Nothing makes Mormon authority figures more nervous than a man in a dress, so Sunday I picked out the cutest plaid yellow sun dress for my big return to church. When I put it on I thought it looked a little too jokey with my beard so I scraped the beard right off. I also brought my big white purse and a lot of luggage with german writing on it for no particular reason other than I might need it later. You never know.
It's been at least 13 years since I stepped a stinky foot into a Mormon church and there have been a few changes. The hard wooden benches have all been replaced with folding chairs which of course makes it look pretty baptist (crappy), but the side benefit is that they can be moved out of the way when it's time to dance. Still, I thought that's what the gymnasium was for.
It was a big mistake bringing a horny girl with me who knew I was straight, she kept blowing my cover.
"You know if you remove the bows you'd really look hot."
"Shhh -- don't you get it? Quit grabbing my wang, they're gonna know that I'm fucking with them."
"Oh whatever, they think you're cute."
She was right. Nobody's brain caught on fire, no eyeballs shriveled up and no hearts were attacked as I had hoped. It wasn't long before I just felt retarded in the dress, but that didn't stop me from pretending that I was FABULOUS. Yeah, I pranced around like a homo with Madonna tickets trying to give it one last shot. Why couldn't they just get pissed and kick me out like I WANTED.
Adding compliment to comfort, they even had the nerve to ask me to sell them some art. It's as if the Mormons always wanted me in a yellow summer dress. I looked though all my luggage, but someone had stolen all my paintings. ANNOYING. Best I could come up with was a wallet full of coupons, hardly groundbreaking art. Still, they thought it was genius. Idiots.
I found a side door and slid out. My left leg was super long for ten minutes after that.
Back at home I caught a shifty girl doing pointless graffiti in my hallway. I grabbed her by her loose leathery tattooed skin and dragged her outside lecturing her along the way.
"Not only should you not be defacing my property, but you also should not be tanning that leather sketch bag you call a body. You look like a brazilian hippie's back pack for cripes sake." Her hazy green eyes blinked a billion times. She was a robot.
Then I made a big bowl of pickle juice soup. Mmmmmmm -- salty.
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