No. I’m Sorry. I Don’t Want to Tour the New Mormon Temple with You

Dear Never-Mo friend of mine:

Thank you so much for the invitation to attend the new local Mormon temple open house with you! I know the offer comes from a good place in your heart, but I’ll regretfully have to decline. Here’s why.

Been there. Done that.

You see, unlike you, the temple holds zero curiosity for me. I’ve easily been in more than a dozen of them in my lifetime as a full-fledged participant. In fact, (a rare known fact) I, myself, even acted as an officiant or ordinance worker in a temple for a brief period of time.TEMPLE FRONT

In short, I know all about it. Some temples are handsomely appointed and even pretty, but I know exactly what happens inside them and so I’ll have to respectfully decline. I’m more than happy to host a question and answer period afterwards, but I won’t be going on the tour this time.

Perhaps the following analogy will help you understand:

Let’s pretend that when you were born your parents belonged to an exclusive, elite country club. You naturally became a member of this club by virtue of your higher birth.

Growing up, you felt special for being part of this awesome country club. Not everyone around you understood the specialness of this club, but you were convinced that they were just jealous of your membership and of the privileges you enjoyed.

pants man

Part of this club membership involved the wearing of special club pants, but only the adults wore them. You weren’t quite sure what made them so special because no one talked about them in specifics, but early on you became convinced that these were some awesome pants!

These pants were spoken of so highly that they became the only pants you’d ever want to wear when you grew up. In fact, when adults talked about wearing these pants, they’d get teary eyed and choked up about how amazing the pants felt inside. Whenever you caught glimpses of someone just about to wear these pants, or after just having taken them off, they’d have a very “special”, secretive look on on their faces. It was something you’d never seen anywhere else. Because of this testimony of others, you just knew that these were the very best pair of pants ever!

pants women

The thing is… that getting permission to wear these pants took a lot of concentration and preparation. The country club didn’t let just anyone wear the pants. The experience of wearing them was reserved for those people who kept all the club rules.

And there were a lot of rules!

You had to eat certain food. You had to keep your hands off of certain body parts, both your own and of others. You had to have complete faith in the guy who first designed the pants. You had to have complete confidence in the dude who made the current version of the pants. But most importantly, you were required to pay your country club dues if you hoped to wear the pants one day.

No dues. No pants.

Then, the day came when you were grown up enough that you’d get to wear the pants yourself! You’d eaten all the right food all your life. You only touched the approved parts of your own body. You’d believed in both the past and the current pants manufacturers and you were up to date on all your dues.

Finally! You’d get to wear the pants and experience them on the inside!

So, you joined the adults in a private meeting and finally got to put the pants on, one leg at a time just like all the other adult country club members. You actually experienced the inside of the pants for the first time!!!!

At first, they felt like butter. Smooth. Beautiful. Easy.

You looked around at all the other adults smiling calmly, knowingly and completely confident in the experience they had finally allowed you to join.

And then once the pants were on, the country club leader said,

“You’re about to have the one and only, true pants experience. If you don’t want it, you can take the pants off right now. But if you do indeed want the one true pants experience you’ll need to promise that you’ll never tell anyone about it and never even talk about it among yourselves when you’re not wearing the pants.”

You looked around nervously at your parents, siblings and other loved ones who have done this dozens of times before you. So, clearly you just knew deep in your soul that if they’d had the pants experience and loved it so much, then it could only be good.

You confirmed that you were ready to proceed.

The entire universe seemed to be in approval that not only had you prepared so well to wear the pants but also that you wanted to proceed. You were ready, prepared and able to handle the pants experience, whatever it entailed.

And then the country club leader spoke again and said,

“That is good.

Now, take a big shit in your pants! Right here, right now!”


You looked around and all your loved ones seemed to be… taking shits in their pants!

Wait! This can’t be happening!

But, it was.

shit pants

Mom, Dad, Aunt LaRue, Uncle Lorn and even Grandma Packard all seemed to be taking a long, robotic, fulfilling shit in their pants. The country club leader even came around to check that everyone had deposited a nice warm dookie in their pants.

You panicked!

But before the shit-checker got around to you, you realized that the decision to proceed had already been made for you, and you were so sure that it would feel good. So, you too… shat in your own pants that day!


During the next 90 minutes you shat in your pants a couple more times, sat in it, rocked back and forth and spread it around to make a nice thick, chunky racing stripe in your underwear. And after you took the pants off that day… and showered… you never really got to talk to anyone about what happened inside those pants because you promised that you wouldn’t. And everyone else who shat in their own pants with you that day just had big huge knowing smiles on their faces. But they never ever talked about it.

Oh, they talked a LOT about the pants! All the time! They gave lessons about them and they sang about them in country club meetings. They showed them off to others who weren’t members of the club, but only without the underwear and without the shit.

Just the beautiful pants.

K primary program

They encouraged their children to sing about the pants and hope for the day when they would wear them… They sang how beautifully made the pants were, about the original designer and the current manufacturer and how nicely they smelled.

