If you don’t know what Kidz Bop is, you don’t have young kids. Or you do, but your child is named Helen and everyone makes jokes about her answering the iron. 

Imagine turning on the radio and hearing the crappiest pop song possible sung by an adult. Now, picture the same crappy song sung by ten year old children! This is Kidz Bop: the brilliant marketing scheme of some music mogul somewhere. I don’t know what it is about the popular entertainment notion that if you make something younger, it makes it better. Case in point: Muppet Babies, Tiny Toons, A Pup Named Scooby Doo, and countless men’s second and third wives. The latter, however, I easily agree with. 

I was first made aware of Kidz Pop through a television commercial while my five year old was watching Cartoon Network, or Disney, or some other youth oriented channel where adults can’t really tell the difference between one crappy show and the next, which doesn’t really make any difference so long as said shows keep the child in a quiet hypnotic trance long enough for me to catch up on my shows on Hulu; that is until the Kidz Bop commercial comes on, and your child comes running to you screaming, “Can I get that!? Can I get that!?”

My suspicion is the television commercials for Kidz Bop had little success in marketing this particular musical genre. And I use the root word music, loosely. If most parents were like me, they couldn’t even tolerate hearing sixty seconds of this entertainment equivalent of water boarding, let alone get through an entire full length CD. At some point the marketing executives over at Kidz Bop realized they were having little success. It was however, a boon to remote control companies who were finding scores of households of parents with young children having to constantly replace the mute button on their clickers from over use.

At a Kidz Bop sales meeting someone lamented that they couldn’t even give this crap away. Then someone else promptly chimed up, “But I bet McDonald’s could!”

Fast forward several months. Driving in my car, I hear the usual childhood complaints about who’s looking at who, who’s hitting who, who’s taking who’s this or that away, and a McDonald’s off in the distance brings me a sense of relief and reprieve. A Chicken McNugget in a child’s mouth is worth countless minutes of peace to a parent’s ears. But au contraire, mon frère, once I hand off the Happy Meal to the back seat, like nails against a chalkboard, I hear the words, “Look Daddy! A Kidz Bop CD!”

Now it’s no longer, “Can I get the Kidz Bop CD!?” It’s “Play my Kidz Bop CD!” Somewhere in the afterlife Dave Thomas is having a big laugh at Ray Kroc’s expense. Never before has a fast food restaurant’s marketing campaign driven so many people to the competition! Because there wasn’t just one Kidz Bop CD, at last count, there were five! A new one to look forward to each week! I’m now regretting taking my four year old to preschool where he learned to count so soon. “Oh, sorry son! You already have this Kidz Bop CD!” I say. To which he responds with, “No I don’t! This CD is this many! (Holding up three fingers).    

Thank god for Night at the Museum 2! A new campaign has given way to new toys in the Happy Meal. And on a hot June day, when my son asks if we can listen to Kidz Bop on our way to the mall, I readily agree. Daddy sees the importance of an object lesson here. Call it a lesson in science, or simple responsibility, either way a lesson was taught: When you leave five CDs laying on the seat of the car (accidentally of course) in direct sunlight, they melt…

In early December, John and comedian buddy Mike Jenkins took to the open road of Montana for yet another run of one nighters. Every night they were in a different town but one thing remained the same:  the people were all drunk and the hotels crappy. On the last night of the run John and Mike were in Miles City, Montana. The town is called Miles City because it's miles away from anyone or anything. Including a dentist's office. The local club where the two performed put them up in The Olive Hotel, a historical landmark in town. Historical because it was actually the first building in town that was condemned as a result of the Influenza pandemic of 1918. The gonorrhea outbreak of '86 was also believed to have origins there.
 
Built in 1890 The Olive has been a host to a myriad of scandalous cowboy legends. It's rumored that the movie "Brokeback Mountain" was to be originally called "The Olive Hotel." One such scandal, however, might have been more recent than others. Upon checking into his room, Mike asked John to come see something amiss in his room. John discovered Mike's bathroom to have what clearly looked like blood splatter one the floor, outlined around the toilette bowl. The two comedians had been driving a considerable distance, sitting in the car all day, and John suggested Mike use Preparation H and see a doctor immediately when they got home. Mike insisted the floor looked that way when he got there and marched down to the front desk and informed the clerk about the blood splatter.  The clerk chuckled and assured Mike it was just "rust."

