spouting. But it was too late. The work of God had begun and no unhallowed hand could stop the work from progressing, even if the unhallowed hand was the owner of the pool. The 2 blessed ones swam about in the pool spouting and spewing forth like great whales of the sea. I promptly got out of the pool and put my shorts back on and laughed hysterically as they lolled about in the pool, clouding its brightly lit waters and caring nothing about swimming around in butt water. I guess its different when its your butt.

Much to my amazement, the other guys stayed in the pool and played volleyball. I wondered to myself how they could remain in the polluted waters and frolic as carefree as they did. It was not much longer when one of the non whales came up out of the water and noticed a little brown poopoid stuck on his arm. Hmmmmmm..........I wonder where that came from? He was enraged. He jumped out of the pool and got a big long cleaning brush and was trying to punish the poopatraters of this h(anus) crime. Justice shall be dealt swiftly.

In all the ruckus being raised, Cousin Dave came out to see what was going on. He was less than pleased to find the pool he had been entrusted with filled with naked boys. He ordered them all to cover their nudity.

“Well, we have to get our shorts first, Dave!”

“Where are they?”

“There they are.... I’ll get them!”

My brother jumped out of the pool and ran over to get his shorts. As he bent over to pick them up, Dave was at his mercy. Poor Dave. My heart still grieves for him after the fate that would befall him. Dave was shot directly in the face by a stream of water. Dripping wet and wiping the freshly given enema out of his eyes and off his face, he yelled at the guys still in the pool.

“Hey! Quit splashing me!”

Everyone but Dave knew the vile source of this water, but no one quite felt it necessary to inform him. It was best that we let Dave dwindle in ignorance.

As you no doubt can tell I take great amounts of vicarious pride in my brother's gift. I wish I was so gifted, but that would put me at risk of the sin of covetousness and the bible declares that we shalt not covet our brother's ass. But on the other hand, it makes a great story to tell on a first date. Just ask my wife. I also had many co workers who refused to believe me until I offered them the proof of the work of God.

Back in 1993 I went to visit my brothers in Oregon Territory. We had a video camera with us. O, what a dangerous combination! I was prepared to deliver these unbelieving fools the sign that they demanded. I thought I was prepared to deliver it. I thought I was ready to show the world.

In my adventures as a cameraman, I have been trampled, crushed and laughed at by college football players. I have been crashed into by professional basketball players, and my wife thanks God it wasn't Dennis Rodman. I have been inside burning buildings. I have been in a boat as it was swept away in a flood. But nothing I have ever faced could have prepared me for what I was about to do. I was going to capture this event on tape and preserve it for future generations to see, sort of like a genealogical record, if you will. This was truly to be a great and marvelous spectacle for all who dared to watch.

As the time drew near I had second thoughts. I sweat as though it were great drops of blood. I pleaded that if it were possible, that this cup might pass from me. But the cup did not pass and I drank of its bitterness. 

I basically pointed the camera and closed my eyes. I could not watch. Fortunately, due to the volume alone of this event, I was able to determine when it started and when it ended. When my brother finally declared, “It is finished,” this gift from God had been placed on video tape forever. I made several copies. I sent one to America's Funniest Home Videos, butt they didn't air it. And they never sent it back to me, either. All the copies I gave to people slowly disappeared as they found their way into the hands of a friend of a friend and so on. But I still have mine, a testimony to the power of our Heavenly Father's great and endless love for His children.

You may be wondering what this w(hole) thing has to do with recovery from Mormonism. Very little, unless doing it in a baptismal font counts. Yea, my brother defiled even the very waters of baptism in the holy temple.

We were going to do some baptisms for the dead. I'm not particularly fond of getting dunked over and over like that. Especially after the old man's arms start to getting a bit tired and you go under again, but this time it doesn't count. And most definitely after my brother has gone before me. It was a foregone conclusion he was going to pollute the font. And he was going to do a better job of it than any of those 12 oxen could have if they were given the chance. I made him swear an oath unto me that he would let me go before he did. As we all took our turns, I was one of the first to go. Upon fulfilling my part in the holy ordinance, I was now free to partake of the sweet spirit of the temple as I watched the others go. My heart turned to things eternal. I pondered the plan of salvation and the great love our Father in Heaven has for us by allowing us to help him complete His holy work. Kind of like how special you feel when your temporal father lets you help him out in the garage. That's how special I felt. 

I saw my brother rise forth from the waters. Again. And again. And again. His countenance had a glow to it. A faraway look of concentration as though he were watching the very spirits of those whose baptisms he was at long last performing appear to him in the temple to show their gratitude. Could it be that he was witnessing one of these special temple miracles? To this day I believe he did. There is no other earthly way with which to describe the look he had about him. I firmly believe that he saw their spirits appear to him within the walls of the temple as he performed their baptisms. I firmly believe they winced as they beheld their baptism taking place in butt water. I firmly believe they appeared to my brother and said to him,

“Thanks, butt no thanks.”

LDS Church Basketball -- It's FANtastic!

Posted by Playelder on January 25, 1999 at 15:49:24:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

I am in need of a bit of a basketball fix. You can take the boy out of Mormonism, but you can't take the Mormonism out of the boy. It's right there in the D&C. Look it up if you don't believe me. We all know how Mormons worship the almighty basketball and it's divine influence in their lives. Its an integral part of Mormon theology. Moroni stands on one as he blows His horn signaling the start of the 1st half. Its right up there after 

1. Joseph Smith
2. The current prophet
3. Ward gossip
4. Heavenly Father
5. Kids stuffed into the family clanvan
6. Jesus Christ
7. BASKETBALL

To satisfy my craving for a basketball fix in Seattle, my options were numerous. The Sonics are just now getting going. There's the University of Washington men's and women's teams. There are many many more smaller college teams from which to choose as well. There's the Mercer Island High School boy's team which is nationally ranked by USA today. Good Lord! Basketball aplenty! Where do I start? But these are all just weak and flimsy substitutes for the real deal. They all pale in comparison to the purest form of basketball known to man. LDS church basketball!

If I truly want to see the Sport of Gods played as it was meant to be played, by future Gods, no less, you just can't beat it, man. To hell with the NBA and its slick-ass slogans and gimmicks, just let me watch a game played by adherents, male or female, of the one true church and I'm set! Pro sports slogans such as 

"It Doesn't Get Any Better Than This!" 
"Feel the Power!" and 
"It's a Whole New Ball Game" 

There is nothing else that even comes close. 

At the risk of sounding like Al Bundy, wait, let me do this right. I'm kicked back on a stinky old couch, tv remote in one hand, the other tucked inside the front of my pants, outside my garments, of course. Leaning back with a wistful look of reminiscing of the glory days of yesteryear, I am now ready.

"YEAH... long sigh... I played LDS church basketball. I scored 14 points in the stake championship game, too! Yep... Bend, Oregon stake champions in 1982 and 1983!"

So having established that I know what I'm talking about, I'll go on. And on. And on. And on.

Church basketball is the most violent form of sport second only to the Roman gladiator fights. Lot's of blood. Frenzied crowds screaming to "finish them off!" and most importantly, done in the name of God. It's mean and vicious and it always starts out with a prayer. 

"Please bless that those who don't die this week can die quick and mercifully next week. Inthenameofthysonjesuschristamen"

It seems as though its violence was condoned, if not encouraged, by the referees themselves. They made very few calls. They allowed the game to escalate into a brawl. It was as if they just came to watch the carnage under the guise of being a referee, thus enabling them to get the best seat in the house and see everything up close and personal. It is also a theory of mine that the referees are evangelical born again protestants who hate the Mormons and their false doctrines. They are able to witness the hitting, kicking, biting, and scratching inflicted upon those whom they hate the most, and participate vicariously, if you will. They are merely watching the Mormons do to each other what they wish that they could do to the Mormons themselves if they could but get away with it. 

It's also been my experience that the church teams don't have names, either. Just homogenized titles.

"Good afternoon, brothers and sisters! Welcome to the stake championship game today between The Cottonwood 38th ward team B and the Cedar Heights 14th ward team C! I'm Gordon B. Hinckley and I'll be bringing you all the courtside action today as these 2 perennial powerhouses square off in a fight to the finish!"

Our team bucked tradition and had a name. We were "The Burns Ward Cricketstompers" because whoever we played was just a bunch of damn crickets. We had cheerleaders, too. They were somewhat more modestly dressed compared to the standard issue cheerleader unit. Their dresses touched the floor and high kicking was frowned upon by the ward leadership. They even had a cheer, too.

"STOMP THAT TEAM AND STOMP 'EM DEAD!
AND IF YOU WIN WE'LL GIVE YOU... a handshake!"

My sister played in church basketball. We came from a very small town with a population of just over 4000, but our ward was loaded. We had some jock chicks, I'm telling you. My sister was the 4 time league long jump champion in high school. She holds the school record and placed in the state meet. Another girl held the school record in the 800 meter run and placed at state, too. Others were damn good tennis players or volleyball players, but they were all too young to play on the school varsity team. That's where church basketball came in. They would go to Bend, Oregon and win the stake championship, then go to the regional tournament and whoop up on wards from Salem, Eugene, and other much more populated areas. They even beat the crap out of the ward boys team that I was called to coach because I was just off my mission and would be a good influence on the young men. I told the girls to play hard and don't let up on the boys, and by God, they took those priests and teachers and Bobbitized them and their priesthood authority! This young women's team was hated and reviled throughout Oregon, but the other teams rested much easier once the Burns Ward team became sophomores and played on the varsity team and went on to all league and all state honors.

It also seemed that every ward team had basically the exact same line up from ward to ward. It was true for both the Men's teams and the Boy's teams. I never saw it in the girls teams, though. They were much more realistic about it, plus they didn't have any of that pesky priesthood power that seems to produce an overabundance of macho dog testosterone.

I'm willing to bet that the following roster can be found on the team of any ward in any stake anywhere in the church. See if you can find yourself or someone you know.

1. The guy who "could have played at BYU." 

And he makes sure you don't forget. But, somehow or another, he never did due to any or all of the following reasons he's so quick to give you:

1. "I hurt my knee, man"
2. "I decided to go on my mission, man."
3. "I decided to get married and start a family instead, man"

This guy is usually on the men's team. The noble responsibilities he chose to pursue in life took priority of his dream to play at BYU. Even though he could have. And he makes sure you know it. 

His counterpart, or younger brother, on the boy's team preaches much the same gospel.

"I could have been a starter on the high school varsity team, but I wanted to play church ball instead."

Yeah, right! You traded playing hated high school rivals in big games inside packed gyms full of cheering crowds, flirting with the other team's cheerleaders, and cool road trips with the guys. You traded wearing a letterman's jacket that told the world who you were and what you did, and flirting with other teams cheerleaders. Yeah, sure. You traded all that for running around inside a little church gym with carpet floors, crashing into the walls or those big brown metal folding curtains. And the only people who will watch you are your parents, if they aren't busy with other callings, of course. 

2. The guy who had a scholarship to BYU. 

This guy is not to be confused with guy #1. His story goes one step further where he actually had the scholarship. His reasons for not playing there now or for having never played there are identical to the reasons of guy #1. It has been my experience during a brief stay at Pricks College, during my mission, and in my 3 years of membership after my mission, that there are NUMEROUS guys who "had scholarships" to BYU. It seems to me that the basketball program has between 12 -14 scholarships to offer at any given time, yet you can readily bump into 3472 guys who claim to have had one, have one waiting, or are going to get one. Kind of like 7th grade boys talking about kissing girls.

3. The ward "Hot Head"

We owe this man much praise, for it is he who has given us our cherished style of basketball today. We all know him. He argues with the evangelical protestant refs, if not about fouls, then about the nature of the trinity. He whines, he complains, he throws the ball. He cries more than those old ladies in fast and testimony meeting. He's even been known to get in the occasional fight. BUT... he's NOT a poor sport....... he's "competitive."

4. The ward inactive member

The only reason he's here is because the Catholics don't have gyms.

5. Brother Jekyll/Brother Hyde

That mild mannered fellow who is the ward clerk on Sunday, but put him on the basketball court and DAMN! This boy got game! He is a master at behind the back dribbling, no look passes, and sinks every shot he takes. Every one silently respects this man. The guy who could have played at BYU reviles him.

6. The guy who swore once

That regular everyday member who lost it one time, just once, and said something rather benign as he missed a shot such as damn, hell, or motherfuckingsonofabitch. He silenced the whole gym. There was a spirit other than that of contention thru the rest of the game. All it took was that one slip up, that one error, and his good name is lost forever. NOBODY will ever forget the time he slipped up. 
"Well, if he says that in a church game, you can only wonder what he really says at home!" 

This man was not asked to pray in any meeting for at least 3 months after it happened. When he dies, he will be met at the veil by his great great grandfather who will ask him the question,

"What did you do with my name?"

The whole ward has silently lost respect for this fine brother. As it says in the bible somewhere, "A good reputation is won by many deeds, yet can be lost by just one." Look it up if you don't believe me.

7. Non members

Well how in the hell do you expect to win any games? This doctrine falls under the code phrase: missionary work.

8. The Pretty Boy

My all-time personal favorite. This guy plays with impeccably styled hair that stays in place throughout the whole game. He continually runs his hands thru it as he runs up and down the court in order to ensure himself that it stays that way. He wants to look as good as he thinks he plays. He likes to practice without a shirt, even if its a game of "shirts and skins" and he's on the shirts team. He fancies himself quite the ladies man and assumes that all females present are there to watch him play. 

The pretty boy was my specialty. I lived for pretty boys. If you were a pretty boy, I sought you out. As we line up before the tip off, and everyone decides who they will guard, I see you and I'm on you faster than any of the girls at the stake dances ever were. Because I'm not the handsome and charming young man you fancy yourself to be, you underestimate me. You give no thought to the predatory hatred I have for you that blackens my soul and disgraces the very priesthood that I hold. You look at me oddly as I put in a football mouthpiece and shake your head in disgust. There are women to be had here, and you know you will have them all. You think that you have nothing to fear from me. You think will score many points on and off the court. You think you will leave with many phone numbers of virtuous and comely young women. You are mistaken, pretty boy. All you will get from these women is their pity. I will push you, I will pound you, and I will punish you. I will screen you and knock you on your pretty boy ass, and I will knock you on your pretty boy ass when you try to screen me. You are in for a long day, pretty boy. A very long day. I will toss you about and make you look bad in front of all the women in your ward and my ward. They will see your hair get messed up today. They will see you leave the court in disgrace today. They will see you humbled before God today. They will see you cry today. And you are powerless to stop me. I testify these things unto thee, pretty boy, inthenameofjesuschristamen.

