Youth Hides Brother’s Light Under a Bushel

(DAYTON, OH)

In a move considered all-too-typical in the Hansen home, John Hansen, age seven, hid his brother’s light under a bushel on Thursday night, then claimed to have forgotten where he placed it.

A subsequent family-wide search came up empty, leaving a lightless Eli Hansen, age four, crying until bedtime.

Questioned about the light’s disappearance from its accustomed place on the kitchen hutch with the candles, John initially shrugged his shoulders but also evinced a quick smirk, indicative of some sort of suppressed shenanigans. Pressed further, first by his mother and then in a session of tandem questioning involving a very stern-faced father, the boy confessed to the deed, but claimed to be at a loss as to where he placed the missing item.

“Johnny’s done some pretty rotten things to Eli over the last couple years,” said a frazzled Barbara Hansen, mother of three, “but we never thought we’d have to protect his light, of all things. We always left it burning brightly out in the open, usually on the candlestick or up on the hill behind the house.”

According to experts, the loss of one’s light for a prolonged period of time can lead to a loss of appetite as well as faith. Other symptoms include depression, contentious thoughts, selfishness, anger, and a sense of apathy toward the general plight of mankind.

“Eli is too young to let that happen to him,” said a worried Marvin Hansen, looking under the sofa cushions.

John, the oldest brother and consummate tease, is said to have lost some of his own light through frequent wrong choices and a boating accident, which may have led to the purposeful squelching of his younger brother’s brighter glow. It is also thought that John may have used his remaining light to start a fire last year that singed the living room curtains.

Dr. Henry Freedman, practicing clinician at the Center for the Spiritually Gifted at Cincinnati said, “We often see cases where one brother or sister may, upon observing the purity and wholesomeness emanating from another member of the family, grow envious and seek to either squelch that light or give that person a very large knuckle noogie, pinch, or Indian burn. This type of jealousy is especially common and acute when such a glow is noticeably more luminous in a younger sibling.

“I just hope that John will remember where he put it by the morning or we may have to restrict his Wii time,” said Mr. Hansen. We’ll just put the entire console over there under that bushel in the corner for at least a week.”

Token Ward Democrat Occupies Bishop’s Storehouse

(KAYSVILLE)

In a move that has many in the neighborhood puzzled, token ward democrat Steve Boswell has been occupying the Kaysville, UT, Bishop’s Storehouse on 300 West Street for over three days and two nights, as of Wednesday.

Boswell, the only liberal-leaning member ever to exist in his Kaysville stake’s boundaries since its 1894 inception, took to camping out on the lawn of the building after hinting to fellow ward members on Sunday that he was going to “take on our own Goliaths.”

“Well,” a scruffy, weather-beaten Boswell said, while fixing a tent stake that had popped out of the building’s frost-covered front lawn, “I wasn’t doing much at home and I was all jazzed about the whole Occupy Wall Street thing. I just wanted to show my support. I didn’t have the gas money, or the car, for that matter, to make it to Salt Lake, so I just decided to go local, you know?”

Asked why he chose the Bishop’s Storehouse, Boswell responded, “I was just looking for a retail establishment of some sort, you know, a symbol of capitalism’s hold on our consumer-driven society. The only thing close enough was the local grocery store, but they have pretty tight security in their parking lot area and I didn’t want to get permanently kicked out of there – I have to shop somewhere, you know? The storehouse was here and I just decided that it isn’t where you are exactly as it is what you stand for.”

Sister Marsha LaGrue, a Church employment specialist and part-time custodian at the storehouse, first noticed Boswell when she came to meet another person referred to her for job assistance. Boswell, who was huddled in his tent for shelter from the biting December wind, exited his temporary domicile and, holding a sign, chanted loudly across the lawn.

“I think I was shouting something about how the banks and mortgage brokers should pay back the money they stole from us, the American taxpayer. Or it may have been something about Afghanistan. I don’t remember.”

“I couldn’t hear what he was yelling. The breeze was really gusty and kind of blowing his voice away. I thought I had left my car lights on or something, but then I saw that he had a tent pitched on the grass and that he was holding a sign. I think it had a big ‘OBS’ on it, whatever that means.”

