I figured that since summer ended today, I would no longer be plagued with the summoning knocks of Mormons to my door. No, they may infect neighborhoods in the summer, biking around in their khaki pants, white shirts, and ties, peddling their beliefs to the first schmucks stupid enough to open their door, but I figured they went away during the colder months.
Perhaps its just not quite time for them to disappear. What they do, I don't have the slightest clue. Some may fly south, others throw themselves in a pyre and get born again in spring. Perhaps they hibernate. Most likely they spawn. Or more likely still, they return to their home planet. Whatever. I figure they all convene in some hidden Mormon locale where they plan Phase Two of their world domination plan.
I was certain, however, they wouldn't be near me.
Oh, how silly and naive I am.
There I was at home, enjoying the after-glow of a brief nap on top of my covers, restful but alert, when I hear a rapping on my door. Assuming it to be my brother sans key, I open it, much to my chagrin, to the savage grins of the Mormons. I know my jowels plummeted almost instantaneously. I wasn't prepared for this!
In high-school, they used to swarm my neighborhood. I guess they think my small home-town barrio was just riddled with easy converts. Thus, I had attack plans. One time I told them I was a Buddhist. Once I told them I didn't think I'd be allowed to talk to them, since the conversation was being recorded and my father said I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone or I'd be thrown back into the lock-room. Once I even invited them in for coffee and tried to convince them to convert to Christianity, thumping a Bible for effect (granted, I'm not Christian, or anything else, but I have read portions of the Bible and thus I am well-versed in pretending to be a religious vicar).
Ah, those were the days of preparation. I was a clever kid. But those days, sadly, are long gone.
"Hi, I'm Marty and this is my friend Steve, and we're from the Church of Latter-Day Saints, and we were wondering if we could speak to you for a second..."
Do they know that inside I'm wishing for my building to collapse on them? Not that it would kill them, though. I think Mormons are made of that liquid metal, like in the Terminator Movie. I think if you kill them, they just re-materialize later. The only way to kill them -- granted, it's a tad Draconian -- is to stake their heart, remove their head, incinerate the corpse, and spread the ashes at a crossroads, or something. I think I read that once.
Of course, my mind, debating whether to bolt fleet-footed to the nearest sanctuary, or to asphyxiate myself would be better, is far from listening to their hackneyed speech. However, they paused, to which I can only assume meant they were seeking a response from me to something they must have asked.
Mormons are odd. They wear sacred underwear that they can never remove, except for when they shower. No premarital sex. No caffiene. No hair-coloring. No jollity. No grinning. And many, many wives. And especially no homosexuality (as this status runs counter to their multiply-and-conquer tactics). Someone once tried to explain part of the Mormon religion to me. All that I gathered was there was a talking compass on a ship, and only Mormons could hear it, and it led them to safety. I think the first Mormons are schizophrenic. However, I think the same of current Mormons.
Racking my brain for a response, I let my instincts kick in, and I said the first thing that came into my head:
"Hey Steve. You're pretty hot. Are you one of those gay Mormons?"
In true form, I started hitting on one of the Mormon boys. The worst part of it is I think that Steve may actually have been a homo-sexual. Clearly, I caused all sorts of immediate panic, and severely disconcerted the two boys. I don't think they expected that.
"Uh, no... sorry," stammered Steve. I gave him a seductive look to close the deal.
They quickly offered some brief parting conversation and left. I'm sure they wanted to get the hell out of there. I think I crushed Steve's fragile spirit. I'm sure I'll cause him all sorts of grief later on in life, when he's married and has three children.
The pride for having rid myself of the Mormon menace was overwhelming. I think I dealt with that imbroglio much better than I would have if I had sat there and tried to formulate a response. I guess the Mormon religion cannot save the hell-bound such as myself.
However, I'm sure that my name has been submitted to the hit-list of the Mormon Church. Scary, too, since they have so much money. I wish I could tithe my friends. They'll probably hire German mercenaries to attack me while in class. That, or Joseph Smith's spirit will invade my room and pelt me with small stones while I sleep. Or maybe Marshall Applewhite will, I don't know.
Same difference, right?
Anyway, words of admonition to any Mormons -- if you even dare knock on my door, you flap-mouthed bugbears, I will see to it that vats of boiling glue are poured on your head. Thank you.