Mike said he would not stay in that room. However, no other rooms were currently available. Apparently the homeless shelter uses the Olive Hotel as overflow on cold nights. John assured Mike everything would be fine as long as he didn't use the bathroom; Mike could hold it till after they left town the next day. Mike mentioned he would be drinking heavily at the show and didn't feel he'd be able to hold it.  John, knowing how much Mike can and would drink, pointed out that after all the drinking Mike woul'd do, whatever was in the bathroom, wouldn't make any difference to him in a few hours.

John was right. Mike passed out and wound up peeing the bed in his sleep. He never had to set foot in the bathroom.

In 1988 as a freshman college student I had the opportunity to attend a screening at the Sundance Film Festival. The film screened was the animated cartoon, The Brave Little Toaster.  The theater was a small venue with a smattering of people in attendance. There were no celebrities, no press, no photographers, and in fact, there was nobody there that seemed to give a damn.  People watched the film, then left.

Twenty years later, to say the Sundance Film Festival has changed is like saying Michael Jackson looks like he’s had a little work done. The look, the feel, the size, are bigger, but can one say better than ever? Today for a film like The Brave Little Toaster to even be considered for Sundance, the toaster would have to be gay and involved in a sexual relationship with an underage baby monitor.  In addition, you’d have to drop the word brave in the title. Brave is the last word in "The Star Spangled Banner", a song that generally instills feelings of patriotism. Patriotism is generally associated with support for the United States Military and therefore, a Hollywood film could not in any way, shape, or form be associated with anything having to do with pride for the United States.

But really, in this day and age of Sundance does anyone really show up for the films?  Sundance has become less of a film festival and more of an ego convention. It’s where celebrities from Hollywood and nobodies from everywhere else flock each year to spend ten days in a constant collision of pomp and circumstance that only serves to remind the celebrities of what important people they really and truly are.

It’s also where the nobodies go to feel like somebody. The cultural significance we give to Sundance seems to warrant everyone who buys a ticket to a premiere to feel they have some type of cultural significance. News flash: bragging you have tickets to a Sundance screening is like bragging you have a supermarket rewards card. Am I supposed to be impressed that you are some type of VIP connoisseur of cinema? Don’t labor under the delusion you are going there to watch movies. You want to watch movies? Then go to Blockbuster. You’re going because it’s soooo cool and anybody who’s anybody is going to be there. Only I know a lot of people that go to Sundance, and guess what? They’re nobodies. So much for anybody who’s anybody.

So with all that being said, I propose a few new guidelines to bring The Sundance Film Festival back to the roots of what it originally intended to be.

Number one: Only celebrities with a film at Sundance are allowed to attend. The other day, a local newspaper featured photos of Tara Reid arriving at Sundance. Now, Tara doesn’t have a film at Sundance. In fact, Tara doesn’t have a film anywhere. Unless you count that online video of her boob popping out on YouTube. At least with the cold weather, her layers of clothing assured us that little faux paux wouldn’t be happening. But why in the hell is Tara Reid at Sundance? My best guess is apparently she got it confused with the AVN Awards.

Number two: No more swag. Celebrities rush in out and out of stores with more arm-fulls of free loot than the L.A. riots. The Sundance Film Festival is a virtual soup kitchen for celebrity hand outs included, but not limited to designer clothes, cell phones, tech gadgets, jewelry, and the like. 

And if celebrities getting gear gratis for themselves isn’t enough, let’s not forget about their pets. Cesar Canine Cuisine Spa, described by the Washington Post as "the official Sundance Film Festival retreat for small dogs and their celebrity owners to get pampered and primped for the Sundance premieres, parties, and entertainment. All invited guests "receive a complimentary Puchi dog-bag to carry their four legged friends and an array of luxury doggie gifts valued at $1,500.”

Earlier this evening I flipped through the channels to come across the show Animal Cops. I saw several malnourished and abused dogs put to sleep. Then it hit me, if there was only a way to get those dogs to Sundance! They’d be provided for there. But hey, we also have children in this country that go to bed hungry every night. Let’s not let those families’ needs get in the way of making sure Paris Hilton’s dog Tinkerbell has an adequate supply of Purina Caviar Chow.

