Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Latter-Day Saints, stood upon the observation deck of the Salt Lake Temple. The old man looked sharp in his suit, but tonight he was sad. The cooling night-time breeze tickled and teased his jowells.
"Oh, my Lord", he whispered in reverent tones, "I need you to hear me. I am old. The end is nigh. Between the gay marriage ruling and the spread of feminism, I feel as if my church is built on sand, as you, dear Christ, once said."
He paused.
"Oh, God, I know you're up there, swaddled in beauteous purple robes in the Celestial. Please, bring me up there."
Monson looked up at the sky. He saw a small, twinkling point of light. He felt the blood rush to his loins.
"Oh Jesus!" he screamed out, erection building, "Take me away to Kolob! Take me up there to meet Moroni and Joseph Smith and Brigham Young!"
With those words, a bright light filled the sky. The Temple, the City, the entire State of Utah-all ceased to matter as a golden, orgasmic light enveloped Thomas S. Monson. He climaxed. It would not be his last that night.
"If you could hie to Kolob", the angelic voices around Monson sang, "In the twinkling of an eye".
"Yes, yes, go on, go on", exclaimed the helpless president, "Make me whole again".
He slept for an eternity. The birth and death of many worlds happened around his still, floating body.
When he awoke, he had passed Oliblish, and Enish-Go-on-Dosh, in the great inky blackness of space. He had arrived on Kolob. He had reached paradise.
A pair of glowing eyes peered down at him between locks of golden hair.
"The Angel Moroni!", exclaimed the suddenly lucid Monson. "Oh, I swear to near beer, I can't believe my eyes!"
"Thomas S. Monson" boomed the Angel Moroni, "you have come here to fulfill your holy and heavenly duty. You are here to become one with God."
Behind Moroni stood Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, and Mitt Romney. They looked angelic and lovely. Their bodies were masculine and spotless.
"Yes, yes", whimpered Monson. "I will do my duty for the Lord".
Moroni spoke. "Then you must pull down your pants for us".
"What?! No, I wo-"
But it was too late. Moroni had already grabbed the belt of Monson's trousers and yanked them down."
"IT'S TIME FOR SOME GOOD, CLEAN FUN, BOYS!" screamed the heavenly, aroused Moroni.
With that, Moroni stuck his long, glowing organ into Monson's wrinkled, shriveled anus. The pumps began, and the horny angel let off a shimmering shriek of pleasure.
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir, suddenly transposed from Earth to Kolob, stood around, on a bandstand, in lovely robes-blue for the guys, pink for the girls. They sung to the couple, man and angel, in intercourse.
"There is no end to glory, there is no end to love. There is no end to being, there is no death above."
Moroni left, panting, his wings a-fluttering. Monson was left, face down, spilling his seed everywhere.
"Please stop, you heavenly pervs, p...p..plea-"
"Ah, Elder Monson", said Joseph Smith. "You have done well on Earth. Now, we shall see how you fare here, on Kolob, the Planet of LOVE!"
"Am I right, Brigham?" "Yes", replied the old, bearded man, "He will learn what it truly means to believe."
And so the twosome went at Monson. They took turns screwing him. Once Smith was tired, Young came back in. For an old man, his member was mighty powerful.
Once both were tuckered out, they realized their heavenly duty was done. Finally, it was Romney's turn.
"Mittens? My old pal, Mittens? NOT MITTENS!" screamed the tired, terrified, and yet surprisingly turned-on Thomas S. Monson.
Romney swallowed hard and whimpered. "It's for the good of the cause, Tommy".
And so, Mitt Romney screwed Monson. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir rose to a splendid high note, a lovely, airy thing, hovering in the air. And Romney orgasmed hard.
As Monson blacked out, crying out to a God and a Christ who would not hear him, the sound of the choir enveloped his eardrums.
"There is no end to glory, there is no end to love. There is no end to being, there is no death above."
There is no end to love, indeed.