My Friends the Scientologists

I got an interesting letter in the mail yesterday from the Church of Scientology. I have no doubt that you find yourself thinking,

“Big whoop!  Why are you bitching to me about your problems?”

But if I am forced to suffer, I shall not do it alone and will take as many of you with me as I can and give you the chance to read it as well, as I found it to be written in a rather bizarre, if not Scientologic manner. Here is the letter I received verbatim:

Dear Playelder,

I learned that you had been in the mission of Seattle, Washington and want to ask if you know there is a mission in Houston.  Well, did you know that? We’re on the corner of Fondren and Westheimer.  Feel welcome to drop in soon and look around.  This year, we are expanding.  That is we are becoming a larger type of organization that can deliver many more services.  We are looking for people who are willing to help themselves and help others make that happen.  The fact that you were in the Seattle Mission proves that you have at least some interest in that direction.  Please tell me more about that.  OK thanks,

Sincerely Chris Mc Cully
 

Now before you miserable losers EVEN THINK that I turned to Scientology as a source of guidance in my search for truth, I wish to set the record straight.  Perhaps you are familiar with their personality tests.  They hand them out to people under the guise of “free personality test”.  Your judgment tells you to steer clear of this, but what have you got to lose? Perhaps you will find out that you and Jeffrey Dahmer see the same pile of sasquatch poop in the Rorshach test.

So people answer the questions and send them in where they are reviewed by our Scientologist friends who have determined by the results of your test that you are in dire need of the light that Scientology will bring you. It is urgent that you see them at once before it is too late.  Such is the bait and switch/milk before the meat tactics of our fine friends.  I shudder to think if there is such a thing as  Scientologist Amway distributors.

Now, once again because I know your thots, and before you miserable losers EVEN THINK I turned to Scientology in my quest for meaning, I did not take their test.

“Well then, Playelder, how exactly did you get involved with them?  The fact that you are here tells us that you already got suckered once before. Why, oh why, should we think you weren’t suckered again?”

My answer is this:

Evil friends filled one out and answered every question in the worst possible manner and requested a visit and turned it in with my name and address on it.  I was soon met by a charming young lady named Wendy.  To hell with Scientology, I’m going to score on Wendy!

So I basically did what those non member boys do who date LDS girls in the hopes of scoring.  I shall humor her for a season, then I shall have my way with her once I have earned her good graces.  And it came to pass that it was so with Wendy.

Unfortunately, Wendy was a wacko and I bailed before I could score.  But yet to this day I still pay the price for my indiscreet and lustful act.  I am truly sorry that I saw this only as a chance to score on Wendy as I failed to take her spiritual beliefs seriously.  I feel like a lecherous fiend. Perhaps I am already on the road to Dahmersville.

So today I made a stand.  I wrote back to the Scientologists and confessed my sin before them.  Then I told them to kiss my ass and get out of my life. It made me feel better after all these years after what I had done to Wendy.  Plus the fact that she wouldn’t go out with me until I reached the status of “clear” really made me feel excluded from their fine religion.

So what goes around comes around.  Here is the letter I sent back to them verbatim:

My dear Scientologist friends,

I see that once again your fine organization has tracked me down in the hopes of perhaps soliciting more money from myself under the guise of helping me live a better life.  How noble of you to be concerned for my welfare.  Given your diligence in successfully tracking me down from residence to residence in the past 7 or so years, the possibility has occurred to me that you are in the wrong line of work.  Have you given thought to being in the “people finding” business?   Surely with your skills in this field you must see that it would be much more lucrative, and perhaps even more rewarding, than the current method you employ in accumulating money.  If someone wanted to find the location of someone who was trying to avoid them, say, such as myself, they could enlist your people finding services and rest assured that they would once again the location of the person, like myself, who was trying to avoid them.  I know this would be a successful business venture for you as I have moved halfway across this continent, and yet to my never ending amazement, here you are again! I have been found by the Scientologists!  Tis a miracle from above!

Perhaps this should be seen by myself as indisputable proof that Scientology is not the farce that I have so readily heard it was everywhere I go.

While it is true that I was once involved in the Seattle Mission, I must admit I had ulterior motives in doing so.  I was approached by a comely young lass by the name of Wendy.  I was smitten by her charm.  It was my secret desire that Wendy would audit me one day, so I ventured into the Seattle Mission in the hopes of scoring with Wendy.

Imagine my disappointment when I arrived, hoping to see Wendy again, and I get ditched onto Kirk.  What a nasty trick to play on me!  Kirk was a whiny little weasel of a fellow, a far cry from the sensual allure that Wendy provided.  But I pressed on, hoping that soon I would find myself being audited by Wendy.  My hopes would soon be dashed.

Alas, Wendy only wanted to talk about silly little things, like becoming clear and things of that nature.  I sadly became aware that I would never score with Wendy, so I left to try my luck elsewhere.

It has been my misfortune ever since to have been hounded from residence to residence by your fine organization.  So much so that it prompts me to make this request:

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, in the name of L. Ron Hubbard, stop bothering me!

There is a difference between persistence and pestilence, and you have crossed that line.  It worries me, no, actually it kind of frightens me, that you would follow my whereabouts in the manner that you have displayed. I do not believe it to be healthy nor sane to engage one’s self in such pursuits.  Perhaps it is myself who should be asking you the very questions that you felt so free to ask me in the literature you sent when you tracked me down yet another time:

Have you ever been institutionalized or had psychiatric treatment? (question 6)

Do you have a criminal record? (question 7)

Have you or anyone in your family ever been connected to intelligence agencies? (question 9)

I beg of you in the name of all that is good and sane, darken my days no more.  Cease to follow me in my journeys through life.  Let me live free of your spiritual convictions, and I will let you live free of mine.  Our paths were not meant to cross, so let your travels take you far from mine and keep them there.

Unless, after all these years, Wendy finally wised up and realized what she lost when I left her and she’s the one who has been following me all this time.  Then by all means, Wendy, come on over!

Just leave your religious technology behind.

Beware Brother Greedyfingers

Posted by Playelder on October 15, 1998 at 14:47:16:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

You all know him. Every ward has one. He's Brother Greedyfingers and it's his church calling to touch each and every single piece of Wonderbread in the sacrament tray before he is inspired by God to take the piece that will cleanse his soul. Brother Greedyfingers works alone. There is no Sister Greedyfingers. All ward sisters are in such awe of the priesthood power required to pass the sacrament that when they partake thier hands dart in and out as quickly as possible so as not to defile the remaining peices of Wonderbread with their sisterly fingers. Even thogh he is "still," "just," or "only" a deacon he has the power to testify against sisters on Judgement Day who have defiled the sacrament by touching it unneccessarily without priesthood authority, thus rendering every piece of Wonderbread worthless in the tray and bringing the sins of all who partook after her upon her head. You know, that kind of sounds like those Taliban bastards. Whoops! What was I thinking? Not only have I pissed off any TBM's who may see this, but I may have pissed of someone who will put one of those Salman Rushdie fatwas on my head. I may have run afoul of another group of sisterstunting God believing people.

Anyway, the Brother Greedyfingers in our ward was a particularly revolting fellow. Every Sunday during that 10 minute grace/gossip period between Sunday School and sacrament I'd be chillin wit my homies in the bathroom trying to hide out before sacrament started. Bish usually came in to clear us out, but our precious few minutes there were priceless. This was the time every Sunday when Brother Greedyfingers came in to move his bowels. This was a souce of tremendous entertainment for us boys who liked to laugh at things our parents told us not to. It was a first class show. Brother Greedyfingers would always come in, and grunt and strain and heave as though he were in labor. He would moan and sigh as we heard the telltale "plunk" and the water splash. His sphincter made loud and obnoxious noises. He would use half a roll of church sactioned toilet paper to wipe with when he was done. Upon completing his weekly ritual, he would emerge from the stall and walk right past the sink and go straight to the chapel for sacrament. Brother Greedyfingers never washed his hands and that made him particularly offensive to me. I would watch with disgust and gag and wretch as he proceeded to touch every single piece of Wonderbread in the tray with his feces encrusted fingers leaving remnants of last night's peas and corn casserole on everything else. UUUGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! I'm cringing even right now! EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!!

Brother Greedyfingers was also renowned for his blasphemous farts as well. He could engulf an entire chapel as if it were a large, toxic amoeba, penetrating every ward member's nasal passage and causing kids to laugh as though it were a dose of laughing gas they'd just received. Many parents elbows were silently pushed into their kids ribs who were fighting a losing battle with the snickers and the giggles. They foolishly thought, "This will make them stop laughing. Only 45 more minutes until I can inhale."

Brother Greedyfingers was also my hometeacher. I must have done something preety bad in the pre existance to warrant that one. If he could bring an entire chapel to it's knees begging for mercy, truly we were no match for his anal arsenal in our own living room. We were sitting ducks and by the time he left we were more expired than inspired. One night I had a near death experience. We were watching Happy Days like the model family. I had the prized place on the couch where I was laying on my stomach when were heard Brother Greedyfingers signature doorbell ring.

dingggggg.....................................................dongggggg

"Oh no! Brother Greedyfingers is here to hometeach us! And right when Fonzie is about to jump over the garbage cans on his motorcycle! Oh MAN! I can't believe this!!"

My dad let Brother Greedyfingers in and I reliquished my place on the couch. Brother Greedyfingers proceded to read the message from the 1st presidency in the Church News while his butt gave us a message that was louder and clearer. It didn't really matter since their content was primarily identical. When he finally left we all went back to where we were. No sooner had I reclaimed my spot on the couch when I was immediately assaulted by the most vile, hideous, putrid stench I had ever encountered. I was laying face down on the very cushion Brother Greedyfingers had been sitting on the whole damn time. WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?????

My face was laying there on ground zero blastoff zone when my body went into survival mode. My stomach contracted so violently that I puked with all the force of a firehose shooting across the room. I tried to gasp for air between contractions (it kind of sounds like I was in labor) and some of the puke was obstructing my airway. I had pork and beans and bile in my lungs and that REALLY hurt. My bosom was burning with all the force of a testimony and I didn't like it. This was about the same time that the singer in AC/DC died when he choked on his own vomit and it ocuured to me that this might be my fate as well. I was on a Highway to Hell complements of Brother Greedyfingers. When everything calmed down and my parents asked me what happened, I tried to explain but all I got was something about "What a mean thing to say about Brother Greedyfingers."

So now having established that the Brother Greedyfingers in my ward was of the noblest order, you can now see where my aversion comes from.

When I became old enough to pass the sacrament, I had a wicked little plan. I would get the area that Brother Greedyfingers was sitting in and try not to laugh as the poor souls behind him were subjected to tasting his offerings he left behind. "HA HA! Brother Greedyfingers just took a big ass dump and didn't wash his hands and now he touched every piece of Wonderbread and you have to eat one! HA HA!"

It was very hard for me not ot laugh because I like to laugh at things I'm not supposed to laugh at. And we all know the person who takes several pieces of Wonderbread from the tray on Fast Sunday hoping that it will pull a "loves and fishes" miracle and fill them up like a 6 course Sunday dinner at Grandma's house.

"HA HA! The joke's on you buddy! You just got yourself a double dose of Brother Greedyfingers stewardship! HA HA!"

So now I feel much better having shared that with you. A sense of closure, so to speak. I truly hope I have not diminished in any way the sacrament experience some of you may have this Sunday. I hope you don't find yourself looking suspisciously at everyone who sticks their hand in the tray before you and wonder where their hands have been. I hope you do not conjure up images of your ward's Brother Greedyfingers leaving fecal matter all over your piece of Wonderbread leaving you to imagine if that slight scent you may catch as you lift the bread up to your mouth is imaginary or not. I hope you don't have a strange aftertaste that may be described as "Organic" but like they say, once you've partaken of the forbidden fruit, things are never the same again.

Twelve Days of Christmas

Posted by Playelder on December 24, 1998 at 13:53:14:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here, just a stupid Christmas guy running down the streets of SLC screaming "Merry Christmas Temple Square! Merry Christmas ZCMI! Merry Christmas Lagoon! Merry Christmas Delta Center!" in a stupid Jimmy Stewart voice.
 

On the first day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the second day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 
2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the third day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the fourth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the fifth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
5 points of fellowship,
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the sixth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
6 more wives,
5 points of fellowship, 
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the seventh day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives,
5 points of fellowship,
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the eighth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives,
5 points of fellowship,
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the ninth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 
5 points of fellowship,
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the tenth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 
5 points of fellowship,
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
11 spirit children, 10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 
5 points of fellowship, 
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the twelvth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me
12 old fart apostles, 11 spirit children, 10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives,
5 points of fellowship, 
4 jello salads, 3 bishops bitching, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.
 

I also have some presents to pass out for this special time of the year.
For Eric: a nuclear weapon and the means to deliver it so's you can level SLC and proclaim victory once and for all.
For Debbie: some garments from the Victoria's Secret Collection
For Trixie: a contract from Satan so you may sell your soul in order to get your fine work published
For 100 proof: a pubescent growth spurt so's you can become 180 proof
For Baghead: an appointment with a Gene Juarez Salon so's we can see what the hell you look like
For Trid: a pair of Doc Martens
For Fallen Angel and Caroline: The Melchizedek Priesthood. Use it to do things the men won't, like casting the dust from your feet and exorcising the demons from those who torment you
For Bill Clark: A new name because now we all know who you are and where we can find you. Expect 2 visitors on bicycles shortly
For Domino: A Drano enema cause you're full of shit
For Kris Larsen: A viking helmet and sword so you'll blend in better in your new homeland. Thanks for your Houston help.
For xmoron: A shopping spree at ZCMI so you'll no longer be known as a man of questionable taste.
For XTBM: A visit from the Brethren about your excellent website the Church Defamation Committee just found.
For Danite: Some brass knuckles and a permanant spot on the Pro Wrestling Tour as "The Danite"
For Solomon Skink: An opening gig for Iron Maiden and Slim Whitman
For Captain Standish: A "Get out of the Telestial Kingdom Free" card
For Walker: A Texas Ranger baseball hat autographed by Paul H. Dunn
For Nephilim: A new name so when they publish your book we'll be more likely to read it
For The Grey Pilgrim: Some Clorox to get that dingy grey outfit spiffed up a little. Your fellow pilgrims were rather embarassed about your appearance on Thanksgiving and didn't quite know how to tactfully address the issue.
For Data Havok: A lump of coal because I simply have no idea what to get you.
Mr. Food: A new juicer/blender/nosepicker

I aplogize for those who were left off my Christmas list this year. Perhaps its because you were naughty, or you were too damn cheap to get me anything. It's too late for you, so don't try any last minute endearment tactics. You will still go without. I would like to express all the standard best wishes to all of you. Be you pagan, heathen, wiccan, christian, athiest, LDS, agnostic, deist, universalist, satanist, spiritualist, etc I'll just use a catch all phrase and say "Have a good time and GET THE HELL OFF THIS COMPUTER RIGHT NOW and spend some quality time with your loved ones!!!!!!!!!!

