July 24, 2004

Scaring the Door Knockers

United States: I love a good frighten the fundies away tale and this is one of the more amusing.

I'm sitting on the steps leading up to (and down from, coincidentally) my apartment, smoking. It's five-thirty in the morning. Two Mormon boys appear at the bottom of the stairs.

Mormon boy 1: "Well, don't you look cheerful."

Yours Truly: "I'm contemplating genocide."

Mb1: "...pardon?"

Y.T.: "Genocide."


Y.T.: "I'm contemplating it."


Mormon boy 2: "Just... genocide in general, or...?"

At this point, Mb1 shoots Mb2 the nastiest look. I think Mb2 was supposed to merely stand and look pretty, and not speak or express any interest in genocide whatsoever.

Y.T.: "Committing it. You know, no one ever thinks of the Inuits." — squinty-eye glare — "Just sittin' up there, with all their ice and their snow and their furry little hats."


Y.T.: "Goddamn Inuits."

Mb1: "You know, I think we'll come back at a better time. You seem... tired. But here, read this and we can talk about it later. Sound good?"

He hands me a Book of Mormon; I already own seven copies.

Mb1: "What's your name?"

Y.T.: "Call me Ishmael."


Mb1 won't make eye-contact with me anymore and Mb2 seems all too fascinated.

Mb1: "All right... Ishmael. Which apartment do you live in?"

Bored quickly with how he will not cease, desist, and go away, I, with all of my usual clumsiness yet surprising quickness, flick my lighter open and set the first few pages of the B of M on fire, then gesture with it at my door.

Y.T.: "That'n. 444."

Horrified silence.

Mb1: "Oh, my—"

Y.T.: "Don't take the Lord's name in vain, please. It offends me." — The reader is, at this point, asked to keep in mind the fact that I am still holding the Book of Mormon and it is, indeed, still aflame.

Shortly thereafter, my Mormon boys took leave of me. There was some exxagerated sputtering and ineffectual schoolboy cursing, but it amounted to nothing and I don't expect to see them around these parts for quite awhile.

Of course, as soon as they were out of sight, I threw the flaming wreckage of the B of M on the concrete and stomped it out, all the while uttering girly screeches of terror, because Aubrey+flame=disaster.

And I set the cuff of my plaid Joe Boxers on fire. But only once.

Well worth delving into the comments on Overheard On LiveJournal for more delightful tales of detering the god botherers from a return visit.

Wherein fishnetaubrey frightens some Mormons [alas, it's a locked journal] - She's walking on the city..., 21st July 2004 (via Overheard On LiveJournal).

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This page contains a single entry by Red Wolf published on July 24, 2004 4:58 AM.

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