They gave long, flowery speeches  about the pants. They lauded anyone who was strong and brave enough to wear the pants.

But no one ever, ever talked about the shit, or the underwear. Ever.

Fast forward several decades to the day when after much searching, pondering and praying you realized that there’s nothing really true or special about this country club. It’s really just like all the other country clubs, but with some weird rules, strange traditions and some bat-shit crazy, shitty pants!

Then, it dawned on you that while wearing the special pants you’ve been shitting on yourself for 20 years and you are embarrassed, ashamed and only slightly amused. So, you vowed to never ever shit on yourself again. You decided not to even look at the pants again because it just caused you to remember the smell and feel of the shit.

That decision to turn your back on the special pants led some of the active pant-shitters in your life to secretly resent you and to openly reject you.  After all, they’ve painstakingly prepared and concentrated so hard to be able to shit in their own pants like they do.

And they know that you know.

10 years, much happiness and heartache later a good friend excitedly tells you that your former country club is hosting a display of their new special pants in the neighborhood. Would you like to go and try them on with her?


Of course, you’ve worn the pants before and you know that they are well made and beautiful, but it also irks you that the special pants display won’t be saying anything about the shitting in the pants or the thickly coated racing-striped underwear.

They’ll only be showing the clean version of the pants and talking about how special they are and how experiencing the pants can bring families closer together.

Funny. Because my not wanting to shit in my pants anymore made some of my family of pant-shitters reject and ridicule me. Apparently, not shitting in your pants means you are unclean, weak, angry and selfish.

Would I like to go with you to see the new and shiny pants on display?

No thanks. You go.

Return and report.

man dancing

About dadsprimalscream

I am a divorced father of 4 children. I'm a post-Mormon. I am a gay man. This blog is my "primal scream" as watch my children faithfully indoctrinated with thought-terminating experiences and mind-lulling pressure... and how my rowboat of reason doesn't stand a chance against the religious and emotional battleship in their daily lives. How do you stand by and watch delusion take hold? Intervention seems to just push them farther into the hypnotic embrace of their mother religion.
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28 Responses to No. I’m Sorry. I Don’t Want to Tour the New Mormon Temple with You

  1. Kristen says:

    This was awesome!! Thanks for writing it, great analogy. Glad to return and report that I no longer shit my pants🙂

  2. Kevin says:

    I am Mormon and I do not crap in my pants, nor on my neighbor’s porch! If I have a sour experience in my life, which I have had plenty, I suck it up and move on, instead of blaming the church and looking for empathy from others with whom I can share my misery. Paying the club dues of living a morally clean and physically fit lifestyle have cost me essentially nothing, and have kept me from destroying my bank account and body from chemical substances and sexually transmitted diseases that have plagued my non-member friends. In addition, the healing miracles resulting from priesthood blessings that I received which kept me out of hospitals has more than offset the membership dues of my tithes and offerings many-times over when compared to the ridiculous medical bills I would have incurred. I am sorry that you let go of the rod of iron, but that is your agency, as is mine to push forward through the muck. I wish you well.

    • So…you obviously didn’t get the analogy. I especially love how you call them club “dues” and then pretend as if they cost you nothing…. Believe me, you pay dearly, as the cluelesness you have expressed stands as evidence. As long as my children are being indoctrinated so steadfastly as they are, I will continue to speak out about the “muck” as you call it. Muck indeed.

    • operasmorg says:

      Well, Kevin. I’m a non-member (so to speak… what a weird way of calling people who don’t share your religion. It quite makes your church sound like a business corporation, which is very curious, coming from its own member), and I neither drink nor smoke nor afflicted by any sexually transmitted disease. Most non-Mormon friends I have are the same way, so I’m afraid you aren’t keeping very good company and should perhaps adjust the way you look for friends, Mormons or no.

      As to the priesthood blessing miracles… It is a curious thing how people like to choose to only remember these blessings when things work out the way they like but not when they don’t. The missionaries are always going on about the times when they get what they prayed for, but not when their prayers go unanswered or when bad things happen despite of prayers. Missionaries seem to pray a lot… It is a wonder that your church loses missionaries every year from diseases, accidents and even crimes. If there is a god, it doesn’t seem to be treating you ‘faithfuls’ any differently than it treats people of other or no religion.

      At any rate, if you subscribe to sucking up and moving on from sour experiences in life, then perhaps you should have stuck to that when reading a blog post you didn’t like… Sucking it up and moving on… rather than, you know, complaining about it. After all, this is someone else’s space to air whatever he feels like. And it is quite bad manner, to say the least, to presume to chastise him and then pretend to wish him well in the end. I don’t know why Mormons seem to like to do such a thing… Most people aren’t fooled by it and it just reinforces the creepy sense of fakery ‘non-members’ get when in your company.😛

  3. Angie says:

    This analogy is EXCELLENT! My mother in law invited us to the Gilbert open house and its taking all I have to not print this out on gold paper and hand it to her. I’ll return and report if I get the balls to do that😉

  4. Cindy says:

    Excellent analogy. I laughed all the way through your post. Mostly because sometimes I have to laugh about the cringe-worthy stuff I went through.