Book of Mormon Pictures

Tue, 25 Jan 2000

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just some stupid observations. 

I have with me today, brothers and sisters, an old copy of the Book of Mormon. It’s not one of those “OLD” copies that talks about Quakers on the moon or something silly like unto it, thus causing them to be rounded up and stashed in a mountain in SLC. Unfortunately, it’s just one of those old ones that sits in a closet waiting to be discovered like unto real gold plates, revealing all those old scriptures highlighted with one of those ridiculous red pencils that tore right thru the page if one was overzealous in marking this particular passage of heavenly wisdom.

No, this old Book of Mormon is one of those wholesome looking sky blue editions with Angel Moroni on the cover standing atop a basketball and blowing his horn to start the first half of a ward basketball game. And the funny thing is, it doesn’t even say,

“Another Testament of Jesus Christ “ on it.

I reckon it must be one from the “We ain’t Christians, we’re Mormons” era. 

Oh, wait, here’s a copyright……….hmmm……….1976. Well, at least I know it was published with the Nephites still clinging to their “white and delightsome ways”. And them cursed skins of blackness still kept them black folk from holdin’ that there priesthood, too, yessir. 

If I actually cared, I could probably look up one of those “white and delightsome” verses and get a good laff out of the changes that man in his wisdom hath seen fit to make unto the most perfect book, but that’s not why this book fascinates me.

I’m in it for the pictures.

These pictures rule!!!! These pictures are why the Book of Mormon kicks the Bible’s ass! How come the bible didn’t come with pictures? There would be lots of cool things in the bible that you could have pictures of. Like some pictures of Sodom and Gomorra.

“Hey Lot! You got some cute buddies there! Bring them out unto us that me might know them!”

Or 2nd Kings 18:27.

“Hath he not sent me to the men that sit on the wall, that they may eat their own dung and drink their own piss?”

Or The Song of Solomon? I reckon it would take both Larry Flint and Hugh Heffner to come up with the pictures for that one.

No, the wimpy bible doesn’t have any cool pictures in it. Therefore I am left to behold the artwork of the Book of Mormon, and stand all amazed as I gaze upon the masterful artwork of Arnold Friberg.

Arnold Friberg rules!!!!!!!!!!

Much like Joseph Smith was the mouthpiece of God, Arnold Friberg is the hand of God working miracles upon the canvas. His artwork is truly a marvelous work and a wonder.

I used to sit for hours during all those long sacrament meeting and pass the time away looking at the artwork of Arnold Friberg. His masterful strokes gave me hours of bliss. Literally.

His divine renditions took me away from that loudmouth, bad breathed high councilman in sacrament meeting and swept me away to another time and place fraught with perilous adventure and swashbuckling good guys and bad guys. To hell with re-enacting the nativity scene every year, let’s get some swords and march upon Zarahemla that we might slay them and put upon them a yoke of bondage! Let us go down like unto the Gadianton robbers and defile the waters of Mormon!

And it came to pass that, yet again, we did re-enact the nativity scene and left the Land of Jershon to be rendered asunder by the people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi.

As I gaze upon the pictures once again, I still remember them well. After all these years, these pictures leap forward like unto old friends welcoming me back from a long journey. I remember all of them. I stand all amazed as they once again spring to life before my very eyes and whisk me away to lands long ago. They have changed little since we last met, but behold, I have. And lo, I have changed insomuch that my old friends the pictures were saddened at my hard heartedness and stiffneckedness. My great wickedness did bring much sadness to their hearts this day.

And it came to pass that, for the sake of nostalgia, Playelder did take up a Book of Mormon that he might feast upon the pictures and his heart was filled with much joy this day. Yea, I say unto thee, his heart did leap with gladness as he looked upon the pictures contained therein.

Let’s start with the first one between pages 38 and 39. It says:

“Young Nephi subdues his rebellious brothers.”

As I look upon the picture I see a wholesome looking young man with his arm outstretched while 3 vile looking fellows act as though they are smitten by an unseen force. What is he doing to them? Is there some sort of holy lightning zapping his wicked brothers? You know, what’s funny now is I see things I didn’t notice before. Like, how come all the bad guys have facial hair, while the gallant Nephi has none? What’s up with that? Is facial hair a sign of wickedness? Must all the bad guys have beards while all the good guys are clean shaven? Is this how you tell the difference? Perhaps this picture is where the brethren get their admonition that facial hair is less than white – I mean, pure and delightsome. Are beards outlawed at BYU because Laman and Lemuel had them?

And now that I notice, Nephi kind of looks like a prick. He does, really. He reminds me of this holier than thou partner from Orem I had on my mission. They both look really solemn and stern, like you couldn’t even get them to smile. I’ll bet Nephi could go on “Make Me Laff” and just sit there while everyone around him laffed until they peed their pants and milk came out of their noses. And he’d be sitting there looking holy and white and delightsome while they were all trying to make him laff. Nephi could clean up on that show! I’ll give $100 right now to anyone who could make Nephi laff.

And what’s Nephi wearing there? It looks like a caveman outfit. Where’s his garments? Maybe he’s wearing some kind of kosher version. I mean he is Jewish, isn’t he? And what’s with that belt? Is he a WWF wrestler? Maybe he’s the champion of Jerusalem and Laman and Lemuel are tag teaming him and trying to take his belt from him. But on the plus side, Nephi is making some pretty cool things out of steel or whatever that anachronistic metal is he’s forging.

On the other hand, Laman and Lemuel look like they’d be pretty cool drinking buddies. I’ll bet they could show me how to pick up chicks in a bar. 

Oh, well, on to the next picture.

“Lehi and his people arrive in the Promised Land”

Once again, everyone here has a beard except for Nephi, of course. Oh, and that kid next to him who hasn’t reached puberty yet. But he will, mark my words. That kid is trouble waiting to happen. Look at those Hercules wristbands he’s wearing there. Surely no self-respecting deacon would wear something as badass as those. And with all the bad examples around him, he’s going to stray from the path and grow a wicked beard as soon as he’s able, much to the dismay of Nephi.

Lehi, however, has a beard as well, and we all know that he’s a good guy. But there’s a catch. Old prophets may have beards. They are exempt from the admonition of the brethren. At least they were 2600 years ago. In fact it’s a requirement that old prophets have beards. It makes them look……………….prophetic.

And Lehi also has a stranglehold on that Magic 8 Ball Liahona of his. As he looks skyward for divine guidance from above, it is revealed unto him that the little punk by Nephi is eyeing it pretty intently. No doubt he plans to steal it and show it to all those bearded guys so they’ll think he’s cool and let him hang out on their side of the ship. 

Speaking of the cool bearded guys, it looks like 2 of them are just hanging out spitting lougies over the side of the ship, while a third is crawling up on the bow because he going to do them one better and piss over the side while he yells’ 

“I’m king of the world!”

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. They toss in 2 token women here. I reckon the old one clinging to Lehi is his wife and she’s secretly pissed that this is how their spending their retirement, but because she made an oath that she would honor him, she clings to his side trying to look holy and supportive. The other chick looks like Nephi’s sister. She’s standing kind of close to him, don’t you think? Maybe she’s the only righteous chick on the boat and there’s no salt peter, so she knows she’s safe standing by Nephi. She’s kind of frigid looking though. If she’s Nephi’s wife, it’s a safe bet that things are pretty tame in their bedroom. 

On to the next picture on page 158.

“Abinadi delivers his message to King Noah.”

See, there’s Abinadi the prophet, and it looks like he’s got all the bases covered, too. 

1. He’s OLD
2. He’s got a beard
3. He’s pleading with closed fists and an ominous look upon his face as he delivers his message of doom. 

“Hey, King Noah! Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice shoes! What’s up with those elf shoes, King? Are you the King of the Wood Elves? Do your people respect you with shoes like that? Do you command their allegiance and loyalty with shoes like that? YOU’RE THE KING, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!!! Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s good to be the king? You don’t have to wear shoes like that if you don’t want to! Leave that stuff to the jester or you’re going to have some really big problems on your hands wearing shoes like that. You’re a king! Now act like one, dammit!”

Sorry about that. Even as a child I wondered to myself what the deal with those shoes was.

And King Noah is just sitting there looking like unto Jabba the Hutt. He’s got those grapes and that pitcher right beside him. Perhaps he has the royal stompers come and stomp the grapes and pour the juice into the pitcher so he can drink wine. You know, like grape juice non-alcoholic bible wine.

And as we look around King Noah’s throne room, we see all of his priests and wise men. They’ve all got beards and they’re all wicked. They do look like they’re rather trying to look wise and learned. They’re dressed up like they belong to some sort of Masonic order who spy upon the temple goers and then steal their rituals and use them for their own purposes. 

And what are those 2 critters chained to the wall? Are they perhaps jaguars? I know those were in South America, but if this is in New Mexico, then sorry. I can’t buy this. Well, perhaps they’re imported.

But without a doubt the coolest thing about this picture are the 2 guards. They look like a couple of Roman soldiers, but this ain’t Rome. Maybe the Roman Empire reassigned this particular garrison to this Jewish outpost in the New World. They’re a couple of pretty tuff guys, even if they are wearing dresses. I like the one who’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He either spit a big ass lougie on Abinadi or he’s wiping the mead from his mouth after he just drank his 4th tankard. And I know he’s got a beard back there, too. You just can’t see it. And what’s up with that one guy on his knees doubled over like a drunken U of U fratboy who’s had too much pay lay ale? That’s his helmet lying there on the floor. Maybe it fell off because he’s puking. Or maybe he tried to get too close to Abinadi and was smitten Nephi style and now he’s crawling back to his homie by the wall.

“I can’t see! I can’t see! The old man blinded me!”

“Shut up and bring me another one of these Jewish brews, private! And put your helmet back on, you look stupid with that helmet hair!”

I also can’t help but notice that Abinidi is standing on one of those compass things like you see on the floor in airports. Perhaps Murdock Travel booked his flight so he could deliver his message quickly and efficiently.

Next picture, please.

“Alma baptizes in the Waters of Mormon.”

Now this picture really has me stumped. There’s all this holiness going on here, but all the men have beards. HEY!!!! Wait a minute!!!! That guy baptizing the chick has a beard, the pond attendant has a beard, and the guy standing in line has a beard. It’s things like this that make me lose my testimony, I tell ya!

I don’t get it, I just don’t get it. 

But what I do get is that the pond attendant looks like he’s losing his hair up top so he’s got a comb over job going on there. Check it out! I guess they’ve been trying that remedy for centuries. And it still doesn’t work either. Not then. Not now. You’d think they’d figure that out by now.

And then the guy standing in line is looking off somewhere. Is he having second thots on this whole baptism thing? Does he miss his drinking buddies Laman and Lemuel? He’s got that big old spear, so maybe he’s guarding the sacred ceremony. Maybe back then rather than have you make a covenant that you’d slit you’re throat rather than reveal the tokens, they just had this temple goon standing here to do it for you if you slipped up. That would make it much more efficient. 

“You there! You revealed a sacred token! Come here that I might smite thee down!”

“No way, sign of the nail breath!. You gotta catch me!”

Ah, more token women tossed in. But this time she looks like she was in some kind of wet robe contest. 

Move your arms, lady! Don’t hide what you’ve got! That’s the whole point, don’t ya know?

Next picture, please.

Page 396

“Samuel the Lamanite Prophecies”

This picture rules. This is one of the coolest pictures I have ever seen in my entire life. This one captivated me then and it captivates me still. 

I want to use it as the cover of the next album of my heavy metal band, that’s how cool it is. 

I play guitar in a heavy metal band called “Sons of Bishops”. We’ll use this picture as the cover for our next album “Life’s Lonely at the Top”.

I even got some words written down for our song. It goes like this:

Life is lonely at the top Everyone’s trying to shoot you down A lonely man stands at the top To admonish this unholy crowd

Life is lonely at the top The wicked all give it their best shot To see you fall down from the top And once you’re down you’ll be forgot

Courage gets you to the top But a single arrow brings you down Life is lonely at the top There’s nowhere else to go but down

Brothers and Sisters, watch for The Sons of Bishops on tour in a city near you!

Sons of Bishops World Tour

Salt Lake City 
Ogden 
Provo 
Orem 
Cedar City 
Moab 
Pocatello 
Idaho Falls 
Rexburg 
Boise 
Burns

“Yo, fellow wicked dude, what’s going on?”

“There’s some guy up on the wall of the city. We’re just trying to shoot him down.”

“Awesome! Mind if I join in?”

“Go right ahead, there’s plenty of room for us all down here, and no one’s nailed that bastard yet. But you know how it is, us bad guys are always shitty shots. We can never hit the good guy.”

“Tell me about it. ‘Hey, you up there! You’re going down, dude! No one pisses off us wicked people and gets away with it!”

Ok enuff ragging on the wicked. Let’s move on to the next picture

“Jesus Christ appears unto the Nephite people”

This picture is pretty cool, but it would be cooler if it was Satan. Those people look kind of scared for righteous people. Maybe they’re thinking they should have paid their tithing on the gross rather than the net. Just to play it safe, you know. You never know when Jesus is going to drop in and catch you off guard. But weren’t these people expecting Jesus to come? Couldn’t you have picked some better clothes than that to welcome your savior on his little side trip? I’m sorry but that guy in the red has got to lose the hat. I mean, come on! Jesus Christ shows up and you’re wearing a giant chocolate chip on your head? What the hell kind of hat is that? It looks like one of those Ghirardelli Flicks that used to come in a cardboard tube that looked like a toilet paper roll. 

