My Saturday with the Mormons

Gosh, I sure as heck am hungover today. See, I spent yesterday with the Mormons. It was actually a huge gathering of them, around 64,000, all in one place! It wasn’t at general conference, and it wasn’t at a ward road show. All of these white people were in Provo for the BYU football game.

It was kind of fun to see so many Mormons in one place, not swearing and drinking diet Cokes and saying things like, “Geeze it sure is nice to meetcha.” And I got to sit right behind Marie Osmond. I wish I got a picture, but she looks super weird in real life, I think she was scripted out (on pills) or something.

But the reason I’m so hungover right now is because any time I have to do anything remotely Mormon-esque I feel the need to counteract that activity by getting super fucked up right after. So after spending the afternoon with one of the most beloved Mormon past times ever, BYU Football, I spent the evening with one of my most beloved pastimes: A blatant disregard for my liver.

I got a mass text today inviting me to the first ever Juggalo church service, but I couldn’t go. Not because I’m not a Juggalo, but for a couple reasons. First, I didn’t get the text until a half hour after The Church of the Dark Carnival had started, and second because I’m still technically a Latter Day Saint. I’m just really, really bad at it.

I haven’t removed my records from the church because I have way too much fun yelling at missionaries when they come over and try to get me back in the ten percent club. Kind of like how my dad doesn’t ask to be removed from telemarketer call lists so he can scream at people over the phone – it’s a good outlet for him.

I keep telling the missionaries that if they can just tell me where dinosaurs come from, I’ll consider ruining my Sunday by doing something incredibly boring for three hours on a consistent basis. But so far no one can. I’ll leave that offer out for any religious organization: explain how evolution is not possible to me in a logical fashion and I’m game. That even goes for the Juggalos.

Hey, I just thought of something, the Juggalos should get their own missionaries. That would be super entertaining if dudes with painted faces went around doorto- door preaching about the Great Milenko and clown hell and whatnot!

My Saturday with the Mormons Anyway, when I do go to church these days it’s usually to support my Mormon family in one way or another. See, I was raised Mormon and I have the stereotypical big Mormon family and we had the giant Suburban when I was a kid and the whole nine.

Illustration by Snuggles

Now that I’m older, my sisters are all married and have turned themselves into baby-spewing vending machines. They are spitting live fetuses out faster than machine gun bullets. And every time a new baby enters the world, they gotta bless it and I’m obligated to go to church for these events.

As my nieces get older and learn how to walk and talk and recognize who I am, I suddenly become “Weird Uncle Mike.” They ask me questions about my tattoos like, “Why did you draw on your arms?” When they get a little older, like around six or seven, they say stuff to me like, “Long hair is for girls and tattoos are bad, Uncle Mike.”

So the last time that one of my nephews informed me that tattoos were bad I asked him where he learned that, but his fragile child mind couldn’t answer the question. I then told him that Jesus had tattoos, so they can’t be bad, right? He agreed with this and then I asked my sister the same question, “So where’d your little guy learn that tattoos are for bad people?”

I then told my sister that my body was a temple too. It just has some art on the walls. Then I told her kids that Jesus had tattoos. When she asked me why I told her kids that Jesus had some sweet ink, I asked her how do we know he didn’t? We all know Jesus was a hippie. He could have had a Kokopelli tribal on him somewhere.

I’m excited for when my nieces and nephews get a little older. Right now I have like 12 of them and the oldest one is ten. Once they hit their teens I have a feeling that my role as “Weird Uncle Mike” will shift to “Cool Uncle Mike.” I will be more important to my brother and sisters because I think I’m the only sibling that knows what cocaine looks like and I can tell them in a jiffy if their kid is high at the family Easter party.

Sorry this article is a little shorter than usual, but Leviathan 10 drops this month on November 12th and I haven’t even started it yet. I’m having a release party at the Urban Lounge and I might be starting my own church that night. It seems to be a good way to get money in a recession.