Just Wearing Pants Isn't Enough!

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Mark Crawford. ward inactive token gay who still gets the emails
Subject: Wear Pants to Church Day

My dear friends in the Abbottsville Fourth Ward,

As many of you know, this Sunday is Wear Pants to Church Day, an event created by Mormon feminists that invites LDS sisters everywhere to wear slacks to church in order to promote gender equality.

When I heard about this, my heart was touched and I became filled with the spirit. So much so that for the first time in years, my husband, Byron, and I have decided to attend church on a Sunday when my mother isn't even in town.

But as much as I approve of this protest, I am afraid that it will fall way short of the desired goal. It's based on a faulty assumption. The event's organizers claim the following:

We believe that much of the cultural, structural, and even doctrinal inequality that persists in the LDS church today stems from the church's reliance on – and enforcement of – rigid gender roles that bear no relationship to reality.

Sounds reasonable all right. But here's the problem: since when have the straight white guys running the LDS Church had any relationship to reality?

Consider the rational responses left in the comment field on the event's Facebook page. The people we are dealing with are not at all ashamed to publicly state the following:

LMAO! Geez! haha...what the hell is WRONG with women in our society these days? If you're going to wear pants, they might as well get penis implants too, to make them even MORE masculine.**

or

The beauty of an event like this is that it EXPOSES the most angry, prideful women in the church. The types that are SO selfish and arrogant that they'll destroy marriages and families and harm innocent children by demanding divorce.** 

or

I'm exhausted with feeling the obligation to be "half gay" in order to feel attracted to the "new and improved" arrogant "manly" women in American society.**

Get it Abbottsville Fourth? When dealing with what has to be the most clueless demographic in American society, reasonable people cannot rely on subtlety to get their point across. The racist, homophobic, misogynistic pricks in charge need to finally get it through their thick skulls that we aren't buying into their bullshit. We need to speak their language.

In that spirit and out of the goodness of our hearts, Byron and I mixed up some dry martinis and prayed for guidance.

Halfway through the second pitcher we received the following revelation about the LDS hierarchy: The white male pricks in charge never miss an opportunity to verbally fart the usual bullshit theories they've invented for the sole purpose of ensuring that they remain the white male pricks in charge. By the end of any given Sacrament Meeting, there's so much gas in the room that the tiniest spark could blow the entire building to smithereens. 

No wonder they don't allow candles.

This Sunday let's beat them at their own game. In addition to wearing pants, we encourage every like-minded progressive ward member to bring his or her favorite flatulence device to church. Then be poised to activate it at the first whiff of verbal methane from the Brethren. When they let one rip, we'll let one rip.

Byron and I will arrive at the ward meetinghouse early on Sunday armed with extra whoopee cushions and electronic farting devices. If we run out, participants can always fall back on the simple razzberry. Hopefully this will get our message across. If not, we may have to undo our trousers, bend over and moon the moronic misogynist asshole who is still too thick to get the message. 

For more information visit our new Facebook event page: Drop Your Pants in Church Day. (You may want to mix up a pitcher of dry martinis first.)

**The above quotes are actual quotes on an actual Facebook page, not satire written by the blog owner. She's not that good.

--Update! It appears the Wear Pants to Church Facebook page was just shut down, so you'll now have to take the blog owner's word on what was in the comment field. But come on! Has she ever lied to you? :-)

--Second Update! The page is back up again -- as of 12/14/12 10:40 AM, anyway.

The New Fourteen Fundamentals In Following The Prophet

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: In response to your letter

My dear friends from the Abbottsville Fourth,

Every time I think you're coming along, you do something to bring me back to reality. Most of you have finally accepted that I live with a man, and that I no longer go to church. Nevertheless, that didn't stop you from sending me a list compiled by the former prophet and right wing xenophobe, Ezra Taft Benson, entitled "Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet."