Continued LaGrue: “I then noticed that it was Brother Boswell. I’m not in his ward, but I’d helped him try to find employment a few months back, before he stopped looking for work. I called the stake president and he said it was okay for Brother Boswell to have his tent there as long as it moved it around to avoid killing the grass.”

When asked if he thought it was inconsistent to target an establishment that fed the poor and sought to find people gainful employment, Boswell replied, “Yeah, I know about that, but at least here I can stay in the tent, go home and feed the dog every day, and sometimes Marsha brings out a doughnut for me. Besides, maybe if I stay around here long enough, I’ll hear of a job opening – something to go along with my cultural anthropology degree, you know?”

BYU Fan Missionary Seeks to Convert Athlete with 4.4 Speed

Avid longtime Cougar fan Elder Arnie Shelling has made it clear that he is looking for a certain type of convert: ones with at least 4.4 speed, amazing hops, and dominant athleticism.

“It won’t be as easy here in the country,” said the new Georgia elder, currently serving in the densely forested rural area near the South Carolina border, “but I’ll be alright if I can somehow work a transfer to Atlanta.”

While his companion, a Boise State Bronco fan, would prefer to tract in every neighborhood for a variety of souls, Shelling has made the pair knock on doors mostly in the projects and in the neighborhood adjacent to the local high school.

“That’s so I can scope out the local talent without looking like a creeper,” he said. “We asked the coach if he needed volunteers to get water for the team, or whatever. He just laughed and said they had girls for that.”

Shelling, who didn’t qualify for BYU due to a middling high school GPA, is determined to help the cause in other ways. “Yeah, I went to Weber State for a year before my mission, but I’ll always be a Cougar inside. Wildcats? Whatever.”

Shelling’s plan includes a four-part strategy: 1) find an adaquately talented prospect; 2) convert the prospect’s family; 3) extol the virtues of BYU’s “legendary” football and basketball prowess; 4) inform Coach Bronco Mendenhall when the prospect has been converted and properly cultivated.

Though the plan is detailed and Shelling is focused and persistent in his search, he hasn’t seen any fruits of his labors thus far.

“Yeah, we baptized a couple old ladies last month and we are set to baptize a family of six that a member family knew, but neither of their two boys have an athletic bone in their body. I’ve seen them play at the church after scouts and they’re horrible.”

“The way I see it,” said Shelling, checking the phone book for the address of the local YMCA, “if BYU wins a national championship in a major sport, then all sorts of sports fans will flock to the Church. Then we can worry about the kids and the old ladies and stuff.”

Kooky Member to Produce “I’m a Mormon” Video, Set Worldwide Missionary Effort Back 30 Years

(SCRANTON, PA)

Local member and certifiable nut-job Lonnie Petzkin is producing a five minute video patterned after the “I’m a Mormon” Internet shorts found on YouTube and Mormon.org.

Larry, who is known in the community as “That Guy Who Bikes Through the Neighborhood Naked Late at Night,” hopes to highlight his love for his newfound religion while gaining a little fame for himself.

“I hope that Mormon.org will run it, since I’m giving it to them for free and all,” said Larry, picking his nose, “but I can also put it on my own YouTube account if they don’t take it.”

Larry’s YouTube account is found under his username LarryLizardFeet, a moniker chosen to pay homage to his particularly dry, calloused soles and yellow, claw-like toenails.

While his feet make only one on-screen appearance – as Brother Petzkin uses the appendages to make his dog Cooter yelp high-pitched sounds that resemble human laughter – they are not the only concern of those who worry about the damage Larry could possibly do to the Church’s reputation.

According to Elder’s Quorum President Kyle Neilson, Larry’s backward antics and deranged viewpoints on nearly all subjects could set the worldwide missionary effort back decades. “Yeah, I know how these sorts of things go viral. One teen in North Dakota could see it and tell all his buddies about that Mormon fruit loop and his animal feces collection and, next thing you know, the whole world has seen it. It would be like the missionary opposite of those Jimmer videos.

When asked whether his unique collection of animal droppings made it into his video, Larry acknowledged that it did. “But I only could talk about it, since I can’t find the keys to the shed out back.”