When I was a kid on fast Sunday, I used to look long and hard at this picture. I was hungry. I was starving. I was famished. And this clown wore a hat of chocolate solely for the purpose of taunting me. I longed to nibble the tip off the top before sinking my teeth ravenously into the rich and chocolatey hat of this man. To taste of its sweetness, to savor its creaminess, these were the longings of my soul the first Sunday of every month.

Just who was this mysterious Nephite Willy Wonka? Is this man the village chocolate maker? Or since we’re somewhere in South/Meso America, was he the village cacao maker? Is his name Chip? Does he have a job in the mall that requires him to wear a dorky uniform with a big old chocolate chip for a hat? 

All I can pray for is that Jesus took mercy upon his soul and allowed him to enter into His kingdom. After he ditched the hat, of course.

Ok, I’m getting hungry. Next picture.

Page 482 

“The Brother of Jared sees the finger of The Lord”

Uhhh……….didn’t they, like, know this dude’s name was Mohonri Moriancumer? Why didn’t they just say,

“Mohonri Moriancumer sees the finger of The Lord”

Does it sound more "ancient” to say ‘the brother of Jared’?

At any rate, judging by the explosion Mohonri seems to be shielding himself from, he not only saw the finger of The Lord, but he must have pulled it, too. 

Ok last picture here, then we can go eat some chocolate. MMMMMMMMMMMMM ……chocolate…….

“Mormon bids farewell to a once great nation”

I used to think this picture was cool, but upon further review I have overturned the decision. We see old prophet Mormon, beard and all, striking a rather prophetic pose lying there with outstretched arm and hand grasping for that which has been lost. Poor old guy. He’s about to go and he knows it. But what really pains him is to see that everything has been trashed and its all a big mess. Kind of like that litter commercial where the Indian guy is standing by the road and sees everyone throwing stuff out and turns to face the camera with a lone tear rolling down his saddened face. We’re supposed to feel bad for him, but we shouldn’t. He’s a Lamanite, remember?

Anyway, I used to think this picture was cool because of the outfits they wore, but now I look at this and get this uncontrollable urge to ask Moroni (the good guy who has no beard, of course) if he shall avenge his father’s death at Xena’s hand. She should have taken the gold plates after she brutalized him and saved us all a lot of trouble. 

The caption should read,

“Moroni swears to avenge the death of his father and spill Xena’s blood by his own sword.”

And is it just me, or are these guys really, really, REALLY buff? Look at those muscles!!! How could anyone have killed anyone that big without using one of those Sylvester Stallone rocket launchers? Even the old man is a stud! Well, his chest is, anyway. And his arms aren’t too bad, either. But geez, where’s his neck, Brother Friberg? Aren’t you going to give him a neck on which to perch that teeny tiny little coconut of a head you gave him? I think you got carried away with all the big dramatic stuff and kind of let the details go. Not that I could do any better, but don’t you think a little more anatomic realism at the expense of dramatics is called for? 

And why does Moroni look like a Viking? Didn’t these guys come from Jerusalem, not the Nordic fjords?  And not to sound anti Semitic here, but look at these big rowdy brutes. They are Jewish, or of Jewish descent are they not? Who ever heard of a bunch of big badass roguish Jews? I could be wrong here, of course, but perhaps you could enlighten me.

Brother Friberg is a swell guy I’m sure. And maybe I’m just being a little judgmental in critiquing his artwork. But now his work has lost some of its profound affect upon me. Long ago when I was a little kid these pictures spoke to me, but now I look at them and see them for what they are. 

But I do know why I liked you so much, Brother Friberg. 

Both you and I were the kid who sat in the back of the classroom and drew pictures of big bulging executioners holding up the severed heads of their unfortunate victims while the girls said “That’s gross!” and the guys said “That’s cool!”

Both you and I were the kid who longed for adventure and traveled on imaginary journeys to whatever far flung destination our pencils took us the instant they touched the paper.

Both you and I have slain the bad guys with beards while wearing our invincible suits of armor straining to hold back our bulging muscles. 

But the one difference, Brother Friberg, is that my artwork ended up in the trash and yours ended up on it. 

I still like you, though, and would like to offer you the job as the official graphics designer for the heavy metal band Sons of Bishops.

What do you say, Brother Friberg? Your pictures rule!!!!!

I Left a Boy... I Came Back a MAN

Posted by Playelder on January 12, 1999 at 14:52:36:

 I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid story.
 

My wife and I have no children. This may be directly attributed to the fact that my TBM parents still haven't told me where babies come from. Awhile back they were visiting and mom asked if we planned on having kids. "Yeah, as soon as you tell me where babies come from, I reckon we can get you a grandchild sooner or later." 

She just kind of sat there and looked at the cat. Sorry, lady. If I didn't believe the stork version, I'm surely not going to buy the Kitty Kat version. Dad was on his way in from inspecting our cabinet hinges and turned around right fast and just kept going. But it's not their fault. No, I can't blame them for passing up on this ritual of parenthood that those pagan nonmembers who talk to their kids have to deal with. They didn't have to do it. Not with Brother Thomas around. 

Brother Thomas was the physical education teacher at the junior high school in town. It was his state mandated job to inform the youth, members and nonmembers alike, about things like that. And because he was a member, all the mormon parents could rest assured that their kids would get it from him in a very sanitized version. 

"The sperm cell joins with the egg cell and the resulting cell forms into a baby. Males have sperm. Females have eggs. Now lets play basketball!!!!" 

Well, it may have been a little more in depth than that, but the words erection, ejaculation, vulva, and orgasm were not mentioned. Oh sure, we saw the androgynous pictures of a male and female with organs placed accordingly, but we knew nothing of condoms or foreplay or masturbation or threesomes, which suited all of our parents just fine.

When high school came along and it became time for some nonmember pagan guy to tell us about condoms and aids and anal sex, our parents decided we'd all been told enough. You needed a parental consent note to take this special 2 week course in health class. This meant I would have to approach dad the bish and ask him to give his consent to my taking Debauchery 101. This brought to light one of the great ironies of TBM parenthood.

"Well, the kids will learn about sex in school. They'll learn about it there from a professional teacher. They can do a better job of it than we can"

"I'm not going to sign that form! They're not going to be teaching you anything about that garbage! I can't believe they do that in school!!!!"

Ooooooooookay, bish. I guess I'll just fend for myself then. I know code words like "immoral," "impure" and "unwholesome" mean something about sex. I'll just go with the flow and Heavenly Father will bless me for it down the road.

So for 2 weeks I sat in the school library and managed to convince my friends that I was the one who was having all the fun because I was just cruising right on thru 3rd period with nothing to do but read Sports Illustrated while they sat in a classroom. "You morons! If you still need another sex ed class now, you're the idiot, not me!" 

Now I know how Tom Sawyer got those kids to paint the fence. He just insulted their knowledge about sex and chicks and let them fall all over themselves trying to prove him wrong. "Only virgins can't paint fences!"

"Give me that brush, Sawyer! I ain't no virgin! Now stand back and watch a real stud at work!"

Unknown to my heads in the sand parents, I knew more about sex than they realized. By God, I knew about it when I was 7 years old!! And I knew it was cool, too! I was playing with a girl from down the street one day (playing in the front yard you dirty minded lechers) and she said, "Do you want to hear something?" 

"OK"

Lesson #1 Lets have some fun
Lesson #2 Lets do the screw
Lesson #3 She did agree
Lesson #4 She got on the floor
Lesson #5 My weinie took a dive
Lesson #6 She got me in a fix
Lesson #7 It felt like heaven
Lesson #8 The doctors operate
Lesson #9 The baby was fine
Lesson #10 LET'S DO IT AGAIN

After a brief question and answer period about "thingies on men that get put in thingies in women" I knew more than what Brother Thomas would have told me in 3 weeks of health class while I secretly daydreamed of playing basketball. I knew all I needed to know. Maybe even more than I needed to know, depending on who you ask.

My parents were masters at sluffing off their parental sex education responsibilities onto others. It's known by the code word "stewardship."

"Well, their quorum advisor will give them the masturbation lecture when they get to that particular lesson in their priesthood lesson book. The brethren and their quorum advisor can do a better job of it than we can. Besides, it's their stewardship."

It works for daughters, too. My oldest sister had to take a younger sister aside and calm her down and inform her of what that "private bleeding" really was. And that it would now happen on a regular basis for nearly the rest of her life. Get used to it. And don't tell mom you know, either. She might freak. Better that a daughter unwise in the ways of the female cycle freaks out after finding out about it the hard way than having a mother freak out because she has to tell you about it. 'Tis Heavenly Father's way.

Looking back, I should have seen the next lecture coming. We were leaving on a scout campout and the advisors moods were all somber and solemn. The deacons, teachers, and priests quorums were all going. They were going to get us all at once. This was not about to become one of those standard Lord of the Flies campouts where the kids run amok and burn down half the forest. This campout had a purpose. The stench of stewardship was in the air.

We were all gathered around the campfire that night. One advisor got into baring his testimony about stuff and priesthood responsibilities. He steered it to "special feelings" and how to control them. He then gave us a sanitized version of sex and love and how they fit together in Heavenly Father's Plan. I must then credit my brother with what happened next. He was a freshman in high school and I was a junior. He looked the advisor dead in the eye and said, "I don't understand."

All 3 advisors just kind of looked at each other. "Ummm, now what? This kid don't understand? The lesson manual didn't cover this part. What do we do?" 

So they just regurgitated the exact same thing over again and then looked at him hopefully like they wouldn't have to say any more. My brother had his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands like he was in a great amount of grief. He started rubbing his hands all over his head and face in a fashion straight out of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."

"Man! I can't handle this! It's blowing my mind, man!"

I knew my brother's evil plan. It was time to make them pay. I would help him. This will be a Lord of the Flies campout after all, but in a different kind of way.

"Ok Ok OK Let me get this straight!" I butted in. "So now what you're telling me here that now Heavenly Father says that sometimes sex is good?"

"Sex is a part of His plan. It's good."

"But then why is everything we hear about it always bad? You know, I'm not sure I even know what sex is. I'm REALLY confused now!"

There is no way to describe the look on the 3 wisemen's faces. They now knew they had opened up a can of worms that they'd have to deal with no ifs, ands, or buts. They were going to have to do Brother Thomas's job. And he wasn't even here!!!!!

Fortunately for my brother and myself, a 3rd kid picked up on the plan. He was pretty damn good, too.
"I don't really even know what sex is either. I've just always acted like I did at school, but I didn't. It was just peer pressure, I guess."

So now we have forced their hand. They MUST tell us about sex. It is their stewardship. After a brief version that was even more sanitized than The Brother Thomas Special, the real fun began.

"So how does this "Seed" get in a girl, exactly?"

"Well, that's what your penis is for."

"My what?"

"Your penis, you know, your privates."

"Oh. I've never heard it called that before."

"So where does my penis go, exactly. I don't know."

I knew what the 3 wise men were thinking. Just how naive are these kids? How can they be so unwise about this stuff?

We owe it all to our folks, man. And ye shall suffer for it tonight. Yeah, baby!!!

After a long pause we were told about female privates. You know, vaginas. The penis goes into the vagina. Ok. Got it. If I recall correctly, that's lesson #5. I'm trying to keep up with things here. Have some patience with me, please.

"But that's nasty to do that! Boys and girls shouldn't ever see each other's private parts!"

"Well, when you're married, it's not considered nasty anymore."

"But what if I make a mistake and it goes into the wrong place?"

This caught the attention of the 3 wise men. Had our cover been blown? Had this question been just a wee bit too risqué to be considered the confusion of an innocent one?

"What 'other' place?"

"Well... her... 'other' hole down there. The one where she goes to the bathroom, #2 out of."

"No, she'll let you know if you make a mistake. Don't worry about that."

That was close. We must be cautious in the future. 

"But how do I get it in there? It's always just hanging there kind of mushy. It doesn't seem like it will work to me." 

"Well, certain things happen." And thus we were introduced to the ways of the erection.

"You mean like when sometimes it gets long and pointy? When I wake up it's like that!"

"Yes, that's an erection."

"So when I get an "erection" that means it's time to put it in there?"

"Not always. They kind of come and go, but you don't have to worry about it. When it's the right time it will take care of itself."

"So I put it in there and then I... like, go to the bathroom inside? Man, I can't handle this! This is scaring me!"

"No. You have sperm cells. They come out the same way as when you go to the bathroom, but it's different."

"But what happens if I accidentally go to the bathroom? How do I know its really not the other stuff that comes out?"

Tell me about shooting my wad, wise man.

"Well, that's another thing that just kind of happens all by itself. See, Heavenly Father made us in a certain way so accidents like that don't happen. They just happen the way He wants it to. You don't have to worry about it."

You chicken.

We were all acting like we just couldn't believe our ears. The 3 wise men were wondering just how many questions we'd ask and how they could dodge them. This lesson was far from over.

"OK ok ok! So let me get this straight here. I take my penis and then it gets erect and then I put it in her. Then I just wait for the sperm cells to come out? What do we do, just sit there? I mean, like, cells are pretty small, how do I know that a few have come out?"

"Well you don't just sit there. You'll find out. And you'll know when the sperm comes out. There's a whole lot of them, and you'll know."

"Man, you keep saying 'You'll know, you'll know' HOW will we know? It's confusing me!"

Now you will tell me about shooting my hot load, wise man.

The 3 wise men were visibly frustrated, They were losing patience with our innocent, yet inquisitive minds.

"Your body has a way of letting you know when the sperm cells have come out. I can't describe it exactly. You just know."

"Kind of like a testimony?"

"It's different. You just know. Your penis will tell you."

You big fat chicken. Tell the kids how you shoot jism all over the place. They need to know.

"Ok, so like, after my penis tells me my sperm cells have come out, then what?"

"You take your penis out and that all. The sex is over."

"And that's what sex is? Man, I can't handle this! Girls are just too gross! That's trippin' me out! I don't want to do that!"

