Al Fought The LDS, And The LDS Won

When my sister was in college, she began dating a Mormon.  I'd barely heard of Mormons before this occurred, but it turned out there was quite a large population of them at my sister's school (and apparently over 12 million in the world - who knew?).  She was really, really into this guy, and then he went to Germany for his 18 month-long mission.  Before leaving, he taught her a lot about his religion, including the facts that:

a.  They couldn't have sex until they were married

and...

b. They couldn't get married unless she converted to Mormonism.

Like all of my immediate family members, up until that time my sister had essentially belonged to the IDK & IDC religion.  However, I guess if you're a member of that particular religion and fall in love with someone who says he won't commit to you until you're Mormon, it doesn't take too long before you start to think, "You know what?  I think I might be Mormon." 


Therefore, my sister began the process of converting to Mormonism.  And before I knew it, I had a house full of Mormon Elders, equipped with Books of Mormon (tag line:  Like the Bible, Only Weirder!) and a fervent passion for conversion.


Okay, let's back up a little bit so I can offer some contextual information.  When this change in my household occurred, I was a 16 year-old, mosh pit-dwelling, anti-breeding, foul-mouthed, atheist-identified American girl.  It had occurred to me within the past year or so that adults were completely full of shit and authority figures had their heads up their asses.  Oh, and these "Elders" - Mormon males who travel abroad and spend 18 months attempting to  perform doorstep conversions of as many poor, lost souls as possible - were about 3 years older than me.


Now we can return, more informed, to that previous statement:  "And before I knew it, I had a house full of Mormon Elders, equipped with Books of Mormon and a fervent passion for conversion."  Please try, if you can, to imagine my horror.  On a way-too-regular basis, there were white boys wearing ties and name tags sitting in my family room reading religious passages to my sister and peering at me with what I perceived as an undeniably pitying, condescending, "poor-girl's-going-to-Hell" look in their eyes.

We are here to save your disgusting souls.

However, I was a resourceful and clever young woman, and it didn't take me long to figure out how I could warp this situation to my benefit.  I soon discovered that these Mormons had to abide by several rules.  Some I had already learned, like no sex, no drugs (including alcohol and caffeine), no foul language, no R-rated movies, and no thinking (applicable to females only).  However, the Elders had even more rules to follow, including no listening to music with words and no coming within arm's-length of a person of the opposite sex.


Oh, how I adored those rules and forcing the Elders in my house to break them.  I liked nothing more than throwing myself into the Elders' arms when they came into the house and blasting Rage Against the Machine and Violent Femmes until I was instructed emphatically to turn it down.  I like to think that, by the time I finally turned down the music, the Elders had heard so many curse words that they were sincerely concerned that they might be going to Hell with the rest of us poor coffee-drinking sinners.


The best thing I learned about the Elders, though, is that they are supposed to give you any material possession you tell them you like.  I cannot even tell you how much shit I got off of those Elders through the clever use of, "Wow, I really like your...."  I know, stealing is bad.  Unless it's from Mormons.

What is absolutely perfect about this is that my real name is Kelly.

The Elders who most commonly invaded my home were named...well, for the sake of respecting their anonymity, I'll just call them Elder Shmerb and Elder Shmoob.  They looked much like this:

Shocking, right?

The very best thing about Elder Shmerb was that he was a rabidly competitive ping pong player.  Since the Mormons have rules opposing everything fun in the world, I'm sure there's some rule about not being competitive, but Elder Shmerb didn't seem to care.  When it came to ping pong, he was ferociously competitive and a total shit-talker (Mormons would probably say "poo-talker" or "heck-talker," because that's just how fucking lame they are).


So here's the thing about me and ping pong:  I am a robot when it comes to that game.  I'm not particularly skilled or fancy in my play; I'm more like a ball machine, returning every shot, which makes it quite difficult for most people to beat me.  And one day, after several hours of taunting and heck-talking from Elder Shmerb, I took him into the basement and beat his fucking ass at ping pong.  I have never, ever, in all my days seen a white boy turn that red.  It ruled.

But alas, despite all of my rebellion and heck-talking about the Mormon church, and even after my amazing ping pong victory, my sister converted anyway.  I still remember sitting at her baptism, feeling dizzy and trying not to barf.  A few months later, my dad's coworker came to dinner, and during the meal she asked if I was a Mormon, too.  There was a resounding silence around the table until my mother finally commented, "Um.  Kelly...Kelly is kind of the opposite of a Mormon."  That was a beautiful moment.


Anyway, let's happily skip forward several months to the part where my sister started dating someone else, had sex, drank coffee, and turned back to normal.  Whew!  So all's well that ends well, and now, when Elders come a'callin', I make sure to turn on Pantera full-blast, answer the door topless and throw myself into their arms.  I guess all clouds have a silver lining, for without the experience I gained from my time with Elders Shmerb & Shmoob, I never would've learned how best to torture door-to-door religion salesmen.