When asked about the highpoint of his feature, Larry hesitated. “Mmm, I was going to say the poem I read about my ex-wife using a dummy: you know, ventra-quill-it-ism [sic], but I think it’ll probably be the squirrel heads that I make talk like the Chipmunks. I haven’t filmed that yet, though. I need one more head.”

Church officials in Salt Lake City did not have a comment on what seems a probable public relations disaster, but it has been reported that Brother Petzkin’s bishop made a passive attempt to dissuade Larry from mentioning the Church in his online offerings.

“Larry wouldn’t take the hint. He has too much zeal for spreading the gospel,” the bishop was heard to tell a counselor while grimly shaking his head.

Priesthood Pandemonium

High Priest Nearly Keeps Eyes Open Throughout Entire Block

(PHOENIX)

Brother Phelbert Martin, a lifelong Arizona resident, nearly became the first high priest in the modern church era to remain awake during an entire church block by staying cognizant until thirteen minutes before quorum meeting ended Sunday.

When told of the magnitude of the achievement, Brother Martin received congratulations from his fellow high priests and was the brunt of jokes indicating that Martin was the most unlikely candidate imaginable to have progressed so far into the block. The ward historian recorded the feat and sent a copy of the documentation to Salt Lake, along with written statements by witnesses within the ward.

“The thirteenth ward is very proud of Brother Martin,” the bishop stated, broadly smiling. “This ward may end up the envy of the stake, if not the entire region. I wonder if someone will mention it in General Conference.”

Bothered by a rash located on the right side of his neck, Martin was unable to slump his head in any direction without significant pain to the spot where his neck made contact with his shirt collar, keeping his head erect during the entirety of sacrament meeting. “I was up in the attic Saturday moving some insulation around and some cotton-pickin’ fiberglass stuck in my neck,” Martin says.

The upright position and frequent pain prevented Martin from achieving the light doze he usually enjoys during the bulk of the speaking portion of the service.

Though missing his habitual deeper snooze between the first meeting’s musical number and closing prayer, Martin was

also able to sustain consciousness until the end of Sunday school due to the constant movement required to assist his wife, a gospel doctrine teacher in the ward, apply visual aids to the chalk board.

His position at the first pew in the chapel also positioned him in the path of the chilled air flowing from the cooling system, creating enough of a nuisance to rub his arms several times, assisting his body to ward off his typical somnolent class-time disposition.

“Phel’s kind of known for a couple times when we all heard him snoring in the back corner. We kid him about it sometimes, but his wife really has him busy during class since she got her new calling,” Tom Anderson, an elder and father of three, explains. “I think he’s starting to get annoyed and is pretty grumpy by the end of the meeting these days.”

Brother Phelbert, using several sections of folded toilet paper, managed to cushion his skin from the constant rub of his collar and retreated to the back of the room for a quorum meeting siesta. “I was really looking forward to a little nap at that point,” Martin admits.

However, naptime was first interrupted by a dispute breaking out before the opening prayer in which the efficacy of mutual funds was questioned. Investing being a subject wherein Martin feels he has an expertise, he heatedly disagreed with the assertion, loudly pointing out the long-term returns of his own investments.

The emotion of the exchange and his incredulousness at his fellow high priest’s ignorance insured that Martin would be able to open his eyes as the prayer ended, a feat sometimes not achieved on a typical Sunday.

Martin’s next 15 minutes of wakefulness is credited to a humorous comment involving Methuselah and his advanced age, a state which the group leader applied to himself, prompting knowing laughter and nods from those in the group still conscious or retaining hearing sufficient to understand the witty aside.

Martin, particularly tickled by the comment, chuckled and repeated the funny part of the remark several times while looking around at his drowsy peers. His enjoyment of the statement led to a desire to listen to the lesson further in case another humorous observation should be forthcoming.

After ten minutes of hopeful attention, Martin eyes grew heavy. Removing his glasses several times to rub his now burning eyes, his head bobbed several times and he fell asleep.

“Well, I don’t know what would have happened if the teacher had told a couple more corkers,” Martin said wistfully. “I’m sure I’ll never get that close again but I’m thankful for all the help I received by my brothers and sisters in the ward. This is a ward achievement, not a Phelbert achievement.”

