Saturday, January 16, 2010

Part 4/4: Holy asshole, Batman, what's that? That, Boy Wonder, is an @$$-Holy-O.

For all their own whining about persecution, those Mormon @$$-Holy-O's sure know how to stick it to everyone else. Now we have Mormon @$$-Holy-O's rampaging across the country making everyone else's home state a stinking hole of Mormon values, just like theirs.

If you see a hole when you’re crossing the road and you fall into it, who is responsible for that — you or the hole?

For my first 23 years, adherence to Mormonism and its whack-job rituals determined my entire existence.

Birthdays were celebrated by ritual advancements: baptism, ordinations, mission. Indoctrination starts early. Jesus wants me for a Sun-BEAM!

Sundays were occupied in ritual remembrance of Jesus’ apocryphal ritual suicide. OMG...again? The guy died 2,000 years ago—get over it already!

In their temples, Holocaust victims' spirits were rescued for eternity through ritual holy handshakes and through-the-veil groping. So were the spirits of all their Nazi murderers. "We interrupt you for this short announcement: The Final Solution is now being played out in Planet Kolob's Celestial City. All interested bigots, please report there immediately. Thank you."

In daily life, simple tragedies like car accidents, cuts and bruises, rabid dog attacks, and speeding bullets were averted through the ritual wearing of holy underwear. Holy underwear, Batman!

The common cold, mental disturbances, and various other maladies, ailments, addictions and afflictions were magically “cured” through ritual incantations: rancid olive oil rubbed into the scalp, and a half-hearted prayer muttered by some uncaring half-worthy Peter Penishood...boy! I feel better already!

But I had a condition no amount of ritual could cure. A condition, it turned out, that was so diabolically natural, common and benign that, having been trapped, bound, and blinded by the craven irrationality of Mormon ritual, I turned myself inside out and damn near almost killed myself trying to excise it. Until one day when I understood that I must choose between living an insane obsessive-compulsive neurosis, or just simply living. My condition fixed me: I stepped sideways and avoided that hole in the road.

Heterosexual Mormons try to claim that being gay is a lifestyle choice, but as with so many other things they’re too Mormy-centric and 19th-century and ignorant and sheltered to know what the hell they’re talking about. The decision is not whether one will be gay or heterosexual. There's no deciding those things.

The choice which must be made is whether or not one will live an authentic life.

Throw the Mormon church out and start living beautifully. Life is too short for stupid ugly junk.


Ed. Created by Kerry Rutz.

Part 3/4: Rewriting that DULL AS DIRT Temple Script.

And flattopSF went forth and lived in this garden known as the Real World, wherein were placed all manner of fruits, flowers, and vegetation. Of every tree of the garden flattopSF freely ate.

And of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, flattopSF did taste of some of the fruit of that tree. In fact,
he did taste of extra-large portions in abundance.

And yea, he found that it was delicious to the taste and very desirable. And yea, then it came to pass that flattopSF realized with a surety that Mormon doG was a goddamned liar, for in that very first taste he knew there was nothing wrong with the gay existence of flattopSF.
Life became worth living. And let me tell you, it's been good. I have been blessed beyond my dreams. But one day...:

One day in 2001 I was on the phone with my mother and had just run down the list of the Mormons’ anti-gay campaigns across the nation...Alaska, Hawai'i, Vermont, and California, with Proposition 22—the “Knight Initiative”. I spelled out how much of her tithing money it had cost.

She said: "That is a lie."

I said: "Excuse me, did you just call me a liar?"

The phone got real quiet for about a minute.

She said: "Yes. That is a lie."

I said: "That's the second time in my life you've called me a liar. It just proves the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is up to, doesn't it? I didn't know you were in the habit of reading the investigative articles in the San Francisco and Los Angeles newspapers [she lives in the Midwest]."

She said: "I'm not and I don't need to, to know what I know. I don't believe they're doing what you said they did. You're just making these things up to start fights with us whenever you call. They got up in church and read a statement telling us that we should love our homosexual family members."

I said: "Since when do you need permission from your church to love your own son?"

I knew then my mother had abandoned her son for her church. A couple of months later I received an extremely manipulative 12-page letter from her, and never heard from her again.

I was done with that.

I'm worth more than that.


Ed. Created by Kerry Rutz.

Part 2/4: You're not the boss of me. I am.

Mormons tell me that if I run my life their way and succeed a little it’s through no virtue of my own: it’s because their god favored me. And I should have tried harder anyway. But if I run my life their way and fail it’s my own fault: I’m not worthy of success. Fucked without a kiss if I do, and fucked without a kiss if I don't. Subtext is everything when it comes to trying to understand the Mormon church.