My brother really got into the "I just can't handle it" thing. It was very hard not to just bust out laffing at the 3 wise men who were sent to tell us about how special our bodies were. 

"Well, you'll change your ideas about girls. That's part of Heavenly Fathers Plan when you get older."

"Now way, man! I'm not ever going to do nasty stuff like that with a girl! I just can't handle this!"

But the fun wasn't over yet.

"Ok, so that's what sex is. I think I got that part straight. Man, I never knew it would be like that. And we have babies because of sex, right? So now, what's really tripping me out here is, how does the baby come out? I always wondered that. They're so big and I don't see how it could fit out of the hole you go #2 out of. That's just too big to fit!"

The 3 wise men were frazzled. How can these kids be so stupid -- I mean, pure and undefiled by the ways of the world?

"Babies don't come out that way. They come out of their mother's vagina."

"But how? That's the same place we put our penis, right? How does a baby fit thru that?" as if a priesthood holder actually knew anything about the birth process and it's intricate mechanics. Yeah, right! That's just the person to shed some light on the situation.

"That's just where they come out. Women's vaginas (what, as opposed to men's vaginas?) are designed to bring babies out thru them." 

"So, every time you have sex, you have a baby. What happens if you have sex and she already has a baby inside her? Is that why sometimes there's twins?"

"No, sometimes you have sex just because you love that person. It's a gift from our Heavenly Father."

"So if someone has 5 kids, they had sex 5 times, right?"

"Well, you can have sex more than that. You don't have a baby every single time you have sex."

"But I don't think I ever want to have sex! Not now!"
 

This spiritual experience had been much more than these 3 wise men had bargained for. It wasn't too long until they just let us run wild and play with fire and skinny dip in the lake while they just wandered off to be alone for awhile and wonder where the hell Brother Thomas was. Screw the merit badges and other scout required activities, just get these kids away from us! 

Unfortunately, that was the last time sex was ever brought up on our campouts. My brother and I told our youngest brother about it. He was in elementary school and he thought it was just too funny. He eagerly awaited his chance to do the same thing to those who kept him in ignorance for so long. 

My dad never said anything about it, either. Perhaps our quorum advisors were left to secretly wonder amongst themselves just what it was that our parents had been doing the whole time and how something like this could possibly happen. It didn't matter to my dad, though. He'd had the sex that brought us into the world so we could have bodies and become like our Heavenly Father. Telling us exactly how we got here wasn't his stewardship.

Charlie Brown is a Latter Day Saint

Charlie Brown is uncomfortable around Peppermint Patty as her strong will and independent nature are juxtaposed as to how a female should behave. Charlie Brown gets visibly upset at her blatant disregard for propriety when she brazenly calls him "Chuck." He's afraid she's a bad influence on Sally.

Charlie Brown uses Snoopy's doghouse for his 2 year supply of food storage. Why else is that poor dog always out lying on the roof instead of inside where he belongs? Canned beets and peaches, That's why.

Where the hell are Charlie Brown's parents? No doubt they're always out home teaching or in Relief Society or bishopric meetings.

Charlie Brown's premature balding is a sign of being fore ordained in the pre existance to hold prominent leadership positions. Charlie Brown will at the very least be a stake president.

Deep down inside, Charlie Brown knows he should marry Marci (she's in his ward) and cleave unto her submissive ways, but there's something about that forbidden fruit of a cute little red headed girl that gives him cause to feel guilty and a constant need to repent.

As per contractual agreement with Heavenly Father, Lucy is a "trial and a tribulation" sent by Satan to test and try Charlie Brown's faith.

Charlie Brown dressed up as The Holy Ghost on Halloween.

Charlie Brown wears a funny zig zag shirt because he is too young to wear funny underwear.

Charlie Brown has a wicked case of depression and a terribly low self esteem.

The only reason Charlie Brown is friends with Linus is because he's trying to freindship him into the church.

The only reason Linus is friends with Charlie Brown is because he's trying to witness him out of the church.

Charlie Brown is infinitely prepared to serve a mission as his entire life experience already has him desensitized to rejection.

How else could Charlie Brown maintain faith in such a hopelessly lost cause. "I testify to you, brothers and sisters, I know that I will KICK THAT FOOTBALL"

Just listen to how Charlie Brown swears. "RATS!"

I felt the spirit during The Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

Charlie Brown always wants to be the pitcher on his baseball team because he wants to grow up and be a pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, just like Paul H. Dunn was.

In reality, Charlie Brown is a crappy pitcher for whom pitching for the Cardinals is nothing more than a fantasy, once again, just like Paul H. Dunn.

Charlie Brown thinks Pigpen's dirty filthy ways were brought upon him because he committed a grievous sin and is now an apostate and the Spirit withdrew from him, cursing him not only for time but for all eternity.

Alas, Charlie Brown never did ask out that cute little red haired girl............... she's a nonmember

Thank you for reading Playelder Magazine

--modified by Playelder at Mon, Mar 27, 2000, 10:08:17

I Think Them Apes Was Mormons

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just some stupid observations.

I was watching the greatest cinematic event in the history of mankind the other day, Planet of the Apes, and I got these eerie burnings in my bosom that I hadn?t felt for quite some time. As I watched them apes recite their lines of wisdom for me to feast upon, it became quite evident unto myself that I was having some sort of flashback from my TBM days. And it wasn?t funny, either.

I used to laff at those stories of Vietnam vets who had flashbacks, but now I can?t even ride a bicycle or put on a tie without having one myself. I now consider them to be comrades of the noblest order.

And similarly, as I watched them apes go about their lives, it occurred to myself that perhaps, much like the Vietnam veterans, them apes was comrades of the noblest order, too. In fact, I think them apes was Mormons.

At the risk of sounding like Elder Mulder, I?ve checked a few things out. The truth is out there. Like, way the hell out there.

Them astronauts? space ship landed in a large inland lake at the edge of the desert and mountains with undrinkable water and no apparent forms of life within it.

Them apes were all devout adherents to a rigid belief system known as ?The Faith.? And it was given them by an ape known as ?The Lawgiver.? He was revered as a near deity as the founder of their faith and them apes had statues, monuments, and pictures of him everywhere.

Them apes had many books of scripture known as ?The Scrolls? which were given to them by The Lawgiver, the founder of their religion. Them apes were always quoting the scrolls back and forth to one another in order to exhort, strengthen, and sanctify their fellow apes. I wholeheartedly believe it strengthened their testimony of The Lawgiver and His wisdom when they performed this act of testimony with one another.

Them apes believed that they were the only ones with any truth and hope of salvation because that?s what The Lawgiver told them. In fact, them apes were so sure of this that they never even knew there was anybody else in the first place.

Them apes had beliefs given them from The Lawgiver that humans were inferior. When presented with evidence that was contrary to their beliefs, such as a talking human, them apes said it was a trick and attempted to explain this discrepancy away. When he kept talking, them apes just covered their eyes, ears, and mouths and called it heresy as they attempted to suppress his existence and keep his knowledge hidden from the rest of them apes.

Them apes thot Charlton Heston was an unbelieving outsider who had to be silenced because he was a threat to The Faith and a contradiction to The Lawgiver?s scrolls.

Them apes, upon finding a challenge to their beliefs in the form of a paper airplane he made, crumpled it up and threw it away rather than studying it to see how it worked or if they could benefit from it.

Them apes were very specific about callings and duties amongst themselves. Them gorillas were soldiers and enforcers, them orangutans were intellectuals and philosophers in leadership positions, and them chimpanzees just kind of filled out the ranks like ordinary members.

Them apes lived in a male dominated society, with no apparent duties of consequence given to the females. In fact, with the exception of Zira the chimpanzee doctor, them apes had no other females with any position of authority among them. Perhaps she was the equivalent of a relief society president.

Them apes had crops that swarms of humans tried to devour. But to them apes credit, instead of waiting for sea gulls to save their crops, them apes just took care of the problem themselves.

Them apes wore funny clothes with symbols and markings on them.

Them apes had places that only apes could go, and if you weren?t an ape, then they tried to kill you.

Them apes had a place they called ?The Forbidden Zone? but exactly why it was forbidden was known only to a choice few apes. When Cornelius, an intellectual interested in learning the truth about the past history of them apes covertly went there and presented his findings to Dr. Zaius, which happened to be contradictory to The Faith and The Scrolls, the evidence was destroyed and he was to be tried for heresy.

Them apes crossed the desert to The Forbidden Zone with horses and handcarts.

Dr. Zaius looks a lot like my dad, who happens to be a bishop.

Them apes were really pissed at Charlton Heston when he took The Lord?s name in vain as he saw The Statue of Liberty.

In the end, Dr. Zaius, the minister of science and chief defender of The Faith, knew the true history of them apes, the true origins of The Lawgiver, and the true origins of The Scrolls all along. But he chose to keep his mouth shut and destroy the evidence so that the greater good might be served.

Yep, I think them apes was Mormons.

Thank you for reading Playelder Magazine.

Everything I Needed to Know About the Temple I Learned From The Wizard of Oz

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just some stupid observations.

In order to find the Wizard in the Emerald City, you have to follow the one true path, the yellow brick road, while picking up as many converts as you can along the way. It helps if they have no heart, mind , or courage. It's particularly helpful if your sheltered, innocent, naive, and believe everything everyone tells you.

Munchkins, much like members, are really good at telling you about what a wonderful place it is and how to get there, but they'll be damned if they actually tell you any thing about it.

Before you're actually let in to see The Wizard, you had to be buffed, polished, restuffed, permed, washed, and anointed by the Wizard's special helpers.

In order to be in his presence, you had to get let in by a guy wearing a funny outfit talking to you through a peephole, only to find out The Wizard demands even more acts of sacrifice in order to gain his favor and prove yourself worthy of his help.

The cowardly Lion had the right idea when he tried to leave before things got REALLY weird.

There sure are a lot of veils and curtains in there.

The Wizard was an old man who had the scare and intimidation tactics down pat. And in the end, he wasn't quite what he'd made himself out to be.

Once you've been there and you try to tell people about where you were and what you saw, NO ONE believes you.

If you're looking for good and bad witches, munchkins, flying monkeys, and great and powerful beings who will show you the way to get home after you've done a bunch of silly little things to prove your worthiness, the best place to look is over the rainbow.

Thank you for reading Playelder Magazine

Quotes & Highlights On Sex & Sexuality

"Masturbation is taboo, looking at or thinking about other women (or men) is taboo, looking at suggestive magazines is also strictly forbidden to LDS men. The husband is checked up on regularly by his bishop and stake president to make sure that the only object of his sexual desires is his wife. Many LDS wives quickly learn the leverage that this sexual exclusivity gives them. If an unsatisfied wife wants to 'punish' a husband for any reason, the easiest way is to put a damper or a stop to his only sexual outlet."
-- Ex-caliber, from The Oppression of Men in the Church --

"Right after we were married, our stake president wanted to discuss sex with us. He told us that rather than continue the old approach of inquiring into every prurient thought, the church would leave it to our discretion what sexual practices were permissible. Reading between the lines, I gathered that oral sex, if not church-sanctioned, would be okay. This was too creepy for words, coming from some old guy we hardly knew who had but weeks before been asking my husband about masturbation. It was also too little, too late, for resurrecting the idea that sex between married people is okay. Being told to be fruitful and multiply is one thing, but after years of being told that sex is forbidden, evil, unclean, and transforms the woman into some revolting thing like 'used gum' or a 'half-eaten cookie,' it is unrealistic to think that normal sexual functioning could result from such constant negative conditioning. I have the church to thank for [that] problem in my life."
-- Anonymous, from Why I Left #43 --

"At the same time I was investigating the church, a 15 year old mother (still a child herself) was investigating the church. She was baptized a month before I was. When my children and I were assigned our Sunday school classes, I was astounded to see the 15 year old in the Relief Society room as opposed to the Young Women's room. The topic of discussion that day in the Relief Society was about teaching sexuality to your children. I was appalled that this young girl, still a child herself, was in this room with us. After class I asked the Relief Society President why this child was a member of the Relief Society and not Young Women's, her reply was simply, 'We don't want our daughters exposed to that.' I was shocked and angered at the narrow minded, prejudicial attitudes displayed by these women. I had just been 'called' to serve as Young Women's Secretary, and immediately informed the Bishop that if this narrow minded thinking was being taught to 'our daughters,' I wanted no part of it, as it did not teach good values. I asked him how this child could teach her own children about sexuality when she needed to be taught herself. He compromised with me by placing this young lady half time in each program."
-- Anonymous, from Why I Left #54 --

"Imagine my surprise when my soon to be husband was called into a bishops court by his old bishop from the singles ward he attended previously. This bishop had heard from a roommate and a girlfriend that my husband had often been in steamy make out sessions. He told the bishop that all of this was true, but that he didn't have sex, and that he had confessed all of this previously. This particular bishop didn't like him because he was established in a career when he joined the church, and chose not to go on a mission. The Bishop felt that he was a bad example for the other young men in the singles ward. My soon to be husband was excommunicated that night."
-- Anonymous, from Why I Left #56 --

"In the early 1960's, an aunt and uncle of my husband's died in a house fire that began in the middle of the night. Their five young children were rescued. Several years later, my husband was told that his aunt and uncle died because they had been engaged in...ahem...conjugal relations (my in-laws' words, not mine!!) and were not wearing their garmies."
-- looloo, from You'd Better Not Have Sex Without Your Garmies On! --

"When high school came along and it became time for some nonmember pagan guy to tell us about condoms and AIDS and anal sex, our parents decided we'd all been told enough. You needed a parental consent note to take this special 2 week course in health class. This meant I would have to approach dad the bish and ask him to give his consent to my taking Debauchery 101. . . .

"[My dad said,] 'I'm not going to sign that form! They're not going to be teaching you anything about that garbage! I can't believe they do that in school!!!!'

