The mighty Whirlwind of Apostasy rose majestically off the ocean surface and hovered in the air just above the deck of the J.$.$. Morgannic.

Admiral Thomas S. Monson screamed commands that none could hear over the raging wind.

Mormon Elders scurried to and fro in a panic, collapsing to the deck, calling for their mothers.

The captive apostates, their hearts filled with joy, raised their arms with a triumphal shout and scrambled for cover.

As prophesied on the ancient discussion boards, the Whirlwind of Apostasy had finally arrived to avenge all apostates, past and present, against the evil of Mormoni$m.

The carnage would be awful, but Truth would be served.

The Whirlwind of Apostasy whirled in slow motion for a few moments for dramatic effect.

Then it struck.

Its spinning bottom, no more than a few feet across, snuffled across the deck like a snuffleupagus trunk, daintily skipping over prostrate apostates and hoovering the weapons out of every Mormon hand.

It scooped lurkers and unregistered posters from the sea and dropped them safely in the rigging.

Bolts of lightning shot out of the whirlwind striking Mormon Elders and Sister Missionaries causing their garments to ignite.

Shouting seldom heard obscenities the Mormon missionaries tore their burning underwear from their bodies and dove into the cool tropical water.

When the last Mormon had been disarmed, the Whirlwind of Apostasy rose far above the sea and moved slowly away.

The apostates would all later testify that as the Whirlwind of Apostasy disappeared over the horizon, on its upper rim they could see Alice Cooper seated at his organ and hear his mad music urging them on to victory.

Rearming themselves, the apostates stood up and faced their quarry.

“Admiral Thomas S. Monson," commanded Captain Steve Benson, "call your officers and crew to the deck."

"What officers and crew?” said Admiral Thomas S. Monson. “They are all gone because of your wicked whirlwind."

"Your fate is sealed," said SL Cabbie. "Don't worsen it by lying."

Admiral Thomas S. Monson opened the hatch behind him. "All hands on deck," he called down into the passageway.

As the officers and crew assembled, Admiral Thomas S. Monson approached Captain Steve Benson and said quietly, "You are taking this way too seriously, Steven. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“You don't get it, do you? What are you doing mucking around with these people? You won a measly little battle, but I still hold the cards.”

“With this bunch you will always be small-time. I could set you up, make you rich, famous, take you public. I'm talking about exposure beyond your wildest dreams.”

"You need big-time representation. I'm talking big-time promotion. I'm talking Larry King, commercial spots, and, if you play your cards right and do as I say, maybe, one day even Glenn Beck.”

“I'm talking you and me, Steven. What do you say?"

Captain Steve Benson looked from face to face at his faithful crew.

He saw the answer there.

"When I sell out," roared the enraged Captain Steve Benson, "I'll do it on my terms, not yours!"

Captain Steve Benson turned to face the Mormon crew.

"All those with any sort of executive position in a public relations firm, law firm, or bank doing business with LD$ Inc.," he commanded, "step forward."

Those with the most expensive suits and watches came forward.

“All members of the Foundation for Apologetic Information & Research or the Foundation for Ancient Research and Mormon Studies.”

Those with the most belligerent attitudes and dishonest eyes stepped forward.

“Any polygamist.”

A crowd of pasty men with in-bred eyes joined their comrades.

"All Danites and Church Security Officers."

These men simply looked the least human.

"Cricket," asked Captain Steve Benson, "have you “The Book”?"

"Aye, aye, sir," responded Cricket.

“The Book” was a printed collection of the 650+ “Short Topics” (as of Mar. 2011) from www.exmormon.org inserted between the pages of an ancient earmarked color-coded Quad.

Even in the light of the full sun “The Book” radiated a bright prism of colors, a net of static electricity moved, hissed and crackled across its covers.

“SL Cabbie,” ordered Captain Steve Benson, “Do your duty.”

While Cricket held “The Book”, SL Cabbie used its pages to administer deep paper cuts to the webbing between the fingers of each of the men.

SL Cabbie then guided them with the point of his light saber across a plank perched over the water.

The apostates worked slowly and methodically, pausing now and then to appreciate the satisfying sounds of shark teeth munching flesh and bone.

As the last of these miserable Mormon wretches dropped into the sea, Captain Steve Benson commanded, "All General Authorities and the Quorum of the Twelve will now step forward."

A pack of geriatric businessmen conferred among themselves for a moment while the command was repeated for the hard-of-hearing and directions pointed out for the hard-of-seeing.

Teetering and tottering, they shuffled forward.