So I read the thing. Between you and me, I found it a tad subtle. In fact, it's possible that some of you open minded types might try to read between the lines, add your own interpretations, and dive into that downward spiral that starts when a Mormon tries to think for himself. So out of the goodness of our hearts, Byron and I mixed up a pitcher of martinis and did a little editing, just so there will be no mistaking what the LDS Church is going for here. (Original text is in bold type.)

Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet

1. The prophet is the only man who speaks for the Lord in everything. -- The prophet speaks for everyone, including God.

2. The living prophet is more vital to us than the standard works. -- If you listen to the prophet you shouldn't read the Bible, or anything else for that matter.

3. The living prophet is more important to us than a dead prophet. -- With the exception of the dead prophet who compiled this list.

4. The prophet will never lead the church astray. -- Four martinis a piece, and we still couldn't come up with a way to improve on that one.

5. The prophet is not required to have any particular earthly training or credentials to speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time. -- The prophet is not required to read, write, do arithmetic, or even speak in coherent sentences. In fact it's best when he doesn't.

6. The prophet does not have to say "Thus Saith the Lord," to give us scripture. -- This implies he needs to consult the Lord in the first place.

7. The prophet tells us what we need to know, not always what we want to know. -- Information is released out of church headquarters on a "need to know" basis, and you don't need to know anything.

8. The prophet is not limited by men's reasoning. 

9. The prophet can receive revelation on any matter, temporal or spiritual. -- In particular, matters that intrude on your bedroom, bank account, and Salt Lake City's planning and building codes.

10. The prophet may advise on civic matters. -- The prophet can tell you how to vote. That is, until he figures out a way to take away your right to vote.

11. The two groups who have the greatest difficulty in following the prophet are the proud who are learned and the proud who are rich. -- In other words: smart people who don't pay tithing.

12. The prophet will not necessarily be popular with the world or worldly. -- The prophet will need a really good PR firm.

13. The prophet and his counselors make up the First Presidency -- the highest quorum in the Church. -- aka the world, the universe, the mind of God.

14. The prophet and the presidency -- the living prophet and the First Presidency -- follow them and be blessed -- reject them and suffer. -- If all else fails, the prophet will resort to scaring the shit out of you.

If the members of the Abbottsville Fourth Ward would like to stop receiving my messages, then I suggest they take me off this god-&%$#ed email list.

It's Family Christmas Letter Time!

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Ruth Turley, Relief Society Enrichment Leader
Subject: Merry Christmas from the Turley Family!

It's that wonderful time of year again, when we gather together as families, catch up with loved ones, and celebrate the season in the spirit of Christian charity.

In these trying economic times, when so many are facing unemployment, bankruptcy, and foreclosure, H. LaVar and I feel super blessed to be living in our brand new 5,000 square foot home, complete with a swimming pool, jacuzzi, and four car garage.

Be it ever so humble

Anywho, none of our possessions, not even our awesome new flat screen, are more precious to us than our six (soon to be seven) beautiful children.

Our year in review:

Tommy (14) participated in football, basketball, baseball, lacrosse, volleyball, choir, band, debate, chess club and yoga. Then on his 14th birthday, he added Stake Dances to his list of activities! At first the girls wouldn't dance with him. -- One even called him "booger." But a box of Kleenex, a little Clearasil and more frequent showers improved his luck with the ladies. (Only H. LaVar is now worried that some of Tommy's showers have been a little too long, and maybe include an "unclean" activity, if you get my drift. -- Time for a father-son sit down.)

Tessie (12) continued to be the sweet spirit she was destined to become, helping Mommy cook, clean, babysit, garden, iron, make curtains, and sell NuSkin products. As a first year Beehive, she dove into the Young Women's Personal Progress program by crocheting 100 hot pads and donating them to the poor. Even more exciting, this fall we purchased her first training bra, which can only mean a certain grown-up event is about to take place!! (Will keep everyone posted.)

