An insider’s perspective on Logan

It’s much too dangerous to go outside. There are a lot of scary Mormons running around out there – none with horns, but a number are wearing suits or engagement rings. And the blustery spring wind has made it a real possibility that I may get pummeled to death by a fleet of runaway “Books of Mormon” that got caught in the gale force and whipped around in the air until they fell in a heap on my head, killing me in a shower of righteousness – irony is a bitch. Those things look heavy, and I’m just not willing to take that chance. I think these aerial scripture attacks are premeditated – a retaliation for the ongoing, slip-on-our-haphazardly-discarded-beer-bottle ground attack launched by the Godless derelict army. I’d prefer to not participate in any of the violence, so I sit inside, drink my beer or whiskey, watch TV and catch the fighting out the corner of my eye through the open blinds. Also, I prefer to stumble drunkenly in the comfort of my own home, where I’m close to my bed – I’ve never been able to tolerate much drunken travel – and I can wear my pants on my head without judgmental eyes probing me. Through my window I see both sides marshaling troops. The Mormon brigades call these gatherings “FHE.” I’m not entirely sure what the acronym stands for, but I imagine it involves harsh militaristic drilling. I imagine lots of push-ups. A much smaller amount of pull-ups. Some training in cookie-based chemical agents and the proper way to wire up green Jello explosives. Apparently, the LDS leaders gather at the “Fireside” – very Revolutionary War-esque – to plot “Book of Mormon” bombings and check the progress of their hearts and minds strategy, which, I think, refers to using of attractive LDS girls to woo impressionable gentile men over to their side – I might be wrong, but I don’t imagine there’s really much heart or mind involved in that tactic. All planning for the non-Mormon side happens at the bar. It can’t be too effective, because after six or seven beers, conversations about military things turn to stories – with an accurate catalog of the night’s drink intake – about the last time rebel commanders puked. The non-Mormon army’s training, mainly done at house parties, doesn’t seem as effective as FHE, either – it may have something to do with the shots of Kamchatka Vodka dispensed every quarter hour. That doesn’t matter much, because dancing to “Soulja Boy” and puking up Beto’s doesn’t seem like the best way to prepare for battle anyways. Sure, if I had to choose a side, I’d have to go with the rebel bunch. That’s what Luke was in “Star Wars.” I’ve always thought of myself as a Luke, rather than a faceless stormtrooper. Better yet, I’ll be Han Solo. A rebel in the true sense, who won’t stand for the Empire’s @#$%, so he fights for the rebels but doesn’t totally buy into their plan either. Plus, I’d get to cruise the Millennium Falcon, bang Leia and hang with Chewy – I’ve always wanted an Ewok, but a Wookie would do. Or, maybe I’m stuck inside because I actually am a hellion in the heavily LDS culture, put on house arrest without cause or trial. But after rereading the “Star Wars” stuff, my nerdiness might be a big contributing factor as well.

– David Baker is a senior majoring in print journalism. Feel free to call him to have beer time together. Comments and questions can be sent to da.bake@aggiemail.usu.edu