Captain Steve Benson addressed the group. “It is my custom at this time to ask for tithing for the relief of the poor, the needy, widows, and orphans. Have you anything of value that you are now willing to tithe?”

A blizzard of wallets, checkbooks, keys to luxury vehicles, real estate deeds, offshore bank accounts numbers, lucrative business contracts, and stock certificates cascaded onto the deck.

“We will now read from “The Book”, announced Captain Steve Benson as he nodded to SL Cabbie.

SL Cabbie took a position behind the Mormon patriarchs.

One by one the General Authorities were invited to read certain topics from “The Book” to the assembled Mormon crew.

If any hesitated to read, SL Cabbie would administer a vigorous ear pulling as encouragement.

As they completed their readings, each were introduced to SL Cabbie’s plank until Admiral Thomas S. Monson stood alone.

"You, dupe," said Captain Steve Benson, "get your mangy Mormon a$$ down here, pronto."

Admiral Thomas S. Monson, his slick dyed hair motionless in the sea breeze, strolled off the foredeck relaxed and calm.

“You will now read from “The Book” announced Captain Steve Benson.

“Never,” said Admiral Thomas S. Monson.

“READ!” commanded Captain Steve Benson.

“I will not,” said Admiral Thomas S. Monson.

Captain Steve Benson nodded to SL Cabbie.

SL Cabbie took Admiral Thomas S. Monson by the ears, one in either of his massive ham-sized hands, and pulled.

“READ!” repeated Captain Steve Benson.

“I only read Church-Approved materials,” said Admiral Thomas S. Monson.

SL Cabbie pulled harder.

Admiral Thomas S. Monson clawed desperately at SL Cabbie's forearms, but to no avail.

“READ!” screamed Captain Steve Benson.

Admiral Thomas S. Monson opened his mouth, but no sound emerged, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

SL Cabbie was pulling with all his strength, his face turned bright red, the veins in his neck stood out like sausages, his breath came in pants, sweat poured down his cheeks.

SL Cabbie then gave Admiral Thomas S. Monson’s ears one final tremendous pull.

To the shock and dismay of everyone present, Admiral Thomas S. Monson split right down the middle.

SL Cabbie stepped back so as to avoid getting blood on his clothes but there was none.

He stood panting holding one half of Admiral Thomas S. Monson in either hand.

A small jumble of gears, wires and blinking lights tumbled to the deck.

The remainder of Admiral Thomas S. Monson’s body was made almost entirely of foam rubber.

Captain Steve Benson turned away and was quiet for a long while.

The congregation of the poor Mormon crew - gunners and swabbies, counselors and custodians, accountants and chauffeurs, ward clerks and primary teachers, stood on the deck, shivering with fear.

"This is our ship now," bellowed Captain Steve Benson finally without preamble. "Will you join us?"

The crew, without exception, nodded eagerly and shouted, “We will!”

"Hark!" said Stray Mutt. "I hear someone calling us."

Stray Mutt looked over the rail.

Far below, clinging to a fallen line by one hand was Susan I/S.

The apostates hauled her aboard and she rested against the gunwale.

Her place in the annals of free-thinking, free-living apostates of the world was assured at that moment - in her hand Susan I/S held the rescued apostate banner - the Rainbow Salamander.

"Ziller," said Captain Steve Benson, "secure up the General Authorities’ and Apostles’ tithing.”

"Aye, aye," said Ziller, and began gathering the pile of wallets, checkbooks, keys, deeds, offshore bank accounts numbers, lucrative business contracts, and stock certificates from the deck and stuffing them into the pockets of his tailored seersucker suit.

“Cricket, get a crew going to repaint the stern," said Captain Steve Benson.

Cricket moved through the new crew, gauging and selecting them carefully.

“Stray Mutt, take the helm. Set our course for the South Coast," said Captain Steve Benson. "We've other ships to plunder. "

Stray Mutt strode to the wheel.

“Captain Steve Benson," asked Cricket, "what name do I paint on this worthy vessel?"

Captain Steve Benson smiled a satisfied smile.

"The Golden Exmo II," he replied.


THE END


ziller


P. S. ~ ~ ~

In the years following this great battle, each time this tale is retold, young apostates rue that they were not there that day to share in the glory.

Their young apostate minds grasp at the notion of having their monikers listed beside those famed worthies now enshrined in the RfM hall of heroes.

There are neither books enough nor the time to tell of the constellation of champions who exemplified their unique martial arts in the good fight against the scourge of Mormon despoti$m that fine hour.


ziller