Timmy (10) magnified his calling as future missionary by passing out Book of Mormons to everyone on the block, tracting out "golden contacts" door to door, and calling our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield, to repentance when he spotted some empty wine bottles in their recycle. He also served as an elementary school hall monitor and cited many infractions.

Teddy (8) did nothing, as usual. We now wonder if his August baptism may have been invalid in some way, and are toying with the idea of performing the ordinance again.

Toby (6) managed to survive the year with only eight trips to the ER. Thanks to that irrepressible little rascal, we've had to replace the Mayfield's front window, the stage curtains in the ward cultural hall, the motor on the Abbottsville Mall escalator, and H. LaVar's new chainsaw. We hope he makes it through 2011, because life wouldn't be the same without his special little spirit.

Terry (3) is so adorably curious! Everywhere we go he wants to know "why?" For example, "Why doesn't Brother Crawford take the sacrament?" or "Why did Bishop Zimmerman go into the liquor store?" or "Why's that noise coming out of Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield's bedroom window?" There's just no squelching his inquisitive mind, and we wouldn't dream of trying. H. LaVar and I make a point of answering all of his questions in detail.

H. LaVar has had a great year. In spite of the bad economy, he was promoted twice and received a ginormous raise and bonus. But humble guy that he is, he attributes his success merely to hard work, clean living, his support of traditional marriage, his obedience to the one and only true church, and his righteousness in the Pre-Existence. He continues to serve as Ward Mission Leader, a calling that has blessed him with many spiritual experiences.

As for me, I've been pregnant since June, meaning that half my year has been spent hurling into the toilet. Nevertheless, I am grateful for my divine role. Every time I lean over the bowl, I thank Heavenly Father that I am a Mother in Zion. I also am grateful that as the Relief Society Enrichment Leader, I am able to share my culinary talents with the sisters.

I'd like to go on, but Toby has run off with the keys to our Suburban, the nut loaf I'm baking for the Mayfields has caught fire in the oven, and little Terry just asked, "Why is Tommy moaning in the shower?"

So anywho,

Merry Christmas!!

Love, The Turleys

If you would like to stop receiving these emails, we insist you submit to an interrogation by Terry Turley.

Fast and Testimony Mad Libs!

To: Donna Banta
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: Surviving Fast and Testimony Meeting

Dear Donna,

Mother called last night to tell me that she's visiting the first weekend in November. By now Mother has come to terms with the fact that I live with a man and that I am no longer active in the church. (Only when I told her I didn't think the church was true anymore she responded with, "Oh p-shaw.") Nevertheless, she will no doubt expect Byron and I to do the three hour Sunday marathon with her, including the dreaded Fast and Testimony Meeting.

Upon learning this frightening news, Byron mercifully mixed a pitcher of martinis, and together we created the following "survival game."

Fast and Testimony Mad Libs

I would indeed be  __adjective__  if I didn't stand today and  __verb__  my  __noun__. At this time I would like to publicly thank my Heavenly Father for all my  __plural noun__. 

Lately I have been persecuted by some of my non- __noun__  co-workers. They mock me because I wear sacred  __plural noun__  under my clothes, don't  __verb__  or drink __liquid__,  refuse to have more than one piercing in my  __body part__, won't have  __bodily function__  outside of  __proper noun__ ,  and believe that I can one day become a  __noun__. Finally I drew up my courage and bore testimony of the one and only true  __noun__ . They felt the  __noun__,  and their  __plural body part__  were softened.

I am reminded of my  __cardinal number__   great grandfather who was  __verb__  by an  __adjective__  mob, then forced to cross the plains with nothing more than a  __noun__  and  __noun__. At least he had his faith in  __proper noun__  and a knowledge of the Book of  __humorous fictional character__  to sustain him. 

I know the church is  __adjective__.  I know Joseph Smith was a  __noun__.  I know that Thomas S. Monson is a  __noun__  of  __noun__  who  __verb__  the  church today.

