I never did say a proper goodbye to the menswear catalog-looking bishops with their masturbation fixations. And the nauseatingly perfumed RS hags with their judgmental attitudes. They called me a drug dealer and a hippie and a devil-follower. Goodbye to the incompetent teachers of fake history and fictional miracles. To the blubbering testimony bearers who cried crocodile tears as the pews pinched my butt, and comfort was nowhere to be found. Thanks for wasting my childhood Sundays with manufactured tripe when I would have preferred a sundae and a science documentary. Goodbye to my foolish peers who hung on to gain parental approval for believing lies. To the two missionaries who teased and tormented me when my father forced me to spend a weekend with them, farewell. To the big fat man who pushed me around at church, adieu. To my blundering and self-absorbed Mormon parents, good riddance. No mas.

Adieu.

I just realized, I didn't say goodbye to any of those people either! Something about them made me forget to be polite to them. I don't miss them a bit. A couple of the perfumed ones knocked on my door, but I slammed it so hard it made their dentures rattle.