Like most people who don't have 14 wives, I was glad to see Mitt Romney give up his hopes for the White House and return to his crazy-man compound in Salt Lake City to tell people about how Jesus once led the league in assists while playing point guard for the Utah Jazz. However, a part of me still misses Mad Mitt and wishes he had stayed in the national spotlight a little while longer, if only to bring national attention to his wacky practices as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (aka LDS, aka Mormonism, aka NAMBLA). We, the voters, never even got to find out if he wears the crazy lumberjack underwear required by his religion because he dodged the question when it actually (and awesomely) came up at a press conference. Really, if a man can't tell the truth about his underoos, what can he be honest about?
Fortunately for me, the issue has resurfaced in the national media in recent weeks with the big bigamy bust at the Yearning for Zion ranch in Eldorado, TX, which coincidentally took place during the week of the 15th anniversary of the Waco bake-o. To be fair, those Yearners, members of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, have yet to be convicted of any wrongdoing and it's been conclusively proven that the man initially accused of statutory rape couldn't have commited the crime in question, but more on that later. First, allow me to provide some background info about my own dealings with the Big Love set.
About a year ago I developed an intense fascination with Mormons after reading Jon Krakauer's fantastic book on the subject, Under the Banner of Heaven. For those unfamiliar with the book, it's a true under-dog tale about a couple of misfit brothers who go up against the odds after being expelled from the mainstream Mormon community (not an easy thing to do) and essentially banished from society. They respond by brutally slaughtering their sister-in-law and nephew, all because their other brother (from each other's mother) just didn't keep the faith like they did. People doing nutso shit in the name of religious fundamentalism is nothing new (see also, the Crusades, Islamic terrorism, the 700 Club) but what makes Mormons so different is that unlike Muslims and Christians they haven't been around for thousands of years, hell they haven't even been aound for hundreds of years, so really if the mainstream is aleady so far from the original teachings of their founder that they condemn those who adhere to the practices that he insisted were cornerstones of the faith (practices such as polygamy and murdering dissenters) aren't they just conceding that the whole religion is a little out there and maybe this Joseph Smth character had no business having followers in the first place? Just sayin'!
Anyway, my own interest in the LDS religion led me to go so far as to call their 1-800 number. Naturally, like all serious bands of believers Mormons have a toll-free number of their own, though I almost mis-dialed and called the sacred order of the Devry Institute by accident. After spending twenty minutes on hold, during which time I was treated to some kick-ass grooves by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I was greeted by a guy named Jeff. I've since come to find out that everyone (in my experience at least) who answers these calls is not-so-coincidentally named "Jeff". After an excrutiatingly long talk, Jeff offered to send me a "super cool book," namely, Joey Smith's magnum opus, The Book of Mormon (named for the angel Moroni, who, if he were around today and I read the book correctly, would basically bless all believers with daily winning lotto numbers).
True to their word the LDS folks delivered the sacred text. However, anticipating a serious recruitment campaign I gave them my parent's address instead of my own. I figured that if my mother showed the missionaries half the fury that she unleashed upon me when I skipped my fourth-grade clarinet lesson, she might successfully purge the Buffalo area of the LDS faith for good. Unfortunately, the wily bastards showed up when I happened to be visiting my folks for my sister's birthday dinner, and they came prepared.
I was enjoying a relaxing early-Sunday evening King of the Hill, when my father informed me that "two girls were at the door" for me. Naturally, I put on my best smoking jacket, smoothed my 'stache and sauntered to the door only to find two women who were roughly my own age but bore the hardened look that one usually associates with disabled 'Nam vets or door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen. Turns out they were Mormon missionaries (or "Mormonaries" as I call them), young people of the faith who are obligated to enlist a couple new recruits before they can be considered full-fledged members of the LDS community. I didn't know it at the time, but rhese missionaries are sent all over the world and sometimes spend years away from home trying to meet their recruitment quotas. So I was a bit surprised when my two guests attacked me with a ferocity usually found only in used car salesman and fat people at Old Country Buffet. Aside from being desperate, they were terrible salesmen. They were like Jack Lemmon in Glengarry Glen Ross, but with Little House on the Prairie hair and a really shitty product. I brushed them off pretty easily, explaining that I was really only interested in getting the free book and had absolutely no interest in joining the Mormon faith, or any faith, for that matter. Basically I informed them that if I had hounds I'd be releasing them as we speak and they left without a fuss. I figured that my dealings with the LDS were over, but I was wrong. So very wrong...
(Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion, "Stormin' Mormons Part II, Electric Bugaloo)
1 comment:
you're sorta hilarious. i'm probably too attractive to be a blueneck, but hell, i enjoy the liberal banter.
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