BYU

While rummaging through our storage unit last night looking for some paperwork, I stumbled across this gem sitting in a box of files:

The photo was taken the first day I was on BYU campus, late August 1993. I’d always hated having my picture taken, but that day I had on my special grumpies for the overall-wearing, sickeningly precious Relief Society president behind the camera.

I had to wait in line for over 4 hours for that picture, only to get to the front of the line and have some chipper, cocksucking Ken doll tell me that, my goodness, I didn’t have all my paperwork filled out, could I please come back when I had everything ready. I informed him in no uncertain terms that unless he wanted to witness a live and graphic demonstration of someone losing their religion, he had better let me get my damn picture taken.

This ID card brings back a lot of bad memories, many of them involving roommates who felt compelled to remind me that God’s Disciples smile and that I had better hop to it. I usually hopped to stealing a pair of their panties, soaking them in water and sticking them in the freezer on top of the Otter Pops.

Don’t you think that if rogue regimes saw more pictures like this one that they’d think, God, these people have it bad enough, who needs terrorists?