Today my roommate told me he had a Christmas present for me: the Book of Mormon. Imagine my very chaste surprise.
Turns out a bunch of Mormon girls were handing them out on the street and he just couldn’t tell them no. (You know how it is with Mormon girls.)
But for some reason, the other thing he couldn’t refrain from giving them was my phone number. They asked him for his, he gave them mine. Apparently this made sense because “when they call and ask for The Surgeon, you can honestly tell them it’s a wrong number.” Why didn’t he just give them a completely bogus number? Maybe he thinks I really DO need to be saved.
Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not the worst thing in the world when girls have my phone number (even when I am HAPPILY ATTACHED, yes, thank you, farkle-farkle). But this numerical exchange wasn’t for pillowtalk. It’s for talkin’ bout Jesus. Well, golly gee, that sounds like fun for the whole polygamous family! …No.
Hindsight, as always, is 20/20. It’s obvious to both of us that he should have tried to convert THEM too.
You see, my life has been changed by premarital sex. It’s so much more fulfilling now than it was before. I find meaning and joy in my undying commitment to vaginal penetration. It’s so wonderful to spend my entire life devoted to the service of others, 15 minutes at a time. We agree that these girls could finally find what they’re looking for, in premarital sex… with us.
This story is the origin of the common phrase, “Never accept the Book of Mormon as a Christmas present from a Jew.”