Number Three: Check all cameras at the city limits. The population explosion of Sundance has more to do with star gazers than actual stars. Now, I can appreciate that Brenda from Wisconsin drove 2000 miles to Sundance to stand outside in subzero temperatures to snap a quick pic with Screech from Saved By the Bell to post on her MySpace page, but so the bloody hell what? Again, am I supposed to be impressed? Such a pic says nothing other than a desperate star gazer was able to rush up to some A, B, C, D, or in the case of recently spotted Gary Coleman, E list celebrity and stand still next to them long enough for a photo-op. It’s not like Brenda has video of her in bed with Screech. To which, if she did, would at least let tell us there was some type of an on going personal connection. “Wow, you did Screech!?” is much more awe striking than, “Wow, you ran up to Screech outside a Starbucks at Sundance and he stood next to you for three seconds?” Though from what I understand, a sexual leison with Screech doesn't last much longer. Nor has his career. So change number one would pretty much void his presence at Sundance out. 

But while cameras are still allowed at Sundance, allow me to make a note to those celebrities who act annoyed and or refuse autographs and photographs while attending Sundance. Hey, it’s Sundance! Going to Sundance and not expecting to be asked for an autograph or have your picture taken is like going to Disney World and not expecting to hear “It’s a Small World After All.” Sure, it grates on you and is annoying after the hundredth time, but you choose to go there, you knew what was in store, so don’t be a Val Kilmer... er, I mean a jack ass. Celebrities need to remember it’s those millions of people like Brenda from Wisconsin that plunked down eight fifty for a ticket to their last movie that allows them to be someone that the rest of the world actually wants to have their picture taken with.

Fourth and finally: More people than ever are staying away from movie theaters. The advances in home theater systems make for a much more enjoyable and less expensive experience to watch movies. So why even bother to have screenings of Sundance movies in theaters in at all? How about everybody stay the hell home for ten days in January and the cable and satellite networks can have the Sundance Film Festival Pay Per View Channel. Movie buffs can kick back in their living room picking and choosing from an array of deviant indie films without ever having to put on a parka.

Sure implementing all these things might take a toll on the local Utah economy, but isn’t the toll taken on the soul of humanity a much more significant concern? I know it is for me. It has been ever since that group picture of me and Gary Coleman surfaced on the internet.

Thirty years ago college students on campuses across the U.S would laugh to the likes of Robert Klein or George Carlin riffing about politics, religion, and current events. Today college students laugh at Dane Cook doing bits called “Itchy Asshole.” American youth are dumbing down and let’s not make any bones about it. The IQ of the average college age kid over the last thirty years has gone down faster than membership to the Mel Gibson fan club in Miami. 

The decline of grey matter in today’s young skulls can be clearly traced to the birth of the MTV Generation. Video not only killed the radio star, it’s also taken out countless numbers of brain cells. Only now, the MTV Generation is made up of old timers. We sit around and tell our kids how when we were young, back in the olden days known as the eighties, MTV actually played music videos. My nieces and nephews have a hard time understanding how that could possibly be entertaining when huddling around a computer screen to watch some 14 year old kid swallow a cell phone and fart out ring tones can provide hours of non-stop amusement on YouTube.

In the desperation for the information super highway to bring us information, we over looked one small aspect: the information. Sure in the millisecond it takes to click a mouse a college student doing a research paper can not only read, but actually see Martin Luther King Jr give his “I have a dream” speech. And they can also see Jenna Jameson giving – well, you get the point. The internet has become less of an information super highway and more like the Vegas Strip; and there are barkers on every corner handing out flyers trying to attract every little piece of our attention. But the big problem is that on the net what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas. We’ve got to take into consideration those prefixical three initials, www: the World Wide Web.

The ability to connect to people and transmit information is a powerful tool. We’re now a global community. But if some alien world is out there tapping into our media transmissions to study our global community, I’m sure they can’t help but think there’s an awful lot of inbreeding going on. Welcome back to “Itchy Asshole.”

There used to be a time when comics would complain about other comics who only had seven minutes and got on the Tonight Show. Now comics with seven minutes get hour long TV specials because the programmers know the comics have fifty million friends on MySpace that will tune in.

