LDS church leaders silenced the doubts and fears of many local faithfuls Sunday when they announced the first in a series of three “special surprise revelations” regarding the outfitting and construction of the new Latter-day Saints Institute building on the U campus.
Of the many exciting new renovations that the new institute building was heralded to produce, perhaps the most exciting was the increased accessibility to drinking fountains due to a near doubling in fountain placement per square inch. Other improvements on the older, more ghetto institute building will include thicker carpeting, friendlier hall greeters, free HBO and a 23.4 percent increase in church truthfulness.
Institute Director Paul Browning spoke that evening before a hefty gathering of singles under the guise of a “mingle” in order to more fully outline the immediate impact of these new revelations upon student members.
“Do not fear,” Browning said in his opening remarks. “There will still be food. But that is not why I have brought you here today. But there will still be food.”
Browning then went on in some detail as to the whereabouts of the food, its quantity and its texture. He was careful to emphasize that there may be enough food for some to have second portions, but that interested parties should wait until all had a go at the food, at which point it could be determined if they could have more.
Browning then explained that in order to accommodate the increase in church truthfulness, a few of the church’s less savory practices would have to be abandoned, or at least restricted to more fringe members.
“The Lord has said that he would demand more of his people in the last days,” Browning said. “Well, now is the time for the weak to fall back, and for the strong to rise up on the heads and shoulders of the weak and to be that much closer to the Lord.”
Among the activities prohibited by the revelation were not carpooling to homemaking meetings, waiting until the last week of the month to do home teaching and the long-revered sacrament of ritual baby juggling. This last point created quite a stir in the crowd.
“There is no God!” shouted Joseph Hunt, partial-tithing payer. “This man is a soothsayer. He leads you astray to the bowels of the devil. A pox on him! Why, he would have us juggle our very souls to destruction. Not juggle babies? Preposterous. I’d sooner die!”
Browning soon assuaged concerns with this matter however by dropping an even bigger bomb?mandatory ward choir attendance. He then closed the meeting.
Reactions from student members ranged from shocked and appalled to slightly less shocked and appalled to considerably less shocked and appalled to shocked but not appalled to shocked and appalled but in the good way.
“This will be difficult,” said Connie Maher, 95th Ward front-row sitter. “But like the pioneers before us, we too will make the 20 foot trek from this old institute building to the new institute building without any sort of modern convenience except possibly a car until we arrive finally at the promised land.”
Other U students expressed a similar degree of optimism.
“This has completely rekindled my faith in the church,” said Ronald Dawson, returned missionary and chronic ward hopper. “I’ve always known the church was at least 84 to 87 percent true, but with this news now, it just puts it over the top. Way to be, Gord [Gordon B. Hinckley, LDS Church President].”
“It makes perfect sense,” said Doreen Cox, who holds all music-related callings in the 27th Ward. “God lives up in the mountains. We’re moving a few feet closer to him; we ought to up the ante a little. Incidentally, I’ll see you all in choir this Sunday. Remember, now it’s a commandment!”
But other members were not so quick to accept the change.
“I fricking hate singing,” said Earl Plouth, a talented yet reluctant member of the 48th ward. “That was why I converted from a Baptist five years ago. Now I think I’m just going to crawl up somewhere and die.”
“I’ve actually just been looking for an excuse to leave the church,” said Phil Wakrum, obsessive-compulsive masturbator, “and this seems like as good a one as any. I don’t know, I guess I agree with a lot of what they were talking about. I just don’t want to have to walk that far to go to church. Maybe I’ll start my own or something. Who knows? Life is full of possibilities.”
“Regularly reading of The Daily Utah Comical put the key in the hole and now this, today, has turned the knob,” said Becca Studges, frequent Sunday School existential question-asker. “Tomorrow I’m opening the door.”
Other student members shared similar grievances.
“That Becca chick is smart and hot, so if she’s out, I’m out,” said Wayne Hoover, hopeless tail chaser and loud Sacrament whisperer. “I just hope that door is wide enough for two and swings both ways and has a doggie door and a deadbolt. ‘Cuz I could spend the rest of my life with this girl, I really mean that.”
“Oh, I’m sure the new institute building will be 23.4 percent more true,” said Kenneth Roach, local atheist who attends the church actively solely to gather ammunition against it. “Because mathematically, 23.4 percent of zero is still zero, right? So yeah, the math checks out.”
Browning commented afterward that despite some of the mudslinging and backbiting, he was glad that people were able to have open discussions about the revelations in an atmosphere conducive to the spirit and to higher learning.
“Brother Joseph taught that we should teach the people correct principles and let them govern themselves. That’s essentially what we did here today. I can’t make them believe the truth. It speaks for itself really. Not that I care either way. I’m going to Mexico!”
With that, Browning ripped off his suit in one fluid motion?revealing a Hawaiian T-shirt and a tacky pair of coulots?threw a few boxes in the back of his truck and drove off into the sunset.
Disclaimer: The Comical is pure satire and appears at the beginning of every week on The Chronicle’s Web site. Please take the stories as jokes and don’t call your lawyer. Thanks.