Here’s what happened before I came out of the closet:

I sat through 23 years of Mormon Sacrament Meetings, Stake Conferences, and General Conference broadcasts during which I was gently and regularly reminded that people like me need to be beaten up for my own good (Packer. To Young Men Only. General Conference Priesthood Session, October 2, 1976). That loving another man made me worse than a murderer (Kimball. Miracle of Forgiveness. Bookcraft, 1969). That I was better off dead (Kimball. Love Versus Lust. BYU Devotional, January 5, 1965).

My TBM older brother figured me out. Three times before I was 23 he tried to kill me with his fists, on the advice of the aforementioned church leaders. He failed. I guess his Mormon doG wasn't guiding his fists. I guess he must have been unworthy. Mormon doG works that way, you know. Pity. I decided I didn’t need to acknowledge TBM older brother's Pre-existence, his Present-existence, or his Post-existence. At all.

Here’s what happened after I came out of the closet:

My TBM mother went into deep-space orbit. We could send a NASA probe to Uranus a lot faster if we'd tied the spaceship to her anus. Tantrums. Pouting. More tantrums. Attempted manipulation. More tantrums. Whatever.

My TBM younger brother ran hot-and-cold for 15 years on whether I was an asset or a liability to his pathetic dating life. Can we say “conflicted”? After I paid for his wedding, I got dissed. Something about his new wife thinking “gay” was contagious.

Shunned or avoided by 90% of the Mormons I knew, even when I saw them on the street which was thankfully not often. I became the object of gossip and conjecture! I’m so glad I later had the opportunity to experience all the things they were saying I’d done already.

One TBM “friend” claimed "it doesn't matter!" Then she assumed that quitting the church and coming out of the closet meant I suddenly had no moral standards whatsoever, and took huge liberties with my generosity after she got herself unemployed, bankrupted, repossessed, and evicted. My response: "No, I can’t pay your bills for you. Especially since you're already living under my roof rent-free, eating my food and not contributing, and bar-hopping all night with your girlfriends, while I make sure your seventeen year-old son gets to work and school on time every morning. Buh-bye!"

Another TBM “friend” and his family re-edited all our conversations inside their own heads: apparently the word "gay" was miraculously blocked at the eardrum as they tried to emotionally blackmail me back into the church. They introduced me to several BYU co-eds under the assumption that one of them would instantly "cure" me. Failing that, he informed me that my lack of cooperation with his method of spiritual guidance was making him look bad to his kids. What the hell?!?
<<click. dial tone>>


Ed. Created by Kerry Rutz.

Part 1/4: flattopSF’s Top Ten Super-Gay Reasons He’s Not A Mormon Anymore

1. Does anything they believe make any sense? Fourteen-year-old sees doG the Father, Jeebus H. Christ, and Casper the Holy Ghost? Riiiiiiiight. Eternal Polygamy Math, anyone? 1+ 34 = Prophet! (And Mormons accuse teh gheyz of being promiscuous?!? Sheesh!) Here’s some Free Agency: I want some of whatever Smith was smokin’. It musta been good.

2. God? doG? Either way you look at “him,” anything that demands THAT much devotion from you and gives absolutely nothing back is seriously dysfunctional. See a psychologist and learn to develop REAL relationships.

3. Because who needs to live their life according to what some pathetic bigoted murderous old redneck corporate thugs 1,500 miles away dictate? Shove a cricket-choked seagull up your collective puckers, @$$-holy-O douchebags.

4. Because there are a lot of better things to do with 10% of your hard-earned income. Shopping and lunch, anyone?

5. Because let's face it: churchchurchchurchchurchchurchchurchchurch seven days a week is not only mind-numbingly boring, it leaves you no time to have a life. When do they even have time to fuckin' fuck and make all those kids?

6. Because those temple clothes are a really big fashion don’t. Really. Big. Faux Greek Baker meets Fig Leaf? It looks Too-pud on thin people and it looks Poppin’ Fresh on tubby ones. Eew. If that's the celestial garb, send me to hell now. I'll take a stark-naked real-live Greek any day of the week, thanks.

7. Because any group of people who would censor a Rodin sculpture and call it pornographic are uncultured rubes at best and idiot hillbilly philistines at worst.

8. Because Mormon women are simply way too conflicted to mold into adequate fag-hags.

9. Because Mormon men are so infected with the Power of their Holey Penishood that they‘re knuckle-draggingly unattractive in every way. (OMG, how superficial was that?)

10. Because I'm gay. If that ain't good enough for them, well too fuckin’ bad.

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly,
flattopSF loves another gay man, no lie.
Won‘t stop lovin’ that man o‘ mine.

Ed. Created by Kerry Rutz.