The Riffster here, folks. You’ll all be glad to know I have more insight to bequeath unto you well-intended masses partaking of the opiate known as religion. Since my last epistle, I’ve read dutifully and extensively on philosophy, religion and science—so grab a pen and paper and lend a grateful ear.
I had the obligatorily kind fortune to attend a dinner with a friend of mine with his family, all of whom, excepting him, are Mor[m]on. The family was so ecstatically unrestrained in happiness that it was hard to watch. Though still garbed in Sunday best, they went about preparing for dinner—smiles and all—as if everything was fine. Poor fools; little did they know just how emaciated their dying dogmatism really was.
I had decided beforehand that I would use this as an opportunity to change their lives for the better. Yea verily, I would challenge their beliefs, right there at the dinner table, and if that was a problem it would be THEIR problem, and they’d surely thank me afterwards.
Right after the prayer, as everyone started to chow down on the roast beef, I asked this kindly Mormon mother if she had ever considered the possibility that Joseph Smith was a fraud. Just an honest question, you know? Since everyone was in rapt silence, I kept going. I expounded unto her and the family all the dirt — that Joseph Smith married a 14-year-old girl, that he used stones in a hat to “translate”*cough*transcribe*cough* the Book of Mormon, that his fraudulent bank in Kirtland is what led to the Mormons being driven out of there, and more. I kept talking and talking, and when they tried to say anything in return I pressed on with the truth and wasn’t going to stop until I had laid bare the intellectually fragile shell that is Mormonism.
And then it came to pass that, for some reason, they asked me to leave. All I was trying to do was have an honest discussion, and they—being stuck in their philistine way of life—kicked me out. I felt like Socrates, censored for supposedly corrupting the youth with the truth, for daring the LDS populace to see shades of gray in a world of black and white. Guilty as charged, I suppose. I’ve been getting this my whole life, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised now.
So while hordes flocked to the LDS Conference Center, to cultivate their ‘follower’ mentality while listening to the deplorable palaver (so despicably labeled ‘spiritual’) of men who lead away the hearts and minds of those they purport to save, I was here, cultivating my ‘leader’ mentality. Follow me if you want, but only at your own risk.
To you, the reader, I say this: invite me over. Let’s parlay over potluck. Let’s talk truth. Let’s discuss the Mormon fallacy of trying to put strictures on life when it’s so much more complex than they could ever imagine. Let me inundate you with knowledge and book recommendations. After all, why would you not want to talk to me? I make a truly mean lasagna.