In a move to further efforts at greater historical transparency, LDS leaders announced Monday morning that the public would finally have a long-awaited first glimpse at Brigham Young’s own whiskey tumbler.
Rumored to be hewn from the wood of the tallest tree in Adam-ondi-Ahman, and lined with the polished skull fragments of apostates and unearthed Lamanites, Young’s “medicine cup,” has been a source of speculation amongst historians for decades. Over the years, the rumored whereabouts of the whiskey tumbler have placed it everywhere from deep within the storied Granite Mountain Vault in Little Cottonwood Canyon, to “some weird secret room in the Salt Lake temple.”
To the most faithful adherents of the modern LDS faith who are ignorant to history, the existence of such a controversial relic may come as a shock.
“Look. I can handle that the dude was probably having seh [sic] with like, what, 50 or so different women? But the medicinal, and absolutely moderate use of something vaguely mentioned in the Word of Wisdom? This can’t be real,” said “Brad,” a BYU student who preferred we not use his last name. “It’s like finding out that the girl you’re dating has like, gone down on dudes, and ‘soaked’ and stuff. Maybe even had s-e-x once. Which is kinda cool cuz [sic] they are probs down for a dry hump. But if she has dranken [sic] before? Game over, skank.”
Many historians who are more familiar with the odd complexities of LDS history are receiving the news with a sense of excitement. “One has got to wonder,” said Brant Higgins, a scholar and expert on the early days of the Church in the Salt Lake Valley, “just how much divine guidance was revealed to Brother Brigham, as he peered into the amber liquid, swirling around in that magnificent tumbler.”
Higgins continued, “there are actually several accounts that contradict the conventional arrival story, that mention the tumbler as part of the historic moment when Young declared the Salt Lake valley to be the new Mormon home. As the Lion of the Lord surveyed the dry, desolate desert plains, he was apparently listing from side to side, tumbler in hand, reeking of scotch. At this pinnacle moment, purportedly red-eyed and ‘dripping enough liquor-laced sweat to fill a trough and inebriate a mule,’ he said ‘fuck it. This is the right place. I’m not moving one more God-damned inch.’”