Now look, I don’t hate Dane Cook. But I don’t fawn over him either. I think he’s a mediocre comic who put the cart before the horse and learned to promote his act before he actually had an act. He takes so long to set up a joke I can go to the bathroom, nuke my popcorn, get a drink, eat the popcorn, drink the drink, digest it all, then go back to the bathroom, and still come back in front of the TV in time before he gets to the actual punch line.

But he has success. And I give him credit and kudos for that. He’s brilliantly channeled the power of the global community to reach the masses. Recently Details Magazine ranked Dane Cook in the top Fifty Most Influential People Under The Age of 42. Please note that Variety, TV Guide, or Entertainment did not rank him in the top Fifty Most Funniest Comedians Under The Age of 42.

It’s no argument Dane Cook’s impact has been far reaching and shaped the way stand up comedy is promoted, viewed, and received. However, is that a good thing? That’s like asking if having nuclear weapons is a good thing. And let’s face it; if it weren’t for nuclear technology we might have the phrase government sushi instead of government cheese. Although as one who is not a fan of sushi myself, I can see how if that’s what we were doling out to the poor, it might encourage people to get off welfare. But the flip side of that question is us knowing that the likes of Kim Jong Mentally Ill could have their tiny little communist sausage finger on the trigger.

The same goes for stand up comedy. Is what Dane Cook did a good thing? Though I don’t think we can blame and or assign great credit to Dane Cook. He just happened to be the first one out of the gate. If it wasn’t Dane Cook, it would have been somebody else. The natural evolution of “information” through technology can’t be suppressed; whether it’s good or bad. The first thing printed after the Bible on Gutenberg’s press was nothing other than porn. It just goes to show that at some point, somebody will eventually get a light bulb on in their head, no matter how dim it may be.

A hundred years ago people were arguing over the wisdom and duration of the automobile. They called it a fad that would never last. Of course the “they” being blacksmiths. However, the smart ones quit their bitching and adapted. They traded in their hammers and anvils for Craftman socket wrenches and started charging people seventy-five bucks and hour. Now those of us with cars in the shop bitch.

But adaptation is exactly what stand up comics have to do. And quit their bitching. Well, for some of us our bitching is our act, we just need to channel what we bitch about. But yes, on many fronts, it’s frustrating. Recently I participated in an online competition on a comedy website. I uploaded a video clip of my stand up act and then visitors to the site would rate my performance. My video was a professional clip from a television show I did. The material was solid and received exactly the way it should be.

You would think that might be the standard for someone uploading a video of their comedy act for a competition. Not so. I perused many of the other video clips of my so called competitors. And I use the word competitors loosely as many of these “comics” were nothing more than the club janitor deciding to try out toilette jokes on open mic night. The video quality was so bad it could have been shot by Abraham Zapruder on the grassy knoll. And the sound was so poor it made Al Jolson’s The Jazz Singer sound like THX. Yet consistently these “stand up comedy” video clips were receiving some of the highest ratings available. Why? Because each of the “comics” were blasting out emails and posting bulletins on MySpace.com telling all their “friends” to vote them to the top.

OK… well, so was I… But I’m a professional stand up comedian and entertainer who makes a good living doing what I do. I’m funny. On this website after watching all these clips of my “competition” I felt like that 1988 skit from Saturday Night Live that parodied a presidential debate between then majority front runner George H.W. Bush and Michael Dukakis. Dana Carvey played Bush 41 and was spouting off these incoherent dumb as a rock ramblings at which point Jon Lovitz as Michael Dukakis turns to the camera and quips, “I can’t believe I’m losing to this guy.”

And that’s what comedy has become. It’s not about who’s funnier. It’s about who has the most “friends.” And if those friends will support you, then you make it to the top. And the only way to get those “friends” is to market yourself.

Since the advent of radio, movies, and television if you were a comic who wanted to succeed, you had material, you were funny, and you traveled to clubs across the country and audiences laughed. Executives in the industry, always wanting to make a buck, recognized that, they took you, found a way to package you, marketed you to the masses and a star was born. Today comedians have taken those steps and shuffled them around a bit - and even eliminated a few. The comedians now market themselves to the masses through the internet; give birth to their own star if you will, and the industry recognizes that – and not necessarily the talent.