"So for 2 weeks I sat in the school library and managed to convince my friends that I was the one who was having all the fun because I was just cruising right on thru 3rd period with nothing to do but read Sports Illustrated while they sat in a classroom."
-- Playelder, from I Left a Boy... I Came Back a MAN --

"What in the hell are they so scared of, concerning same sex marriage? Are they so insecure in their own heterosexuality that they afraid if homosexual unions become 'condoned' and 'respectable', that hordes of heterosexuals will rush to homosexuality? I heard one nutcase on the radio the other morning talking about his book, the premise of which is to teach parents how to 'protect' their children from being recruited into the homosexual lifestyle. If I hadn't been in the car, I would have called in and told the guy that someone can't be recruited to a 'lifestyle' that one doesn't already have the predisposition for (how do you teach a heterosexual man to get an erection for another man?), and the fact that this author is so convinced that people CAN be recruited indicates only that HE himself has the predisposition inside of himself, knows that he could be 'recruited', and is scared shitless of it."
-- Trixie, from Your Hate-Fostering Tithing Dollars At Work --

"If you knew anything about the history of sexuality in the church you wouldn't be so quick to jump in here and spout 'historical tradition this' or 'righteous practice that.' According to many of the personal journals of the leaders of the church, the 'righteous ancestors' harbored very few of the homophobic tendencies that latent homosexuals like yourself display. Priesthood travelling companions used to sleep arm in arm facing each other while on assignment -- a veritable taboo at the present time.  Of course, if you knew anything of the history of 'homosexuality' as presently defined, you would know that it is a term of the late 19th century."
-- thor, from Your Hate-Fostering Tithing Dollars At Work --

"About 16 years ago the First Presidency came out with a statement that said, in essence, that oral sex was base and immoral and married couples were not to practice it at the risk of losing their temple recommends. From what I remember, some GAs had been getting questions from women members about it, as apparently their husbands were asking for it and they weren't willing to do it and they wanted to know the church's official position (no pun intended). So they put out this letter. Bishops all over the country began asking members in temple rec. interviews if they were doing anything they shouldn't. This was in the context of a marriage. They were actually questioning couples what they did in the privacy of their bedrooms. Can you believe the GALL?"
-- One who's been through it, from Oral Sex is an Abomination --

"The LDS church's idea of the pre-existence has always bothered me. It seems to be an 'implied contract'. As in, you CHOOSE to come down to earth has a man or a woman. Since there are human hermaphrodites, I guess God hasn't quite prefected his methods yet (oh,well no one's perfect). "
-- Donna, from Hermaphrodites --

"I had always been taught that only worthy Mormons could have sex in the afterlife, and that this was only to meet the reproductive quotas of those who would become Gods. Now, with the new doctrine that sex is acceptable as a means of expressing and reinforcing love, and that it no longer requires the reproductive function of the act, it seems to me that this opens up sex to any individuals in the afterlife who care to express and reinforce thier love. In fact, it seems to imply that even same-sex relations may not truly be sinful, as long as they reinforce the love between the couple (or threesome, foursome, or even greater glory, per Bringum Young...)."
-- DataHavok, from All of a Sudden Birth Control is Okay --

"I tried to research sexuality at the BYU library, but all the pertinent books were in the 'locked bookcases.' I didn't have the nerve to request the librarian to give me books on homosexuality, so I took a bus to the University of Utah and spent a day reading all that they had. Looking back, I can't believe that BYU feels a need to shelter adults from basic information on human sexuality."
-- Anonymous, from Why I Left #109 --

Notes From the Seattle Get-Together

I just met Playelder! He's nooooormaaaaal!
Posted by 100Proof on February 02, 1999 at 01:46:11:

Ether and Sister H. and Heretic probably agree! Playelder is noooormaaaaal! He's just a regular Seattle puke.

But the shocking part is he looks like me, less 50 pounds of course. And he thought I was 19 years old. And he despises my neighborhood. But he still seems pretty normal.

All you other Seattle pukes missed out on a fine evening of recovery. Maybe next time, eh?

Until I post again,
Hunerd Proof

 In Reply to: I just met Playelder! He's nooooormaaaaal! posted by 100Proof on February 02, 1999 at 01:46:11:

I would like to thank those of you who made it last night. It was very considerate of you to take the time to accomodate me in my request to meet you. For those of you who weren't there and are curious to know the details, I shall do my best to recall what I can for you.

I had the privilege of meeting Heretic and her husband, 100 Proof and his wife, Ken, and Ether. The thing I thought most interesting was that NOBODY looked like how I thought they would. I would assume it was the same case for myself.

At the risk of offending those present last night, I will describe what I expected to see, and then what I saw. Actually, so what if it offends you? That's probably why you left the church in the first place, you big crybaby. I'm just going to say it how it is because I don't care and I'll likely never see you again......unless I go to hell when I die, too.
 

First impressions die hard, and first impressions based on what we expect to see die even harder.
For some reason which I am at a loss to explain, I always pictured Heretic to be in her mid 40's, long black hair, and somewhat of a wild child. She probably never gave me a reason to believe this, I just did. Kind of like a testimony, I reckon. But oh well, I have classified each and every one of you in much the same manner. It would be a good game at X-99, "Pin the name on the Exmo"

"I testify unto thee that Heretic is in her mid 40's with black hair and will commence to run up a big old bar tab."

But much like other testimonies I have had, I was mistaken. Sadly mistaken. Heretic was a rather young lady. No raven black mistress of the night hair. Quite frankly, she looked much like someone you might expect to see in church on Sunday, no stark raving heretic she! Any one of you would have trusted her to teach your little Sunbeam. She sat with her husband and reminded me much of my wife and myself. I was especially impressed when asked how long they had been married, it was he, the HUSBAND, I say unto thee, who proudly proclaimed just how long it was. Atta boy! Ye shall live long and prosper if you keep that up.
 

"I testify unto thee that 100 proof is a 19 or 20 year old kid with his first computer going forth to wreak havoc upon the internet."

Deep down inside, I knew this was not true, yet I could not bring myself to admit it. When I first ecountered his posts, they had this "freshness" about them that led me to believe him to be younger than he really was. In following his trail, I learned otherwise, but my self imposed first impression would not die easily. This is why I do not call those 1-900 phone sex #'s because I'm really talking to a fat old man with a yellowed t-shirt, brown socks, and boxer shorts drinking beer in his lazyboy recliner. I get suckered every time. I was particularly of the mind that he and I looked very similar in our appearance. The same reddish brown hair, the same facial structure, the resemblance was definitely there. He's truly a handsome man! I was going to try to trick his wife and drive her home and see if she knew the difference or not. I do remember one distinct thing he said to me that I thought was amusing.

"You're much more soft spoken than I thought you'd be"

HA! SUCKER! You have no idea how close this soft spoken mild mannered fellow came to stealing away with your wife!
 

I testify unto thee that Ken/Sister Hefewiezen is a rather jovial fellow with bushy hair and a big mustache and lots of canary poop on his shoes. But don't piss him off or he'll make you pay.
 

My first encounter that I recall, Ken blasted a certain individual who expressed a rather narrow way to find true happiness. He crucified them and so impressed me with his suggested method of finding true happiness by raising canaries that I complimented him on it. His references to Sister Hefewiezen and using it as a means to torment people suggested to me that he was a bit of a jokerman. Plus the fact that I know a guy named Ken sort of biased me to the fact that he would have the bushy hair and big mustache. Unfortunately, if I know someone else who has the same name you do, then you automatically look just like them. Sorry Ken, but you just don't look like my Ken. I wholeheartedly see Ken with his immaculate haircut as a tv weather man telling us that it will rain in Seattle for the next 40 days and 40 nights. But don't dare tell him that anyone could have told us that. He'll put you in your place real fast.
 

I testify unto thee that Ether has dark curly hair, a big old walrus mustache, and wears dark glasses.

Hey, like, don't take it personal, man. It's like those Rorshach tests where they hold something up and you say the first thing that pops into your head. For some reason unknown to me, and probably better off left that way, the name "Ether" conjures up the image of a guy with black curly hair, a big old walrus mustache, and these dark glasses so you can't see what he's looking at. I was particularly impressed with Ether. I allowed him the place at my right hand. He has a charisma about him that would enable him to start a church of his own. He looks much like Keith Olbermann on Fox Sports News. For those of you curious, I recommend you check it out. He's probably thinking, "What the hell?" but I testify unto thee, Ether looks like Keith Olbermann on Fox Sports News. Check local listings.

We talked at length about all sorts of things. We talked about Seattle, the traffic, commutes, the puky part of town where 100 Proof lives. We also spoke about who on the BB we'd most like to kill. I will not divulge this information, but I have advice for you, my friend. Watch your back, and trust no one.

And I got drunk. I rarely drink. In fact, I've seen temple recommend holders drink more than I do, but I figured this was a special occasion so why not? The fact that I have a low alcohol tolerance did not stop me from ordering 2 drinks. The first I downed on an empty stomach and was buzzin 30 seconds later, and the second I could not hold still long enough to finish it, but that turned out just as well. When the night was over and we all left, I was reduced to walking around the parking lot of the SeaTac Mall on a cold rainy night like a common drunkard. It was some time before I could drive home. As soon as I got home my wife looked at me and said,

"You've been drinking, I can tell"

Which is her cue to rough me up and push me around and hear me say,

"Shhhtoppp thhat! Llllet me jusht lay heeeere and llleeeve mee aloooone. You're mmmmmmaking mmmmmmmme shick"

My wife did not go. In fact, she didn't know where I was. She guards her privacy much more than I do and she would have frowned on my being there in the company of these fanatics from the internet.
 

But the thing that impressed me the most about these people was the fact that they were just plain old every day people. There were no stark raving lunatics discussing plots to bomb the nearest ward. There were no people so consumed with anger that they were truly unpleasant to be around. There was no one who was so entwined in Satan's grasp that it would be better for them to have never been born. There were no hopelessly, helplessly lost people who had hardened their hearts and were now doomed to suffer for the rest of their lives for having turned away from the truth. No, I saw none of what I have been led to believe I would see.

And I have to admit I'm glad that I didn't see what I expected to see, either. Thanks for coming and take care. And please bless that those who weren't there this time can come next time.
 

Thanks,

Playelder

Some Things I Found on God's Desk -- Part III

Posted by Mahonri Moriancumer, PI. on April 06, 1999 at 23:22:45:

To: Julian Ishgar
ODIN: 104-8391T-C911-824350
From: Lucifer, Head of Administrative Affairs for Outer Darkness
ODIN: 001-0387K-Y008-66631

Re: I heard you got canned.

Julian,

I heard about your falling out with the big guy. Tough break, bro. Really, I can't believe they would do this to you. Let me be the first to welcome you to Outer Darkness. I don't know if there's a bright side to all this, but we've been really short-handed down here. Unfortunately, if you sign on for us, you'll be stuck in a dead-end, low-paying job where nobody appreciates your efforts. Throw in the fact that we give you three weeks vacation every year, and you'll probably agree that you're coming out way ahead.

I know that my department suffers from a bit of a public relations problem. I'm sure you're rather leery about your future here. If it's any comfort, the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth imagery is drastically overstated (with the possible exception of the annual budgeting meeting). You're especially fortunate, since you have a physical body. It will entitle you to certain perks. On the other hand, you'll never have the joy of taking a pig for a test drive.

You'll find that OD land is a bit more laid back than you're used to. I have three main rules:

1) The boss (me) is always the first one in the building and the last one out. He shows up at eight and leaves at five. Anyone who forgets this rule will be locked in overnight.

2) Casual day is on Friday.

3) Every day is Friday.

If you want some help with the move, just say the word. I'll send Caiaphas and Korihor over in the U-Haul. I'd come myself, but it's hard for me to do any heavy lifting. 

Best of luck,
Lucifer, Head of Administrative Affairs for Outer Darkness
ODIN: 001-0387K-Y008-66631

To: immortal_nephite02@tsabaothel1003.gloryseek.org
From: nibleyhugh231@tsabaothel1003.gloryseek.org
BCC: tsabaothel1003@system.gloryseek.org
 

Subject: Your recent behavior

Tiberius,

It has come to my attention that, within the last three months, you have thrown yourself in front of an L-train in Italy, flung yourself from the Eiffel Tower (twice!), overdosed on sleeping pills, blown your brains out with the same shotgun used by Hemmingway, gone skinny dipping in a vat of liquid nitrogen, and eaten at Jack In The Box on seven different occasions. Is there something going on in your life that we're not aware of?

I remember that John went through a similar phase during the Dark Ages. When we caught up with him, he was throwing himself on Joan of Arc's pyre. Our psychologists call it "Post-Immortality Regression Complex," and say it afflicts one out of every five field workers. Take some time off, come back to the main office, and we can make sure you get the help you need. You've been an excellent employee up until now, and I'd hate to lose you.

Hugh Nibley
Director, Department of Human Resources
CIN: 401-0311F-Y089-813201

PS: Are my books still selling?

PPS: We still have no idea where Nephite number 1 is. If there's anything you can think of that might help, everyone at the office would be greatly appreciative.

To: Elohim Tsabaoth
CIN: 879-3572B-J117-77712
From: Kehoral Serenoth
CIN 123-5332A-U115-983743

Re: President Hinckley's interview with Larry King

El,

I caught your boy on cable yesterday. I personally thought that the whole eternal progression thing sounded plausible, but it turns out the whole thing is just a "couplet." I'll admit, nobody was more surprised by this new revelation than I was, but I'll submit to his superior knowledge in these matters.

As long as we're going mainstream, do you think there is any possibility that President Hinckley might reorganize us all into one giant trinity? We were going to print up new organization charts this week, but I don't dare make a move until we can get further light from our Prophet and Seer.

I want him taken care of. Now.

Your Loving Father in Heaven,
Kehoral Serenoth
CIN 123-5332A-U115-983743

Transcript from "The Messenger," a popular Celestial Kingdom news show:

(begin intro)

Announcer: Tonight, on The Messenger. . .

Ytor Golinath, news correspondent, doing voice-over: Seven days ago, Doris Finkelstein was taken hostage by a rampaging mob of spirit prisoners. . .

Doris Finkelstein: They duct taped my mouth, and said if I ever preached the Gospel to them again, they'd kill me.

YG: Tonight, in an exclusive Messenger interview, you will be the first to hear her terrible story of courage at the hands of wicked men, in its entirety.

DF: At that moment, I feared for my very soul.

(begin live camera feed)

YG: Good evening, and welcome to The Messenger. Last week, the Kingdom watched in shock as Spirit Prison was overrun by armed convicts. It was feared that the prisoners might actually escape from behind the ten foot thick walls, overwhelm the local Danite peacekeepers, and bring unholy ruin to the Celestial Kingdom itself. Doris Finkelstein, Gospel missionary and author of "In The Prison, Not Of The Prison," was taken hostage. We interviewed this courageous and charming old lady, to find out what it was like in those fateful hours.