And finally, brothers and sisters, if I have offended any of you,  __verb__  my  __body part__.

In the name of  __your favorite comedian or cartoon character__,  amen.

I testify to you, Donna, that this game, when paired with multiple martinis, is a deeply spiritual experience. Will  see how it compares with the real deal with Mother.

Regards,

Mark

Write Your Own LDS General Conference Talk

To: Donna Banta
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: Mother's visit

Dear Donna,

Mother was in town for General Conference. So, instead of the usual three hour marathon with her at church, Byron and I were sentenced to twelve hours with her and the General Authorities in our living room. By now Mother has come to terms with the fact that I live with a man, and that I no longer obey the Word of Wisdom. This mercifully allowed Byron to mix multiple pitchers of martinis to accompany the talks. (Although Mother did ask what was in a martini, and when I told her she said, "Oh p-shaw!") Nevertheless, by the Sunday afternoon session, she was drinking them too.

Since you and the other lucky post-Mormons were living it up at the San Francisco Ferry Building, Byron and I decided to compose a synopsis of what you missed:

Generic General Conference Talk 

by Mark and Byron

Check all that apply.

Brothers and Sisters, today I would like to speak with you about:

a. obedience.

b. sweet little old ladies.

c. your filthy minds.

I know that many of you struggle with your commitment to the Gospel because of:

a. these trying economic times.

b. your addiction to porn.

c. your warped desire to have "fun."

For those who harbor such selfishness, I invite you to consider the least fortunate among us. Last month I visited a tiny LDS branch in:

a. Calcutta.

b. Mozambique.

c. Queens.

After church, the branch president invited me into his hut, where his wife offered me:

a. her last few drops of Hawaiian Punch.

b. a box of lime Jell-O.

c. the remainder of the strained carrots she was feeding her infant. 

I asked the young president if he was in need of any church welfare. He immediately waved me off, and said that he and his flock preferred that the church devote its resources to:

a. eliminating the Internet.

b. defining the word, "marriage."

c. developing a line of modest prom dresses.

While the generic G.A. reads the following lines, cut from his face to any or all of the accompanying pictures.

Would that we all had such faith! But then none of our trials are as great as those of our ancestors. Consider the sacrifice of my Great-great-great:

a. Uncle Hyrum who died defending traditional marriage.

b. Aunt Eugenia who dug Uncle Hyrum's grave with only a teaspoon.

c. Grandfather Maxwell, who went to the Sweden, Stockholm Mission and converted over 100 women.

In closing, brothers and sisters, I leave you my testimony of the truthfulness of the Gospel. I bear witness that our Savior expects each and every one of you to:
a. pay a full tithe, attend all your meetings, go to the temple, magnify your calling, do your genealogy, have a year's supply of food, serve a mission, marry, raise at least 6 kids in the church, then serve a senior mission.
b. pay a full tithe, attend most of your meetings, have a temple recommend, and do your home/visiting teaching.
c. at least pay your tithing.

In return He promises:
a. you won't have a single minute to yourself.
b. you won't have time for any "fun."
c. there will be no money left over to spend on porn.

As I told Bishop Z, it was the most mind-numbingly boring crap I've ever seen on TV. And now I'm all out of vodka.

Regards,
Mark

Ex-Mormon Superbowl Party -- Visitors Welcome

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Donna Banta
Subject: Superbowl Party

My dear friends in the Abbottsville Fourth Ward, since you are kind enough to include me on your e-mail list, I've decided to include you in the following:

Postmormon Superbowl Party

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Hey Abbottsville Fourth Ward!

Tired of sitting through mind-numbing meetings while the game records on DVD? Don't want to wait until 12:01 AM Monday for the kick-off? Then hang at my house with actual fun people, watch the game in real time, throw back a cold one, and root for some real Saints for a change. Be prepared for light-mindedness, loud laughter, and a helluva lot of evil speaking of the Lord's anointed. 