  5. AZSharksFan says:

    I’m guessing you’re in the Gilbert area like me. We moved to our current house over 3 years ago and the only time anyone in my family was at a church building was me when the bishop processed my resignation and put us on the “do not contact” list. Luckily we were only bothered once or twice from the ward. All of a sudden last month we were visited 3 times in one week by random people we’ve never met with Gilbert temple-related knick knacks. Do they think I actually miss sitting in shitty pants? Do they think I forgot what it was like to shit my pants and I need to be reminded of how great it was? Weird how they can’t see how cult-y they come off.

  6. Jen Johnson says:

    One other point that most nevermo’s do not realize…the point of these open houses are to make the LDS church seem nice and normal. They leave out most of what really happens and lie about the reasons for the ordinances (like becoming a god). It is PR tactic and deceptive.

    • Exactly. They display the cool pants without the poop.

    • Heather F. says:

      I plan on going to the Fort Collins open house if they ever get that thing built. And I plan on being a total pain in the ass. Maybe even get kicked out of a tour.

      Because I’m going to ask about the being a god thing. And the planet thing. And innocently picking a room on the tour and asking if that’s where they do the throat slashing.

      I also plan on saying things like “wow, this place sure gives me a nice feeling, as if it’s giving me health in my naval, marrow in my bones, strength in my loins and sinews…”

      I might even try to hide some of the smaller clothing (apron and sash?) to just randomly start putting on during the tour.

      I hope I get some 19 year old starry eyed missionary girl who has no idea what to do with me. Maybe I can make her cry.

      • Have you gone on a temple open house tour? The last two I went on are so structured that they wouldn’t even allow you to do what you are describing. First, you are shown a video describing what you will see inside while you are waiting to go in. Then, as you enter, you are asked to not speak until the end. So, you walk through single-file, quietly without a real tour guide. There are occasionally people standing around pointing the way but they are not there to answer questions or talk at all. There are some brief, glossed over, general placards describing what takes place in each room. Then, as you exit you are directed across the parking lot to the nearby chapel where there are a bunch of missionaries, punch cookies and literature. THAT’s where you have your chance to talk and ask questions, but the impact of doing it in the temple won’t be there.

        That’s why I won’t go. I couldn’t do it without snarky remarks and covert jokes …but to whom? Just the people with me? And in spite of this blog, I don’t really have that sort of desire to be disrespectful on their turf. If they come to my home I’m happy to be frank, but not there and so I’ll just stay away. I am meeting my friend afterwards for drinks where I’ll allow any and every question possible and ask them openly and frankly. I’m sure there will be a handshake or two displayed.

  7. Mike Norton says:

    It took years of preparation but I’ve managed to catch the actual pants shitting on video. It’s soooo speshul.

  8. Joe says:

    Just curious, did you take that picture of the Chapel? I was very surprised while reading to see a picture of my own local chapel with several people I recognize!

    • Almost all of the pictures on this site are pulled from Google images. I can’t think of any that are actually mine. What a strange coincidence that you recognize the chapel and some of the people.

      If anyone objects to my using a pic, I’d be willing to take it down. So far no one has.

  9. Hitchen's Razor says:

    Those of us who shot their pants, but then discovered bleach salute you. Especially those of us who had to promise to slit our throats, spill our bowels and let old people touch us where they shouldn’t have in order to get pur pants.

  10. operasmorg says:

    Now that I’ve managed to stop roflmao… Seriously good Scheisse, Dad!😀 So glad you escaped the cult and write about your experiences on this blog (I’m really enjoying learning secondhand what Mormonism is like and how it messes up people’s lives. Some experiences should never be learned firsthand if one can avoid it!).

    Anyhow! Before I got into the roflmao fit… was just dropping by to wish you a healthy and happy and more prosperous 2014!😀

  11. Brilliant post. This makes me glad that I questioned the club and my membership in it long before I ever had to shit my pants. I’ve had enough things to deal with without adding this issue to the mix. Fear not: the club did plenty of damage even without the dookie-filled drawers.

    Love your blog!

  12. Uncle Bill says:

    yep…. I also was a temple worker for 30 years!!!
    I was the one telling people to shit in their pants and enjoy it, and told them ‘that is correct!”
    My eyes were opened and I took off the shitty pants 5 years ago, told the club to take my name off their records because I didn’t like my club membership and didn’t receive any benefits from paying the dues.
    Life was good.
    Just got a divorce after 30+ years.
    Waiting for life to get good again. I know it will….and that ain’t no shit.
    You’ve permanently ruined my image of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, and of male strippers ….. damn…..

  13. Daouod says:

    I, too, have vowed never to shit my pants again. I’d rather have my throat slit ear to ear, my chest ripped open, and belly slit open so my bowels may be spilt on the earth. Is that an option?

  14. Ken says:

    Loved this! I’ve had enuf of that shit, too.

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