(cut to pre-recorded interview)

YG: So, what were you doing there, in Spirit Prison?

DF: Well, Mister Golinath, a thousand years ago, I received my mission papers, directing me to bring God's Word to the vile sinners in Spirit Prison. I was overjoyed to be an instrument in His hands, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. Of course, they have these lessons that you can use, but I felt that what these moral reprobates needed was a good dose of the Lord's own scripture. I've written all about this in my book, "In The Prison, Not Of The Prison," available at better bookstores everywhere. Or you can order a copy in the mail by writing. . . 

YG: Er, yes. Now, what was the first sign that there might be trouble?

DF: Well, the dirty scumbags were in a frightful mood that afternoon. All day, in fact. I was reading from Genesis, since I'd finished up the the Pearl early that morning. And one of the prisoners came up to me and told me, in a very threatening manner, that he didn't want to hear God's Word preached to him again, ever. I refuted him boldly, then continued my reading. Then all the prisoners started making the most horrible, violent commotion I'd ever heard. At that moment, I feared for my very soul.

YG: Then what happened?

DF: The guards came in and started trying to halt the malicious designs of those horrid, godless spirits. But then they started possessing the guards. I was casting them out as quickly as I could, but for every one I commanded depart, five more would take their place. Soon, the possessed guards were fighting with each other. My sister companion was huddling in the corner. She's such a sweet young spirit. Y'know, her Heavenly Father only called her to the work a few months ago, while she was on a mission in the temporal sphere. She was run down by a semi, praise the Lord.

YG: Now, about that time, it seems that the riot escalated, and spread to A and C blocks. Did you see any indication that the crisis was worsening?

DF: Why, yes. They had taken away my extra-large print quad, so I started reciting King Benjamin's speech from memory. It was as if I splashed holy water on them! All the commotion and the screaming! They duct taped my mouth, and said if I ever preached the Gospel to them again, they'd kill me.

(cut to file footage of prison riots)

YG: Even as this was going on, the Danites were preparing a bold and daring rescue mission. While one of their sergeants kept their leader on the phone, two thousand of those brave soldiers, clad in possession-proof Kevlar armor, had surrounded the prison-turned-fortress. On command, they blew the gates and swarmed into the building.

(footage from helicopter, showing a small explosion at the gate)

YG: The riots were quelled within minutes, as our highly trained peacekeepers performed thousands of exorcisms and took the ringleaders into custody. 

(return to interview)

YG: What were you feeling at that moment?

DF: I was afraid, but was praying faithfully, and I knew the Lord would protect me and my companion from harm.

YG: But your companion is still in the hospital, in a state of catatonic shock.

DF (beaming): Yes. Isn't it marvelous? When she snaps out of it, the poor dear probably won't remember a thing.

YG: But one of your rescuers admits that he may have tried to perform an exorcism on her, even though she wasn't possessed. Our spirt healers aren't sure what the effects on her might be.

DF (still beaming): Well, God's will be done. By the way, you can read even more about all this in my forthcoming novel, "Speaker to the Dead." It will be out this Fall.

(return to live feed)

YG: Tonight, you have witnessed a story of true bravery and courage. Mrs. Doris Finkelstein will be remembered as a true hero and saint. Next week, on "The Messenger," if the Apocalypse were today, would the Heavenly Hosts be ready to defeat the forces of darkness? Not according to former military analyst Ulysseus S. Grant. He is pushing for a threefold increase in defense spending. You'll hear the shocking story next week on "The Messenger." Until then, good night

Some Things I Found on God's Desk -- Part V

Posted by Mahonri Moriancumer, PI on April 10, 1999 at 00:24:53: 
 
 

Excerpts from the journal of Nephite #1

Taken from "Historical Compendium of the Writings of the Three Nephites," Volume 7.
Published by Signaturi Press. 

14 April, 17 AD* I, Zelphinihah, having been born of most zealously religious parents, and having fled from my home even in my youth, and having spent the days since my departure in the company of the Gadianton Robbers, do take a sharp pointy tool in hand, and do give an account and a record of my doings since my youth. For behold, through my struggles and the efforts of mine hands, I have become mighty as to the strength of my brethren, and do command many hosts. 

And behold, my men and myself have plotted and plundered, schemed and stolen, and in this way have made ourselves most wealthy in gold, and in jewels, and in wimples, and in ziff, and in cureloms (which beasts are most useful unto man, especially when one has to make a fast getaway). 

And behold, I am now going to throw out everything my parents ever told me about how to write. I mean, really! I'm not making myself sound any smarter, with all these "behold's" and "lo's," and "thereof's." It just makes me harder to understand. With that out of the way, I'll now return to my life over the past few years. 

Yea, I skipped out on my parents when I was ten, the day they decided my occupation for the rest of my life. Can you believe they wanted to make me into a priest? Like we need another priest in this world. If they'd get off their butts and work for a living like the rest of us. . . All right, so my occupation really leaves me in no position to complain. 

I'm twenty years old now, and it looks as though the best years of my life are already behind me. The Nephites have decided to hole up, to "protect themselves." From us. Why, I have no idea. There are only a few thousand of us, but their governor, "Lachoneus" (what a peculiar name. . .) claims that there are millions of us hiding up in the mountains. Every time a plague breaks out, he tells the people that we've poisoned the water. Whenever they find a body in the street, the poor person was murdered at the hands of the evil Gadiantons. My guess is that he's been hiring the Lamanites to do a lot of this stuff, to keep the people from recognizing that most of their problems come straight from his terrible management. 

Sure, none of us are completely spotless. But who would have thought that a small band in the hills could be seen as such a threat? Those mindless Nephite sheep have burned their homes, farms, and forests, and gathered everything they owned into a single fort. They've killed almost all the game animals, and there's no food left anywhere. Our choices are simple: either leave the land entirely, or try and attack them directly. Both plans are close to suicidal. 

20 July, 18 AD Our attacks have been utterly futile. The Lamanites have also been sending up some troops, but it still appears that we'll run out of food (or people) long before they do. We have only a little information about what goes on behind those walls, but it appears that Gidgiddoni has been executing "Gadianton spies" by the thousands. Apparently, there are more Gadianton spies inside the walls than there are robbers outside. 

27 July, 18 AD One of our best thieves, Limhihah, managed to get inside the walls and kill one of their captains of fifty. In and of itself, this didn't help us much, but the Nephites called for another wave of "robber hunts" to avenge the killings. They've started sending troops out against us. 

14 January, 26 AD I was taken prisoner about seven years ago. They then taught me their "gospel" night and day until I started pretending to agree with it. I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't, they would have killed me eventually. The first thing I did when they started sending people out to reclaim their lands was to come here and find these plates (which are made of low-grade tumbaga, in case anyone is interested). But now I have a modicum of freedom, and have been assigned a small plot of land, which I am contractually obligated to work until the day I die. 

15 April, 28 AD Tax collector came around again today. Said I owed Lachoneus half my production this year. I can't make ends meet, but that idiot wants to make the entire country exactly as it was before, and is more than happy to spend my money to do it. He's building roads leading from nowhere to nowhere, claiming that if he builds them, people will come. 

4 January, 34 AD Storm came through, blew the house over. Neighbors gone. Don't miss them. Dog gone. Miss him. Everything is getting . . . 

8 January, 34 AD Looks like I got off easy. When I said the neighbors were gone, I had no idea that every neighbor within twenty miles had been blown into the ocean. As I was saying before, everything got dark for three days. I had to cut a slice out of a cow that had been flattened against a rock. I'm still hungry. 

9 January, 34 AD Heading for Bountiful. Not sure why. I've started hearing voices. Taking tumbaga, slab of cow. 

15 August, 34 AD Sat around most of the afternoon listening to a dull sermon by some guy whom everyone claims to be both dead and alive. I'm not exactly sure how he managed that. Everyone appears very shaky, emotionally, and they've latched on to him like he's going to redeem them all. Personally, he reminds me of this pushy salesman who once sold me a limp ox. . . 

16 August, 34 AD The ox salesman has chosen me to be one of his "twelve special witnesses," and to make sure everyone believes in him after he leaves. I don't know what he's thinking. First he blows my house and dog into the ocean, and now he expects me to act like I owe him. The sheep seem to be eating this up, so it wouldn't be a good idea to sound as displeased as I am. I ran out of cow slab yesterday. There has to be some food around here someplace. 

later: I think I've figured it out. I was chosen for my hair. Most of the other guys had it singed off during the fires. I guess it's easy to trust someone with good hair. The other eleven have good hair too. The ox salesman gave us each one wish. The first nine suck-ups said they wanted to live a long and happy life preaching the gospel. When it was my turn, I asked for immortality (so that I can "better preach the gospel," of course). The next two guys liked the idea, and asked for the same thing. They seem like okay fellows, though the idea of spending an eternity with them is a bit daunting. 

17 July, 210 AD Immortality sucks. I should have asked for my dog back. Or another slab of cow. Or anything else besides this. These people are freaks! "Golden age," indeed. Everyone is forced to wear these ridiculous amulets, which get dark any time someone has "an impure thought." Anyone caught with a dark crystal is executed. I found the guy who came up with the idea and painted his crystal black. Serves him right. 

We're not allowed to own anything. It all belongs to "the Church." I'm starting to miss the fifty percent tax rate. At least when the tax collector came through, I still got to keep half. Now, they can take every bushel of grain, and maybe let you keep enough to keep from starving to death, if it pleases them. I wonder what Jerusalem is like? I've heard a lot about it. Tiberius, one of the other immortals, wants to come with me. 

19 July, 210 AD Apparently, desiring to leave is an "impure thought." They've tried to kill us seventeen different ways. Finally they released us both out of frustration. I'm still a bit groggy from the five different types of poison. 

31 August, 210 AD Tiberius has been hard at work building a boat. He claims it's a one man job, and that I don't know anything about building boats. Unfortunately, he's right. So I spend my time hunting tapirdeer horses. 

15 September, 210 AD Tiberius is finished. We set sail tomorrow. 

2 October, 210 AD I should have known: Tiberius does NOT know how to build ships. The thing broke in pieces three days out. We ended up floating to a big volcanic island in the middle of the sea**. I always wondered where Hagoth's crew ended up. They have a map showing us how to get to India, and they worship coconuts. Tiberius tried to explain to them the joy and peace that comes from believing in the ox salesman, but they said coconuts were WAY more important. If they stop worshipping the coconuts, the coconuts stop growing, and everyone starves. 

That's all they eat here! These delightful, wondrous coconuts! The first time I tasted them, I nearly cried. They're so good! I've gorged myself on a dozen of them today. 

3 October, 210 AD I'm allergic to coconuts. Set sail for India. 

17 October, 210AD I think I have the map upside down. 

27 October, 210 AD Tiberius threw the map overboard. For one of the ox salesman's special witnesses, he can swear to beat any sailor I've met. 

1 January, 211 AD We landed on some sort of land mass, and were immediately captured by cannibals. They were impressed when they couldn't kill us, but when they chopped off Tiberius's arm and it grew back, they began worshipping us as gods. Then they cut off a few more limbs. 

3 January, 211 AD They've decided I taste way better than Tiberius. He's too stringy. I've provided them with about fifty legs this week. I was hesitant to taste the soup at first, but with a dash of salt, I have to admit I'm pretty tasty. 

17 January, 211 AD Escaped from cannibals, stole a canoe. I think we're headed north. Tiberius says he's sure, and that he knows how to "read the stars." He also said he knew how to "build a boat," so I'm rather skeptical. 

15 April, 211 AD We finally reached India. It's a fascinating place. We needed money, and I've taken to throwing myself from tall buildings, landing face first, and getting up unharmed. It's painful, but the money is excellent, and we're drawing a way bigger crowd than that fire-eating guy across the street. 

Tiberius has been trying to preach the sacred word of the ox salesman, but with little luck. He managed to convince an old guy that worshipping a god with two arms is better than worshipping one with six. I really didn't follow his logic, but the old guy seemed to like it. Something about all those arms getting in each other's way. 

1 August 211, AD Made it to a city called Alexandria. A few people follow the ways of the ox salesman, but they do it in strange ways. They all seem to have a death wish. The authorities (called Romans) don't trust them, and I've seen some of them vandalize the idols of other religions. Apparently, being suicidal is considered holy among them. One of the stories circulating is about a noble youth named Origen, who tried to become a martyr, but his mother hid all his clothes. His father was awaiting execution for his beliefs, and was told that he could go free if he would simply mock the ox salesman. But the kid wrote to his father saying, "Don't change your mind on our account." This is supposed to show his astonishing devotion to God and Christ. I don't know which is more disturbing, that a teenager would have such a desire to die, or that everyone speaks of this as something to emulate. I was surprised that Tiberius didn't get all misty-eyed over this. But I guess I knew he had at least a bit of sense. 

15 September, 211 AD Tiberius has converted to gnosticism. He thinks they know something we don't. 

I've left Tiberius with the Gnostics, and have departed for. . . well, anywhere but here. 

5 November, 211 AD Ran into John the Beloved in Macedonia. He was rather peeved that I wasn't dead. He thought he was the only one. We didn't part on the best of terms. 

17 October, 1973 AD Was hitchhiking along I-15, when this blue-haired octogenarian "felt inspired" to stop and pick me up. As soon as we got up to forty miles an hour (which appeared to be her top speed), she started yammering on about how I need to accept the ox salesman into my heart and follow the Brethren. Well, there's only so much a man can take, so I asked her to pull over about seven miles down the road. When she pulled over, I hopped out of the car. She asked, "Are you going to be okay, sonny?" I nodded, then as an afterthought, asked, "Do you have your food storage yet?" She didn't. I told her "You'd better get it. By this time next year, you'll need it." Then I pulled the invisibility trick Tiberius taught me. Her eyes went big as saucers, and then she peeled out at what must have been a hundred miles an hour. I told Alamecumeni about it later, and we both had a big laugh. 

*Note: all dates have been converted into the proleptic Gregorian calendar system. 

** Possibly Oahu. 

BYU Researchers Working to Beat "Apostacy Virus" 

A Church News Article
 

It has long been known that those who associate with apostates often catch the spirit of apostacy themselves. The LDS Church has taught this immortal principle since its inception. But not until recently has scientific confirmation of this holy precept been available. 