You want to. You know you do.

Please do NOT bring:

Your scriptures

The missionaries

Lesson #5

Scrapbooking paraphernalia 

Your testimony

Neckties and pantyhose

Nu Skin samples

Your righteous indignation

Sister Loomis's gallon sized jar of peaches (I'm still working on the last one.)

A message from The Ensign

Violators will be dealt with by our bouncer, Mark Crawford. Trust me, your garments will not protect you.

Please do bring:

A sense of humor (It's there, you'll find it.)

An open mind (Likewise.)

If possible, some of those super yummy Mormon Funeral Potatoes

No Nursery Provided

See you Sunday!

http://www.postmormon.org/exp_e/index.php/chapters/ch_home/811

LDS Stake Single Adults

To: Abbottsville Stake Single Adults
From: Ricky and Mindy Foote, Stake Single Adults Leaders
Subject: Swinging Seventies Party is Cancelled!

For the past few weeks Mindy and I have devoted all of our time, talent and resources to serving the single adults in our charge. We've listened to your concerns, and welcomed your suggestions. We've even implemented a few. For example, we waived Mary's curfew so she could report to the hospital for her shift after the dance, and, at Ned's request, we added I Honestly Love You to the play list. We've prayed for you nightly, left Swinging Seventies updates at your homes and work places, and otherwise knocked ourselves out bringing this together. Did any of you know that I downloaded Bread's Greatest Hits onto my iPod? Or that Mindy was up all of last night finishing our Sonny and Cher costumes. Suffice to say we've magnified our callings. So how are we thanked for our efforts? With a slew of verbal bile from a bunch of vicious, hateful, mean-spirited ingrates.

Why is it, Mark Crawford, if you so desperately want to be deleted from the e-mail list, that you not only completed The Official Worthiness Questionnaire, but also added some not very funny embellishments, then turned it into a blog? (By the way I forwarded it to your mother.)

As for Jordan Bean, you may have been my pediatrician, and yes you gave me Cookie Monster band-aids, and took my teddy bear's temperature, but that does not give you the right to disobey my God-given authority! Furthermore, I don't appreciate you asking me to bend over for a new series of inoculations, nor am I amused by your suggestion that I perform a colonoscopy on myself.

Thank you, Elaine Miller, for circulating that photo someone took of me at your son's sixteenth birthday party. For the record, whatever anyone thinks they might see in my swim trunks was nothing more than a bunching of fabric magnified by pool water. Isn't it enough, Elaine, that you laughed when they poured the hot cider onto my crotch that evening?

Finally, to my Mother: Perhaps the Lord did inspire you to save my Scooby-doo underpants for a special purpose. But he did not intend them to be sold on E-bay. Nor did he want the rest of you to engage in a bidding war over them.

Righteous indignation has its place. Jesus throwing the money changers out of the temple. Likewise his admonition not to cast pearls before swine. Or, in this instance, Mindy and I refusing to serve a bunch of pathetic, over the hill, twisted losers who can't get their own dates.

So put away your afro wigs, earth shoes and any hope of fun this Saturday night. The Swinging Seventies Party is cancelled. Instead, I expect all of you to stay at home, read your scriptures and ponder your commitment to avoid all loud laughter, light mindedness and evil speaking of the Lord's Anointed.--Meaning Me!

Compose your conclusions in essay form and submit them to me no later than 5 PM Sunday.

If you would like to stop receiving these e-mails, watch this:

Mother's Visit

To: Donna Banta
From: Mark Crawford
Subject: Mother's visit

Dear Donna,

Most of the week went fine. Mother seems to have  come to terms with the fact that I'm no longer Mormon and that I live with a man. (Although she still asks where Byron sleeps, and when I tell her she still smiles, shakes her head and says, "Oh p-shaw!") We did the usual. San Francisco, Carmel. In the evenings Mother filled me in on the family in Salt Lake City and taught Byron how to cook "Utah Style." (Believe me, Donna, the man's a saint, and I don't mean the "latter-day" kind.)