Christmas Pageant Irregularities Cause Concern at Party

(DRAPER)

Irregularities in the 4^th Ward’s presentation of the Christmas story, as described in the Gospel of Luke, were quickly pinpointed and commented upon by widow and ward fuss-budget Mildred McClain Saturday.

McClain, sitting in the front row in order to hear the proceedings, first became aggrieved when she noticed that Mary was riding a stick horse, rather than a donkey, as depicted in the Bible.

“Couldn’t you find a donkey?” McClain bellowed, causing the narrator to pause for a moment at his microphone. “Wouldn’t take too long to find an ass around here,” McClain muttered, looking around in disapproval.

Sister McClain, called “Sister Complain” by some of the young mothers in the back of Relief Society, guffawed loudly as the manger appeared to consist of a large cardboard box and a few pieces of straw. “Gonna get cold in that Frigidaire box, honey,” she mocked to no one in particular.

While the stable was a source of perverse merriment to the spinster, her malevolent smile turned to a scornful frown when she noticed that the baby Jesus was actually a girl doll swaddled in a blanket. “How can Betsy Wetsy be the Son of God?” shouted McClain, obviously irritated and looking around for the bishop.

“We couldn’t find a boy doll anywhere,” Primary President Sharlene Hawkins explained later. “I searched all the local stores and I almost bought one online, but it was forty dollars. I can buy my kids two or three Christmas presents with that. I didn’t think anyone would even notice. I forgot that Sister McClain’s eyes are as sharp as her hearing is dull.”

After the doll incident, McClain’s sour mood deepened when she noticed the size of the angelic choir. “Hardly a multitude,” she cracked, hitting Brother Gantry on the arm, who pretended not to notice her joke.

McClain also found fault with the wise men, who numbered four. “Bo Jenkins came late,” President Hawkins said, a bit sheepishly. “We had to throw him in somewhere.”

“The bishop isn’t here tonight, apparently,” McClain said to Brother Ralph Didier, a counselor in the bishopric. “But I’ll be sure to let him know about the current quality of the so-called Christmas Pageant.”

Brother Didier then smiled and distracted her by wheeling her over to the least appealing (and, therefore, most criticizable) items on the dessert table.

Carthage, IL Dairy Queen Worker Almost Wishes Joseph Smith Hadn’t Been Killed

(CARTHAGE, IL)

16-year-old Timothy Meckler, a disgruntled Dairy Queen employee and known Mormon hater, stunned friends and fellow-employees alike when he told them that he almost wished Mormon prophet Joseph Smith hadn’t been killed in his town in 1845.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get baptized and find 10 wives or anything,” the downcast Meckler said, while mopping the floor before closing. “It’s just that these stupid Mormons come in and keep us really busy during the summer and half the time we don’t end up closing until after 11:30.”

“It’s like, if he wasn’t killed at the jail across the street, then there would be no reason for them to come into here with their 16 kids and order them all a small cone or some weird Blizzard that takes a million years to make.”

Ben Goldfield, a longtime friend of Meckler’s, was a bit stunned by the pronouncement. “I was, like, what?” Goldfield said with a comically surprised look on his face. “I was, like, this isn’t the same kid who helped me spray paint the highway ‘welcoming’ the Mormons into Nauvoo, you know?”

Meckler’s girlfriend, Kendra Martin, who also works at Dairy Queen, was equally taken aback. “This is coming from the kid who always puts double the mustard on the Mormons’ burgers. I was, like, why don’t you invite those missionaries in next time instead of spraying their books with the hose?”

While Meckler insists that his newfound wish that local mobsters had not shot the Mormon leader does not change his dislike of  Mormons, particulary the ones who bring back Meckler’s special “Mo-tard Burgers,” his new stance has made him feel a bit philosophical. “It’s like, if I can change my mind about killing that guy, then maybe anyone can change their mind about anything. Kind of makes you feel like nothing is sure in life.”

Meckler has vowed, however, to “up the mustard” even more to atone for his recent attitude shift.

EDITORIAL: Seagulls Don’t Get the Respect, Handouts They Deserve

by Bernie the Gull

Hey buddy. I noticed that you’re having fun there with your young family: adorable Joshua, sweet Kendra, little Mary, Gad, Franklin, Brigham, and Naphtali. Yep, this is a wonderful park where you can really relax and eat in peace between the parade and fireworks.

