The Mormans broke my gate


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A few weeks back, sitting in the lounge in the front of our house reading the Sunday papers through bleary eyes, I heard something going on next door (the joys of Sydney terrace housing is that you can hear everything your neighbours say).

"Hi there, we are from the Church of Jesus Christ and we wanted to talk to you about…"


Going in to panic mode, I ducked down so I wouldn’t be visable.  Lucky there was nobody else home, or I would have had to alert them, probably by sending them text messages saying "Hide!  The Mormans are coming!".

I have nothing against religion.  I just have something against talking to people about religion on a Sunday morning while dressed in my PJs.  I didn’t have a bra on either, which would have certainly branded me as a heathen in need of salvation.  Though I have sometimes gotten quite a chuckle out of those poorly written ‘magazines’ they hand out with names like ‘The Watchhouse’ or ‘The Good Word’ or ‘God is awesome and you heathens should also believe in him to validate my own faith’.  Or something like that.

So, after being told to go away by our probably hungover neighbour, I heard them rattling our gate.  Our gate has a rather interesting contraption by which to open it.  The clasp is attached to a piece of rope, which runs up and over a brick wall and out through a little hole.  You pull the string to open the gate.

I heard the Mormons fiddling with the gate.  But then they left.

Why didn’t the Mormons come in?  Surely they could have sensed this was a house of evil.  While filling in the census last year, my lesbian former housemate made us put the property name as "the Lesbian House of Lurve".  Myself and my fellow straight housemate were drunk at the time, so we eagerly agreed.  Surely God would have let them know that our souls were doomed.  It even said so in the census.

I soon discovered why they had left us to stew in our own pot of freshly made sin.  The Mormans had broken our gate!!!  They had destroyed the complicated rope pulley system that our access depended on.

With no understanding of how to fix the crazy rope based system, we now have to resort to standing on our tippy toes while trying to fumble around over the top of the gate for the latch.  Which is very annoying, and very difficult;

a) While carrying things

b) When it is dark

c) When I am drunk

d) All of the above

Last night, coming home after a couple of genorous glasses of house white at one of Newtown’s fine drinking establishments, my housemate and I were stuck fumbling with the latch, leading both of us to start cursing the Mormans quite loudly.

Please God, forgive us for our sins.  And if you really are out there, fix our bloody gate!!

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