A Land Called Fantasy

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," running amok with the faeries since 2005! Bring all your deities, and we'll have a picnic! Hurry up, though. I'm running out of my last jar of Marzetti slaw dressing, and I can't seem to find it in the stores anymore. Please, Gods, give me Marzetti!

Now there's a prayer that just might get answered.

If you're one of the three or four readers who come here frequently, you might have guessed that I had something like a crisis over the past weekend. It's too personal for a blog, having to do with serious matters of the heart. But let me tell you -- I felt your energy keeping me afloat. I only had one really bad moment, and that was when I was alone in my classroom. Otherwise you would have been proud of me. And while the situation is not exactly settled to my satisfaction, it is at least a little less freighted than it was.

Therefore, let us move onward and downward in classic "Gods Are Bored" fashion!

I've trashed, maligned, berated, and heaped disdain upon the Dominionist movement since I first heard about it. Nary a single troll in that loathsome company has slithered from under his bridge to challenge me. But the minute I started in on the Mormons ... oh boy. Always a sensitive lot, they're even more defensive than usual in this particular election cycle.

A recent troll took issue with my bafflement over the LDS position on masturbation (hereafter known in this blog as "turtle dove love"). I think in a nutshell that serious followers of this faith must have to use industrial strength scrub brushes in certain anatomical regions, just to keep hand from touching flesh.

I had forgotten what the troll pointed out. This stricture stems from the fantasies that accompany turtle dove love. These fantasies are sinful and lead to doom and destruction.

Once I read somewhere that the average male thinks about sex every three minutes. If that is the case, then being a Mormon must be hell on earth. Mind control that the CIA can only dream about. Imagine that the only time you can think about sex is when you are contemplating or undertaking coitus with the exhausted wife who has already borne you six children! What a way to live! I'd rather be an earthworm.

I'm not afraid to use myself as an Exhibit A here, even though I'm a woman. I have fantasized about every sort of sex except sadistic or pedophilia. I'm a lady of a certain age, so lots and lots of stuff has crossed my mind. Paul Newman, turtle dove lover! House painter home from college for the summer ... turtle dove lover!  Great big orgy of good-looking people, all sharing the bounty? Wheee! I think about it. Haven't ever done it. Seriously, does this harm anyone, just thinking about it?

Anticipating the troll, I will add the LDS stance on this. If you imagine "doing it" with someone you actually know, this can lead to really doing it, which must be a far greater sin than turtle dove loving. My counter argument for this is pretty simple, really.

The savvy turtle dove lover applies higher consciousness to the situation.

Higher consciousness is that little bug in your ear that warns you to keep it in the turtle dove realm. It's the sensible little something that reminds you of your home and hearth, that weighs the consequences. I can't decide whether Mormons are totally lacking this skill, or whether they have honed it to such perfection that they've robbed themselves of the need for it. Either way, their lives must be dull and difficult. And sadly fraught with shame.

As Exhibit A I will plead the Fifth on my own personal life except to say that turtle dove love has kept me out of trouble, it's kept my family to a manageable size, and it's sex with someone I love.

I got that last line from Woody Allen. It's a keeper.

Have a warm and wonderful "Gods Are Bored" day!