Brigham Young University professor Nephi T. Hamsterfetish believes he has discovered the physical cause of apostacy, a retrovirus he has dubbed Malefecarum apostaricius. "It has been shown to spread via physical contact, sexual intercourse, and by handling such common items as books that have been previously handled by apostates." Extensive research has also led him to hypothesize that the virus may be spread over the internet. 

"I know it sounds impossible, but my fellow researchers, who have spent years studying the epidemiology of this new strain of virus, are convinced that there is no other explanation." He cited several examples of apostacy where the only contact with an ex-mormon occurred entirely over telephone lines. 

Though the CDC refuses to fund further research, President Boyd K. Packer has authorized $10,000,000 for research into a possible vaccine. "If a vaccine can be discovered for this tragic, soul-destroying plague, then the LDS Church feels obligated to do everything it can to make such a vaccine a reality." 

President Packer also outlined the steps members should take in the mean time: "Avoid speaking to, or even being in the same room with, an apostate. Only read faith promoting literature, such as my book, entitled, 'Memorable Stories and Parables.' Do not attempt to log on to the internet, for any reason. Wash your hands after using the bathroom, before every meal, and whenever you feel you may have been exposed to an idea that is not in keeping with the Spirit." He later clarified that this advice also applied to dealing with so-called "Liahona Mormons," who seldom show symptoms of apostacy, but whom Dr. Hamsterfetish says are probably carriers of the virus. 

Symptoms of the virus include, but are not limited to: drinking caffienated beverages, reading books published by Signature Press, reading anything not published by Deseret Books, becoming a vegetarian, getting a non-earlobe body piercing, getting more than one pierce in an earlobe, visiting rpcman's site, dating before the age of 16, dating a person of the same gender (any age), not attending Sacrament Meeting, not paying tithing, paying tithing on net income instead of gross, saying any word worse than "hell," not getting 100% home teaching, having feelings of "missing time," small but unexplainable marks on the back of the neck, waking up with a feeling of paralysis or awareness of a "presence" in the room, or feelings of unworthiness. 

"I feel certain that we can begin widespread innoculations within the next three to five years. Until then, what can I say but 'hold to the iron rod.'" 

Church News

Correction: In a recent article, "BYU Researchers Working to Beat 'Apostacy Virus'" several of the listed signs of apostasy were actually signs that you fell victim to an alien abduction. 

The Church News regrets the error.

The Brother Springer Show

Posted by Playelder on Thu, 28 Jan 1999:

I have nothing constructive, intelligent, or well thought out to add here. Just a stupid show I'd like to see on TV.
 

"Good morning, brothers and sisters, and welcome to The Brother Springer Show!  I'm your host, Brother Springer, and it's good to be here with you today.  I know we'll have a spiritual experience together.  Our topic today, brothers and sisters, is church love problems.  I know we can all share story after story with one another about our individual searches for our eternal mates, but today's guests have especially intriguing stories for us today."

"Okay, then, let's meet our first guest today, Sister Stripp!"

The congregation applauds loudly.

"Good morning, Sister Stripp, thanks for being on our show today."

"Oh, its my pleasure, Brother Springer!"

"Well then, Sister Stripp, why don't you tell us about your church love problem."

"Well, Brother Springer, it all started when the mission president transferred in a new district leader.  He's really cute and he'd make a good husband.  I wanted to ask him to marry me here on your show today."

"Well, Sister Stripp, you know that ordinance can only be performed in the temple.  I can't do that here in the chapel.  I don't have the proper priesthood authority.  And that is pretty unusual, but is there more you're not telling us?"

"Well, yeah, my companion also likes him too."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!  A companion, eh?  And she thinks she's got a chance with the district leader, too?"

"Yeah, but she's not going to marry him!  I am!"

"Brothers and sisters, lets welcome Sister Slutzky to the show!"

The congregation applauds as Sister Slutzky enters the stage and immediately charges Sister Stripp.  As the 2 sisters roll about on the floor the congregation chants loudly,

"BRO--THER SPRING--ER!   BROTH--ER SPRING--ER!!!"

The sisters are finally pulled apart and smooth out their dresses as they sit down side by side in the discussion teaching position.

"Well, Sister Slutzky, welcome to the show!"

"Thank you, Brother Springer."

"So I take it there is some animosity between you and your companion Sister Stripp?"

"Well, Brother Springer, check it out, it's like this.  Sister Stripp is all over him and always bakes him cookies and has him come over for Hamburger Helper all the time and she even offered him OUR mission car so he wouldn't have to ride a bike!"

"Is that ALL she does?"

"No, she always talks about when her and Elder Boner are married and how they'll--"

"Elder "BONER?"

"Yeah, his name is Elder Boner.  He comes from a prominent Idaho family that has a big ferry.  They even named the town 'Boner's Ferry' after them."

"So why does it bother you that Sister Stripp wants to marry into the Boner family ferry empire?"

Because I want to marry him, Brother Springer, not that scuzzy little no discussion teaching, sleep in every morning, lie about your numbers in your weekly president's letter, off the plan -- UMPH!"

Sister Stripp charges Sister Slutzky and knocks her over the head with her leather bound 4 in 1 combo of the standard works.  The congregation cheers wildly, "BRO--THER SPRING--ER!   BRO-THER  SPRING--ER!"

"Sister Stripp, I'll have to ask you to be more reverent here!  Remember that primary song about 'Ssshhh.  Be Still?'  Ok then."

"Sorry Brother Springer."

"Brothers and sisters, it appears that Sister Slutzky is still down.  May I get some fellow priesthood holders up here so we can give her a blessing and get on with the show?"

Several of the brethren in the congregation come forward and they lay their hands on Sister Slutzky's head while Brother Springer anoints her with consecrated oil from his little silver vial.  She's soon back up and ready to go for round 3.

"Well now, Sister Stripp, it appears as though there's a bit of contention between you and your companion.  Does this interfere with your ability to teach by the spirit in your discussions?"

"SHE'S the problem, Brother Springer"

"No!, YOU'RE the problem  SISTER BLISTER!!!!"

A collective "OOOOOOOOOOOO!" is heard from the congregation.

"Well then, sisters, I don't really see a problem here.  Why don't we just have both of you sealed to Elder Boner and then everybody will be happy. How about that?"

"I'm not going to share my man with HER for time and all eternity!"

Sister Slutzky shoves Sister Stripp and they both go down pulling hair and grabbing dresses.

"Stop that, sisters!  Be reverent!  Keep your hands to yourselves!  Jesus wants you for a sunbeam!"

Once again the congregation chants, "BRO--THER SPRING--ER!!  BRO--THER  SPRING--ER!!"

The sisters are finally pulled apart.

"Hey!  No more of that!  Now give Sister Stripp back her name tag.  Thank you.  Well, let's settle this once and for all.  Let's meet Elder Boner!"

The congregation cheers for Elder Boner as he takes a seat between the sisters.

"Good morning, Elder Boner, and thanks for being on our show today."

"Thank you, Brother Springer."

"Are you aware of these 2 sisters feelings for you?"

"Yeah, they try to compete with each other for me.  I just sit back and let them."

"So you don't share their feelings?  Have you locked your heart, elder?"

"No.  Not exactly, Brother Springer."

"I understand you have a confession of your own to make, Elder Boner. Please, go ahead."

Elder Boner clears his throat and takes both sisters hands in his.  He looks at the floor while waiting for the Spirit to give him the right words to say at this delicate moment.

"Sisters, as your district leader, you know I care a lot about you, but there's someone else."

"OOOOOOOHHHHHhhhhhh," says the congregation.

"Well, remember that night that I left my companion and went out on splits with the zone leaders?"

"OOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"Well, we didn't exactly go on splits."

The sisters double team Elder Boner and give him the "Sister Glare of Death."  Elder Boner squirms.  The sister's glare has scared away even They Holy Ghost.  Elder Boner is on his own here.  He sweats as though it were great drops of blood.  Knowing he's cornered, Elder Boner falls down to his knees with one fist clenched and the other hand slapped upside his head just like that picture of that guy out in the field the church uses to illustrate the process of repentance.  He cries out,

"I want to be with the Zone Leader!"

"Let's welcome the zone leader to the show, brothers and sisters!"

The zone leader comes out with both arms open and gives Elder Boner a long passionate kiss on the mouth.  They proceed to neck and pet.  The sisters, once again, find themselves disgusted by the behavior of elders, especially those in authority over them, and leave in a huff.

"We'll be right back after this, brothers and sisters!"

The Brother Springer Show Part II

The Brother Springer Show, Part III

Thu, 28 Jan 1999

DID YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW WEAR A PAIR OF YOUR SPOUSE'S GARMENTS BECAUSE ALL OF YOURS WERE DIRTY?  IF SO, WE'D LIKE TO HEAR FROM YOU.  CALL US AT THE BROTHER SPRINGER SHOW AND TELL US ABOUT IT AT 1-800-382-5968

"Welcome back to The Brother Springer Show, brothers and sisters.  Our last guest today has a church love problem that he'd like to tell us about.  Lets welcome Brother Dixkwert to the show!"

The congregation applauds as a rather slimy sort of fellow with a loosened tie and a lot of gel in his slicked up hair sits down in his chair.

"Welcome to the show, Brother Dixkwert."

"My pleasure, bro!  Yo ladies!!!!  Whassup!!!!  Bro Dix is in the house!!"

"Uh.... Brother Dixkwert?"

"Yo, bro!"

"Please,  the name is Brother Springer.  Let's observe the rules of propriety here, shall we?  I mean you don't just walk up to the Bishop and say  'Yo, bish' do you?  And these are 'sisters' here, not ladies.  After my last guest and his foul mouth, I've had enough irreverence for the day.  Is that ok with you?"

"Yo, Brother Springer, it's all good, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"No, but lets continue anyway.  Brother Dixkwert, you describe yourself as a 'wardhopper.'  Can you enlighten us as to what a wardhopper is?"

"Check it out, Brother Springer, it's like this, y'know what I'm sayin'? Every ward I go to got's nothin' but sweet spirits, and I ain't down with no sweet spirits,  y'know what I'm sayin?  So I go hopping from ward to ward lookin' t'get me some of that sweet relief society action, y'know what I'm sayin?"

"So if I understand this right, Brother Dixkwert, you don't like the sisters in your assigned ward so you go to other wards looking at their sisters?"

"Thassright, Brother Springer.  I go from ward to ward, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"But don't you feel it's important to heed the words of the brethren and attend our geographically assigned ward?  This is an issue of respect, and you don't respect the ward boundaries or the brethren's decree regarding those boundaries."

"It's all good, Brother Springer.  They're all Heavenly Father's daughters and their all lookin' for a dude like me.  Ain't that right ladies -- I mean, sisters, ain't that right?  Anyone want some priesthood layin' on of hands after the show?"

"But Brother Dixkwert, with all due respect, doesn't it work both ways?   I mean look at you!  Have you looked in a mirror lately?  You're so willing to just write these sisters off as sweet spirits, but you're not exactly a prize catch yourself.  It works both ways.  Y'KNOW WHAT I'M SAYIN?"

The congregation cheers and chants,

"BRO--THER   SPRING--ER!  BRO-THER   SPRING--ER!"

Brother Dixkwert just shakes his head in disagreement.  He knows he's busted, but his priesthood pride won't allow him to think realistically here.

"Whatever.  Whatever....... It's all good, Brother Springer, it's all good."

"But surely you must know that these sisters all have minds of their own and they can all see right through your.......your......your Playelder act or whatever it is.  You should take time to show a little respect and see what they think about this."

"You're trippin', Brother Springer!  That's like having respect for a  hammer or screwdriver or some other tool.  Sisters all want me and you're just jealous.  Check it out, sisters!   How many of you would like a date with this dude right here?"

Dead silence.

"You're all trippin!  Y'all want me!  Y'all check me out when I pass the sacrament in the singles ward!  Y'all'er looking at me when I walk up th'aisle to bare my testimony!  Every sister wants a piece of me here, Brother Springer, and that's a fact!"

"Well, Brother Dixkwert, you're correct when you say all the sisters want a piece of you.  But I'm afraid it's not in the way you want to think it is. The fact is, we've got a lot of upset sisters and you're going to be lucky to get out of here in one piece.  Let me give you a quickie patriarchal blessing before the show is over."

"Brother Dixkwert, you are descended from the tribe of Ephraim.  You will bear no righteous seed unto the Lord thy God because you are about to lose your nuts in a few.  The Lord thy God saith unto thee,  'Leave.  Leave now. And let thy flight be swift for the wrath of my daughters is exceedingly sore.'  Amen."

But it is too late.  The relief society rushes the podium and grabs Brother Dixkwert, but lo, there will be no relief for him.  It would have been better for him if he had never been born.

"Well, brothers and sisters, that's it for The Brother Springer Show today. I'll be back with a final thought after this message.

*Pause*

Would you like to earn more money?
Would you like to pay more tithing?
Would you like to be more blessed because you're paying more tithing because you're earning more money?
Sure you would.

Brothers and sisters we have a plan for you.  Become an Amway distributor and reap the joys of service and profitability.   Ask your home teacher to sign you up today.  After all, that's really the only reason why they come.  Amway.   What Joseph Smith would be doing if he were alive today.

*Pause*

Thank you for joining us today, brothers and sisters.  And now for a final thought.

"Our search for eternal love plays a very significant role in our being here.  We are commanded to multiply and replenish the earth and to raise up a holy seed unto our Heavenly Father.  I think after today's show, we all realize why it takes 2 people to procreate and bring a life into the world. The requirement of needing that 2nd person acts as a sort of safeguard to ensure the enemaheads amongst us are not allowed to bring more of their kind into the world, thus subjecting the rest of us to their heads up their ass ways on a regular basis.  It is for this reason that they call the power of procreation holy, and is an act to be  frowned upon by those who would deem it as such.  Thus, by attempting to frighten the cool people among us so they will not indiscriminately reproduce with no constraints placed upon them and outnumber the enemaheads, they hope to accomplish their goals.  I testify to you that I know that this is true with all my heart. And I hope that those who weren't here this week can come next week."

"Isaythesethingsinthenameofjesuschristamen."