brothermouse

[brothermouse]

I live in Utah and have been an active Mormon my whole life and this is my first time hearing about this.

I assume this is another case of a click bate/rage bate article taking something that happened once, maybe twice, and relying on people's preexisting bias to blow it out of proportion to generate ad revenue.

Job description: white Jesus

[brothermouse]

Night Vale First Ward

*sigh* it seems that, once again, Brother Slendermoroni needs help collecting his plates. It's still our duty as Ward members to help each other out. We'll be passing around a sign up sheet. Again.

slendermoroni collect my plates

[brothermouse]

“I could go for 12 cows.”

The traditional Fast Sunday experience: laying on a couch nearly comatose watching Johnny Lingo because you are too tired and hungry to do anything else

[brothermouse]

So are you gay??

Depends, you a cop?

[brothermouse]

Hey brothermouse,

Got a question for you. Now, this relies on the assumption you know of the video game Hades and the art of the pantheon that exists in that game.

If not here is a picture of Hermes from the game as example

Now with that. Here is my question. I want to undertake an art project of drawing different Book of Mormon prophets/icons in this style, a compilation of portraits. I'm down to draw however many I want. So...

Who should make it onto my list? & What about that individual is iconic and makes a recognizable silhouette?

Any ideas appreciated. God speed, brother.

Can’t say I super familiar with the game, as I’ve never played it, but I think I get the gist of it.

Teancum and Captain Moroni should go on the list, though I suspect they’re already there. Since we’re already in the war chapters with those two, I’d recommend Lehi (that’s Lehi 3, the military commander). Toss in some Abish, Alma the Younger and his pals, the sons of Mosiah, maybe a couple of Nephis, top it off with Hagoth with his boats.

But, if we’re looking for someone who walks that fine line between fact and legend, I gotta recommend our boy Orrin Porter Rockwell. Big guy, wild hair, blessed to never be killed by an enemy’s bullet of blade, the Destroying Angel of Mormonism.

[brothermouse]

Sunday doodles 01/05/25 Fast Sunday Doodles

[brothermouse]

Wait, people don't know about the 2003 Mormon movie adaptation of pride and prejudice?

Even though it's free to watch on Peacock, Tubi, PLEX, Amazon Prime Video, Freevee, and YouTube?

I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys, I thought it was common knowledge. My bad.

thinking about Her (elizabeth bennett's daydream of standing up and throwing a hymnal at mr collins in the middle of his sacrament meeting talk and clocking him dead in the face in the 2003 mormon movie adaptation of pride and prejudice)

[brothermouse]

Same, Amen

So you're Morman?

Yes, I am decidedly more man than woman.

[brothermouse]

😍😍😍

You guys don’t even know. You don’t even know about my Book of Mormon playing cards

[brothermouse]

Thank you to everyone who didn't point out that I misspelled 𐐒𐐀𐐞. You are very kind and I am undeserving of your goodness

Sunday doodle 12/29/25

Double Doodles for end of the year and because I fell off the doodle wagon for a while there.

[brothermouse]

Memories of Grandpa Hank

I'm eating a bag of mormon gorp that tastes like gasoline while watching the rain run down the mountain. The taste doesn't even bother me anymore - all homemade gorp tastes like this. It's just a natural consequence of everyone keeping their prepper shit in their garages. 

My dad's out in the clearing, wandering around with his GPS. He's got some pieces of wire out on top of it to try and make the effective antennae bigger, but it just makes it look like he's dowsing. Another mormon tradition. I ask him if he's close to find water yet, and he looks up at me, little rivers flowing off him, and says yeah - he can feel it. 

I'm sure he can. I settle under my tree and watch the droplets roll down the needles. Awaiting the final judgement of Judge GPS. 

A few minutes later, it provides: 

Turns out my dad forgot to record the location of the car this morning. The GPS remembers where we parked yesterday, but by luck my dad knows how to get from there to our car. Downside is that it's a nine mile walk just to get to yesterday's position, then another five miles to backtrack. That's fourteen miles total. 

I'm only thirteen. 

Think you can make it? my dad asks. And it's a kindness that he's worried, but it's not like there's an alternative. What else would I do, sit down in the murk and cross my fingers he finds me again? Ask him to carry me 14 miles? 

I'll be pretty jelly legged, I say. But yeah. I'll make it. 

Attaboy, he says. He fishes a bag of poptarts out and offers me one as - I think - a peace offering. A, sorry you're gonna have to walk 14 miles in the rain because I goofed kind of gift. 

I take a bite and, despite being individually wrapped, it still manages to taste like diesel fumes. We start hiking our incredibly long distance in terrible weather for foolish reasons, and I joke to my dad that the only way to make this day any more mormon would be by pushing handcarts. 

He laughs. Neither of us laugh again until 11 pm, when we stumble like drunkards into camp. My grandpa has stayed up late to make sure we weren’t lost, but he only stays up long enough to see us arrive. We try to eat a dinner of sweet potato stew, but after falling asleep in the middle twice, we agree to just go to bed. 

I sleep in well past nine and wake up to nobody in camp but my grandpa. My dad left with my sister to keep hunting around 5 am. I know that everyone assumes that their dad is invincible when they're 13, but I'm 28 now and part of me still thinks he's gonna live forever. That God made exactly one perpetual motion machine, and it raised me in the desert. 

