From: Millie Loomis, self appointed ward media critic
Subject: Ex-Mormon Superbowl Party
Having finally recovered from my traumatizing Julie and Julia experience, and upon hearing the buzz about the Superbowl party at the Bantas, I decided it was time for me to return to duty as your media watchdog. I armed myself with my temple garments and the Holy Ghost, disguised myself as an ex-Mormon, and infiltrated enemy lines. I had no trouble locating the target, as this poster-sized sacrilege hung by the entrance:
I activated my hidden camera, stormed up the stairs and pushed through the door. The party was already in full swing. I paused in the entryway and scouted the territory, then moved into the living room, where a seemingly charming couple invited me to sit. Their charm quickly evaporated, however, when they launched into a tirade over polygamy, temple blood oaths, the Lamanite Placement Program, and Prop. 8. The usual blather. Typical ex-Mormons. Exaggerating a few personal slights, then drowning their sorrows in copious amounts of Diet Dr. Pepper. Sad.
I relocated to the kitchen, where more of the enemy were encamped. I struggled to maintain my cover while they drank, caroused and blasphemed the Lord's anointed without apology. It was a scene too vile and gluttonous to describe. Fortunately I captured some of it on film. (Extreme caution advised.)
Bleary-eyed Sarah sat on a bar stool throwing back shots of Gatorade. I left her to her private gulag.
Instead, I joined Donna and Cheryl who were deciding on which chick flick to watch on the kitchen TV. Wholesome movie buff that I am, I immediately suggested Beauty and the Beast. They shot it down. I compromised with something edgier, The Princess Diaries. But . . . no. That was not in their plans. Cheryl popped in Julie and Julia, and flipped ahead to where Julia Child compares a piece of tubular pasta to a man's -- you know.
"It's my favorite part," said Cheryl. "I like to look at it over and over again."
My cheeks burned as I watched the revolting scene play, rewind, then play again.
"Hey Cheryl," Donna called. She pulled a box of manicotti from her cupboard. "Let's see if she's right."
I walked out.
Thankfully, there were no other active members of the Abbottsville Fourth Ward present at last evening's party/kitchen orgy. Nor should any of us attend these soirees in the future. (Except to gather further ammunition against the enemy, and maybe drink some more of that super yummy lemonade.)
If you would like to stop receiving these e-mails, we'll send you Sister Loomis's reimbursement request along with her receipt from the Abbottsville Leather, Latex and Fetish Factory, where she purchased her ex-Mormon disguise.