On Sunday Byron and I planned to drop Mother off at church, go for brunch, then pick her up after. We made a slight detour to collect her friend, Sister Hickey, who is no longer able to drive. We parked and escorted the elderly sister into the building, as it took three people to manage her walker, oxygen tank, scriptures, and bag of medications.

Once she and Mother were safe in their pew, Byron and I raced for the door, only to be confronted by Bishop Zimmerman and a young member of the Aaronic Priesthood. The bishop's tie was askew and his lapels were covered in Post-it notes. He answered e-mail on his Blackberry as he spoke. "Mark! Thank goodness you're here! I need you to run to the store for the sacrament bread. Give the loaves to Dallin here when you get back." He pressed a wad of cash into my palm and disappeared. I looked down at Dallin. He was in desperate need of a bar of soap. "Listen kid," I said, "why don't you run to the Safeway on the corner and get the bread?" "I can't," he replied. "Why not?" I asked. "Because it's a sin." As the ward's token reprobate, I was the only candidate capable of breaking the Sabbath to provide the Abbottsville "saints" (including my mother) with their holy communion.

After Byron and I delivered the bread to Dallin, our exit was again hampered, this time by a commotion in the foyer. Bishop Zimmerman blocked our path, panting. One of the Post-its had attached itself to his earlobe. I tactfully returned it to his lapel. "Mark! Thank goodness you're back! Sister Turley's water just broke. I need you to sit with their kids during Sacrament Meeting while Brother Turley takes her to the hospital." Mother moved into my range of vision, her eyes imploring. "It's only an hour," said Byron. "We'll still have time for brunch." (As I said, the man's a saint.)

The Turley brood, a foursome ranging from age two through eight, sat on the second row from the front. While former Stake President Taylor waxed sentimental about his genealogy, Byron engaged the twin girls in what he thought would be a game of cat's cradle, but looked more like the bondage scenario in a DVD we recently rented. I might have been turned on, if I hadn't been so intent on dislodging the Cheerio one of the Turley brats stuffed in my ear.

Needless to say, we wasted no time ferrying the kids to Primary. We handed off the two year old to a wild-eyed nursery leader. "I need more help!" she cried, and grabbed Byron as well. I vowed to rescue him after I unloaded the other three, but upon entering the Primary room, Sister Zimmerman called out, "Mark! Thank goodness you're here! Sister Turley was supposed to play the piano, only now she's in labor. Will you fill in?" "Um, OK. Where's the music?" "I don't know. Can't you just wing it?" Sure I could wing it. I wing it all the time for my music students at Grafton College, but the Primary Songbook was not part of my repertoire. I fell back on The Eensy Weensy Spider, Puff the Magic Dragon, and Hey Jude.

After the better part of an hour I announced, "Any more singing will have to be done a capella." Sister Zimmerman thanked me, then asked, "On your way out would you mind tending to little Missy Skousen? She needs to pee." I drew a breath. "All right, I'll fetch her mother." "She just passed out from morning sickness." I refused to be rattled. "Fine, I'll find her father." "He's in the Elders' Quorum." Missy and I walked hand in hand to the Elders' classroom where we were greeted by a chorus of, "Mark! Thank goodness you're here!"

Some forty-five minutes later, I left the Elders, confident I had taught one of the best lessons of the year. (Good thing Brother Harold had that deck of cards.) Saint Byron waited for me in the foyer, head to toe in glitter. We loaded Mother, Sister Hickey and the portable ER into the car. Then as we left the church parking lot, Sister Hickey took a long pull on her oxygen tank, and wheezed, "Where are we going for brunch?"

I'll close for now, as Saint Byron is heading to the bar with our martini pitcher. God knows I need one.

Regards,
Mark

P.S. Do you know how to get off the Fourth Ward mailing list?