How the Apostate Stole Fast Sunday

[All-American]

Every Zoobie in Provo likes Sundays a lot
But the Apostate who lived north of Provo did not!

He hated Fast Sundays, the whole blasted day!
Now, please don’t ask why, for no one can say.
His political thinking may stray from the right
And his blinders, perhaps, let in just too much light.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
Is the brain of the coeds was two sizes too small.

But whatever the reason,
Votes, blinders, or brains,
He stood there on fast Sunday detesting the Saints.
Staring down from his bunk with a sour apostate frown
At the burning of bosoms below in their town.
For he knew all in Provo, the first to the last,
Ended dates at 10:30 to prepare for their fast.

“And their saving their dinners!” he snarled with a sneer.
“Tomorrow’s fast Sunday! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled, with apostate fingers nervously drumming,
“I must find a way to keep Sunday from coming!”
For, tomorrow, he knew…

Zoobies rush to the pulpit, and for the girls they would poise!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That’s the one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Zoobs, boy and girl, would sit down to a feast.
And they’d feast! And they’d feast!
And they’d FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would start on green Jello, and funeral potatoes
And weird pasta salads with stale green tomatoes!

And THEN
They’d do something he liked least of all!
Every Zoob down in Provo, the tall and the small,
Would gather together, with pianos a-ringing,
They’d sit hand-in-hand. And the Zoobs would start singing!

And the more the apostate thought of fast-speak-pray-sing,
The more that he thought, “I must stop this whole thing!
For too many years I’ve put up with it now!
I MUST stop fast Sunday from coming! But HOW?”

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE APOSTATE GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

“I know just what to do!” he laughed in his head
as he reset his clock which stood next to his bed.
I’ll change the date,” he said in a burst,
“They’ll think it’s the FIFTH Sunday, and not the FIRST!”

So he snuck in their rooms, as he sniffed in the air.
All the Zoobs were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.
Their doors were unlocked, so he snuck in the door,
And changed the first clock, then looked for some more.

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
And without a care, moved the past to the present!
Girls bedrooms invaded, their honor lines crossed,
And before they awoke, a week had been lost!

It was quarter past dawn…
All the Zoobs still a-bed
All the Zoobs with chaste thoughts running round through their heads
And the apostate slummed back, so slummfully slumming,
“They’ll find out soon fast Sunday will not be coming!”

“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll say!
Their mouths will hang open, and then they will say:
‘I fasted for nothing and its NOT FAST SUNDAY!”

“No ward prayer, no fast breaking, or worldy forsaking!
No friends of the opposite gender we’re making!”
They’ll sit there, befuddled, and all at the zoo
All the Zoobs down in Provo will all cry BOO-HOO!”

“That’s a noise,” grinned the apostate,
“That I simply must hear!”
So he paused. And the Apostate opened his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising out from the Wilk,
But the song that he heard was a song smooth as silk…

The sound wasn’t sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so!
But it WAS merry! Very!

The Zoobs down in Provo
Were singing and preaching!
The apostate forgot that
Fifth Sunday means home teaching!

And the apostate, with red sweatshirt matching his face,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “What’s with this place?
“It came without fasting! It came without preening!
It came despite all lack of feeling or meaning!”

Then the apostate thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe there’s just no hope for these zoobs any more.”

So the zoobs down in provo carried on with their lives,
The girls found their friends and the boys found their wives,
And the Apostate retreated to his hole in the hill,
While the zoobs carried on with their mind-numbing zeal.

[realtall]

Pretty clever & well done.




I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest that the author is not a 'zoob.'