I also noticed that you told your cute little ragamuffins to not feed the seagull ‘cuz it would encourage other “trash birds” to fly over and spoil your Pioneer Day.

Not that a trash bird’s opinion matters, but I know something about the pioneers too. If it wasn’t for me and my buddies grabbing them foul-tasting crickets a few years back, you wouldn’t be here enjoying, what is that, potato or pasta salad? That’s because your great-great grandfather would have either starved or eaten frozen cricket-soufflé himself  for Thanksgiving if we hadn’t saved that crop of his.

Isn’t that worth a morsel of your bologna sandwich? How about a sliver of that cheese cake your wife is holding there? I’ll even take some of that jello salad over yonder, though it’s mostly empty calories.

So what is a little poop on your minivan compared to your forbearers huddling in their little hovels eating pinecones and pieces of boiled saddle bag? Just think of the winter of 1848 the next time you choose to be stingy with what looks like a succulent lunch.

Are those Cheetos? Say, I love Cheetos. Just one, huh?

See that family under the pavilion, the McAllister’s? They threw me a whole half-slice of rye. They aren’t even from Utah. Their families are from Minnesota and weren’t miraculously saved by my trashy ancestors.

You think I enjoy the degradation of picking through the garbage bags behind the Chuckorama? Yeah, the choice is mine, alright: between the moldy lettuce and the sun-hardened mayonnaise crusted on to the pavement.

Look, I don’t even have any friends, okay? Nobody is going to be encouraging anybody if a scrap is thrown my way. Truth is, my ancestors ate bad cricket on that very famous of days and died before the could disgorge themselves. I know, I didn’t want to bring my personal history into all of this, but I’ve been emotionally crippled for quite awhile and I could really use a hand.

Say, those cookies look awfully tasty. Yoo-hoo, over here, no teeth to rot, heh heh. Come on!

Okay, fine, be ungrateful. I didn’t want any of your delectable brownies or juicy-on-the-inside-but-crunchy-on-the-outside chicken wings anyway.

So, ah, which minivan was yours, did you say?

“No Bouncing” Baby Blessing Rule Brings Disdain upon Young Bishop

(OREM)

Two months into his administration, Bishop Alvers of the Orem 49th Ward, citing online medical sites and fears of legal trouble or injury, announced a controversial “no baby bouncing during blessings” rule during Ward Council. While received well by most, others in the ward point to problems with the new policy.

The guidelines have been said to add to confusion in the “huddle” as some priesthood-bearers, by habit, have bounced the baby while others attempt to mitigate the bouncing, leading to more than one stern look at the perpetrators and questioning glances at the bishop.

“It takes a lot of time to get everybody on the same page and by the time they start, the baby has been jolted awake because everybody’s hand is doing a different thing,” an anonymous father admitted.

“It’ll just take some time and patience,” Bishop Alvers asserts. “The last thing we need is to have a law suit due to a dislocated brain stem or concussion.”

The bishop remembers several Internet sources that he has run across that mention the perils of shaking infants and syndromes that he has heard about, though he can’t remember specific names.

Besides those mentioned, other corollary concerns have been cropping up, according to sources.

A bishopric member, on condition that his name be withheld, commented: “It has lead to unkind feelings. For instance, one older home teacher kept bouncing the baby during a blessing last month. Others kept whispering for him to stop, but he’s hard of hearing, so he just kept going. It was lucky that there was a baby between them or the father may have strangled him with his own tie, right then and there.”

“It seems like whoever comes out of that mother’s lounge the last few weeks has been angry and almost rude to the ward leadership,” another brother said. “At the ward dinner there was very little clapping after the P.E.C. brethren sang that barbershop number about the lazy river. They sang really well and you could tell they’d rehearsed, so they should have received a lot more applause than that. I attribute it to the blessing brouhaha.”

While neither side has entered into talks about the situation, or even mentioned it, a possible impending crisis looms.

“I don’t know how it will all end,” one source whispered, “but there are three babies due by the end of next month, so they better come up with some sort of compromise. Maybe swinging the babies from side to side? I just don’t know.