Voters Horrified by Romney’s “Freaky” Mormon Belief that Jesus Rose from the Dead
College Station, TX- Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney tried to assuage voters’ concerns about his being Mormon this Thursday with a speech about his faith. But it may have backfired.
“I assumed Mormonism was pretty weird already. Now I hear from Mitt that his people believe that Jesus Christ rose from the dead! Yeah, right. Jesus is a zombie. Whatever you say, wacky fella,” said Lisa Stansfield as she put on her coat after hearing the speech. “We don’t need a guy believing in that kind of sci-fi stuff in our White House. We need a guy who goes by the plain old Bible.”
“Apparently, the Mormons also have this belief that, in ancient times, God killed this one guy’s livestock, wife, and children just to test him. God doesn’t do that kind of stuff in the normal Christian religions, and there aren’t people with names like Job in those religions either,” said another attendee, Deborah Gibbons, a minister at a nearby Baptist church.
“I did appreciate that Mormons didn’t allow black people into their churches, at least until 1978. That was good to find out. But, yeah, their other beliefs are very strange,” chimed in Stan McClintock, who also watched the speech. “Mary being a virgin, another Mormon belief according to Romney, seems a bit odd seeing as how she HAD A FREAKING KID!” he continued sarcastically, eliciting laughter from other exiting attendees.
Hey, Dr. Science-Patterson! Is it true that no two snowflakes are identical? - Snow Blind in Syracuse, NY
Dear Snow Blind - That is true. Sometimes the difference is very slight, sometimes it’s quite drastic. For example, I once witnessed a pair where one was quite small, white, and took on a star-shaped crystalline pattern whilst the other was gray, significantly heavier, and mall-like in its sheer size and in its store- and kettle korn vendor-esque structures full of people partaking in commerce-esque type activities.
Hey, kids. Please send more of your science questions if you feel you need to.
So it is the holidays around now. To celebrate the holidays, at fucking Donnie’s Bar and Tavern were doing the secret Santa on Christmas afternoon, remember. The limits $15, were doing it white elephant style, and it can’t be a thing that, at the sight of it, would push people already close to the edge to the edge.
For uh decorations, the tree is up in my opinion (not in Deb’s opinion, though) and I got the picture of Santa that people can pass around.
Anyway, we got the Holiday drinks menu, so here it is:
The Fourth King - This is what Jesus H. would have been given by a fourth king/wise man if there was one. A bracing blend of Peirson’s (basically, a poor man’s poor man’s Everclear), mashed potato Schnapps, and fermented mythical gilderberries picked by a Bulgarian dude in a jealous fit of rage.
Tin Tree Star - 2 parts the first liquid that appears in the computer that day when Googling “Please, no,” the daily allowance of red wine as suggested by my buddy whose starting up an alternative to the FDA, a twist of “lime,” 2 parts this stuff the guy who sold it to me called “the future of eggnog,” and 1 part severe-grade gin.
The Santa Don’t Exist - A hot mug of Full Throttle energy drink spiked wit enough Walgreen’s brandy to make it so you forget what horrors the Ghost of Christmas Future shows you.
Dresednya was the most beautiful woman in the hamlet. So glorious was her porcelain skin, so lush her feathered raven-coloured hair, and so unsettling the shape and movement of her bustle that she could only take her outdoor daily constitutional once the evening was established. Through this strategy, Dresednya believed she would not be as likely noticed by the town’s gentlemen, male beasts of burden, and women who shun the ribbons and frilly nature that otherwise typifies their gentle gender.
Still, the occasional businessman, barrister, exploiter, or ladies’ advice columnist would often, after a supper probably not worthy of his day’s efforts, step out onto his veranda to escape the stifling environment created by the wife who insists on interaction. And, while enjoying a session with his snuff or performing a deserved release, such a gentleman could not be expected to but not but help glimpse Dresednya’s smooth-edged shadow even in the night and find a story in his visionary mind in which he assume the role of strapping young hero, who bravely follows her shrieks of distress and, upon finding her, shoves that which dangles from his less cultivated regions up within her.
What also added to Dresednya’s aura of mystery was the simple fact that no one could answer whence she came. She was simply a part of the hamlet’s dramatis personae as long as anyone could remember. No one could have not either nor neither claimed to have seen the inside of her home as well. Those gentlemen who imagined breaking into her abode and forcing themselves upon her were at a loss as whether to daydream bending her over a Rococo chair, laying her acrost a rough peasant-style table, or pouring her into George III-style gravy boat .
Dresednya also wore always a blood red-coloured ribbon around her single soft delicate neck.
(to be continued)
*Beautiful, even though the word sounds like it should mean the exact opposite.
