From: Donna Banta
Subject: Having too much fun to keep up with your damned e-mails, Abbottsville Fourth
Been busy the past couple of weeks. After the amazing Ex-Mormon party at San Francisco's Hotel Utah Saloon, we headed to Salt Lake City for the Sunstone Symposium. I had the honor to be part of 2 panels. The first was Cheryl Bruno's "The Vagina Monologues." My contribution was a satirical (of course) argument in favor of women being the stronger sex.
After lunch I headed to the library hoping to do some research. Unfortunately, I found it impossible to concentrate, thanks to a shockingly immodest young man in a pair of Levi’s 501 Shrink to Fit jeans.Now, you may ask, “Don’t lots of boys at BYU wear 501 Shrink to Fits?” Perhaps. But this particular young man had an especially curvy backside that strained the confines of his tightly shrunk pants. Then, when he turned toward me, I was confronted with his well-defined, bulging and enormous maleness. Hot, sweaty, and breathless, I quit the building.This is difficult to explain to somebody who only has a penis. You see, God designed the penis for a single purpose -- the impregnating of the holy female womb -- an act that is efficient, perfunctory, and complete inside of a minute.The vagina, on the other hand, has that sacred spot that God created specifically for pleasure and nothing else. It alone is comprised of 8,000 nerve fibers – compared to the measly penis that, in its entirety, is equipped with only 4,000 nerve fibers. So by nature, men have no concept of the dangerous power of the female orgasm.Once aroused, a woman’s passion gathers, builds, swells with quivering anticipation, and finally peaks in hot, wet waves of erotic pleasure that drives her to a prolonged climax of non-stop frenzied desire. Even then she may not be sated, and can achieve orgasm again and again for hour upon hour with no end in sight.That young man in the 501’s had no idea how lucky he was. If I hadn’t had the courage to leave when I did, I might have lost control, thrown him on the ground, and had my way with him. And it would have been entirely his fault.I rushed home to find my helpmeet, Mark, alone at his craft table hot gluing felt for an upcoming Elders’ Quorum lesson.I seized him. “I have to have you now!”“Can I at least finish my felt . . .”“Screw the felt."
When I was a Mormon I looked really sad. But inside I knew I was really happy. I had to be. I was a member of the one and only true church.
It's the people who left who were sad. Also drunk, bankrupt, dying of AIDS and victims of every other calamity promised in a scary chain letter.
Sure they looked happy -- but it wasn't real happiness. It was the fake happiness that came when a person committed a grievous sin, like going shopping on Sunday. Real happiness was attending tithing settlement.
|Me, Carol and some great reads|
When we arrived at the brew pub, I told the hostess we were looking for the group of Ex-Mormons. She smiled and said, "Well, feel free to wander around until you find the Ex-Mormons you're looking for." Oops! OMG, I forgot I was in Salt Lake City, where everyone in the bar on Saturday night might be an Ex-Mormon. And needless to say the place was packed! Awesome.
|It's the Ex-Mormon Moment!|
Eat your hearts out, Abbottsville Fourth.
Also, please read this awesome review of my book, The Girls From Fourth Ward, by postmormon girl!