---

Around noon my grandpa suggests hunting again. If it was my dad, I'd probably tune him out, but I like my grandpa's style of hunting. My dad hikes and hikes and hikes until the elk get tired and just let him shoot them. My grandpa finds the sleepiest, sunniest, coziest field and takes a nap there, figuring if the elk have any decent taste they'll come there at some point.

Man's got a knack for knowing what elk like - he's right more often than not. I think he might've been an elk in a previous life. 

I go with him, and much as I hate to admit it, the hike is good for me. I start off walking like a pirate on two peg legs, so stiff I might as well not have knees, but by the end of the mile and a half walk I'm almost normal. We make it to the edge of the clearing, and my grandpa finds a patch of grass taller and softer than the beds inside the trailer, and he curls up to sleep there. I look across the grass and I watch the comings of goings of critters through the field. Sometimes I use the scope to get a magnified view, but I never do so with my hand on the trigger. The thought of accidentally looking a person through that glass is something that sends a chill up my spine. 

Some deer wander through the glen, but it'd take a fool to mistake one of them for an elk. A few hours later, my grandpa wakes up and asks if I want to wander around a little. It's a lovely day. Rain comes in bursts in Arizona, and the day after is almost always clear as can be. And for a short while, all the desert browns turn green and lush. Hard mosses turn squishy and cacti swell up like fresh baked muffins and for a while you can get why people settled in these god forsaken wastes. 

So I go with him, and we walk on, me with my gun, him just taking in the forest. He looks so peaceful that I get a little jealous, but it's not until my grandpa stops and looks at me that I even notice it myself. Takes a mirror, sometimes, to know yourself.

Being near my grandpa is always a strange thing for me. He's quiet, and he doesn't talk much, and I don't ever get the feeling that he's particularly emotionally intelligent - but it's like he's interacting with a reality more raw and real than mine. Like I'm watching symbols on a screen and he's counting atoms. And sometimes, just being near him gives me access to that raw matter. Just something about how he is breaks the illusions of the world.

He looks at the gun like a foreign object, like he doesn't recognize it, then he looks at me. He speaks and he doesn't mince words. 

What would you do if an elk came across the path and you shot it right now? he asks. 

Well, I'd start cleaning it, I say, and he waves the words away like cobwebs in his face. 

But would you celebrate? he presses.

And I look at him, and I don't actually see any judgement staring back. He knows the answer, and he's at peace with it. He’s asking so I can see it too. He’s being a mirror so I can see my own face.

I think I might actually cry, I admit. And he nods along in agreement before reaching forward to take the gun off my shoulder. 

Lets just walk today, he says. No chance of killing anything. No worrying about that. 

Right, I say. 

He pops the chamber open and tosses me back my bullet. I catch it, and the relief I feel is palpable. 

Can I change my mind? I ask, and he shrugs.

Whenever you want. Hunt or don’t. It’s not the hunting that I’m worried about. It’s seeing you ignore your conscience.

And for a moment, I'm there in the real world with him, and my gloves are off, and reality is a metal cube in my hand: Sharp and cold and heavy.

Or maybe that’s just the bullet.

---

We make it back to camp a bit later than my dad. We get there and he’s waiting for us. If he's tired, he doesn't show it. 

How'd it go? he asks. My grandpa looks at me, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to explain it, and I am scared. 

Great, he replies. It's a shame Babs only has a doe tag. We save a five-point out there. Close enough to hit with a football. 

No, my dad says. If his grin was a half inch wider, both ends of his mouth would meet in the back of his head and everything above his tongue slide off .

Tell him Babs, grandpa says. And, not for the first time, and especially not the last, I try my hand at spinning a yarn. 

It's pretty good. But at 13, I still have a lot to learn.

[brothermouse]

Like this

A punk badge with a text written in a language with a non-latin alphabet, (ideally one you don't personally speak) that says:

"if you can read this, you can read this."

[brothermouse]

Sunday doodle 12/29/25

Double Doodles for end of the year and because I fell off the doodle wagon for a while there.

[brothermouse]

We just sang "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" for the opening hymn and I did not know that the organ had a setting to sound like bells, it was dope. That's some fine Mormin' over in my neck of the woods

who's all mormin' it up today? sound off

[brothermouse]

who's all mormin' it up today? sound off

[brothermouse]

𐐆𐑁 𐐷𐐭 𐐿𐐰𐑌 𐑉𐐨𐐼 𐑄𐐮𐑅, 𐐷𐐭 𐐿𐐰𐑌 𐑉𐐨𐐼 𐑄𐐮𐑅.

A punk badge with a text written in a language with a non-latin alphabet, (ideally one you don't personally speak) that says:

"if you can read this, you can read this."

[brothermouse]

I don't know how to tell you guys this but it sounds like you're on your way to reinventing Original Sin

being an archaeologist in tumblr is so funny because I see so many text posts and go. Imperialism pre-dates capitalism. Rebellion against empires pre-dates capitalism. Money pre-dates capitalism. Social inequality pre-dates capitalism. Misogyny pre-dates capitalism. Wealth inequality pre-dates capitalism. Unilateral rule by oppressive rulers pre-dates capitalism. People’s dependence on their job for their survival pre-dates capitalism. Capitalism as an economic system is about 200-250 years old max but these problems are much, much older, and capitalism supports, entrenches, or exacerbates many of these problems… doesn’t mean it invented them and doesn’t mean they will simply cease to be problems After Capitalism.