Now for a comic who is funny this new age process can be great. For those who aren’t funny it’s great too.  And for those that are funny - that’s bad. For what has a generation become that’s being inundated with mediocre and even bad stand up comedy and being told it’s good and even believe it’s good because some open mic’er has a camcorder, high speed internet, and fifty million “friends” on MySpace?

So I say to the newbies, the guys just starting out, please above all else, hone your act. Pace yourself. Know it takes time. Yes, we all need support in the form of friends and family coming out to laugh; but don’t allow support to become bigger than the reason why you are on stage: to communicate a well thought out premise, deliver a joke, and create true laughter. And hopefully impress and pick up hot chicks after the show.

To the old timers, the stand up comics who started before, say the year 1995, I say hang in there. Like the blacksmiths of old, learn to adapt. There was a time when a comic could just show up to the club and our responsibility was to the club owner to do our best on stage. (If you’ve done a gig for David Tribble in the Pacific Northwest that responsibility also includes not drinking before or during the show. No drug use on the hotel premises. No partying with the wait staff in your rooms. No breaking the audio equipment. And no fighting with the audience members.)

But in today’s world we also have an added responsibility; and it’s to ourselves: to not only show up, but to do our damnedest to make sure an audience shows up too. That’s a cold hard fact, like it or not. Because if we don’t, the crappy open mic’er with fifty million friends on MySpace will get the audience to show up. Think of the old philosophical riddle that asks if a tree falls in the woods and if no one is there to hear it fall, does it still make a noise? Well, if a comedian shows up to a club, and no one is there to laugh, is he still funny? He very well may be, but in the world wide global community we live today, funny has taken a back seat to actual butts in the seats.

We can’t fight change, but we can help shape it. The proverbial cream will rise to the top. If the truly funny comedians can connect with everyone out there with a computer, the World Wide Web will see what’s funny and figure out what’s not. And perhaps, hopefully, we can not only be funny stand up comedians, but also decent human beings and a true friend to the people staring back at us over their keyboards.   

Summer time is finally here with all the fun and excitement of vacations, warm weather and that quality out door time.

And more often then not, that out door time includes traveling carnivals: those proverbial fly by night amusement parks. Disneyland these carnivals ain’t, because you could never come up with a Goofy costume that looks goofier than the people that actually work at these places. I’m not sure what kind of half way house or mental institution or work release program they hire these people from, but it’s a little disconcerting to me that we are putting our lives in the hands of the guy operating the tilt a whirl who’s drunk driving lost him his license to operate a vehicle.

I might also feel a little more comfortable if these carnival employees had a dress code. Shirt and shoes required apparently only applies to the customers. I know these people don’t make a lot of money, and it’s clear they don’t have any medical benefits, especially dental, so the least management could do is throw in a uniform. Based on the prison tattoos half these people have, they’re clearly used to wearing identical clothing.

And the rides at these carnivals have scary names like the Hell Hole, The Colossus of Fury, and The Spinning Spider. None of which are actually as scary as their maintenance record. You should be so lucky they’re maintained by Manny Moe and Jack. Instead they look like they’re serviced by Larry, Darryl and Darryl. If you’re a maintenance guy at a carnival, apparently duct tape and wire hangers are your only tools of the trade.

The kind of rides they have is suspect. I was dragged to a traveling carnival last year by my family and this particular carnival had a large inflatable slide. But it wasn’t just any slide. It had a theme. The slide was an inflatable replica of the deck of the Titanic as it was sinking. The kiddies would climb to the top of the stem, then slide right down the deck to the stern below.

I’m sure it would have really gone over well that if on that fateful night of April 15, 1912 you told some poor third class passenger clinging to their loved one as they both plummeted down the deck of the Titanic into the icy waters - that in 94 years kids of all ages would be screaming with glee as their little asses reenacted the same slippery trip of demise; only this time instead of dying a watery death at the bottom, they’d just be throwing up from eating too many corn dogs.

The fact that somebody actually thought a slide reenacting the sinking of the Titanic was a good idea disturbs me. Because if that’s the idea that got the green light, I’m really curious to see the other human tragedies the carnival company passed on. Was bungee jumping out of a burning replica of the Hindenburg too much? How about a wave pool that reenacts last year's tsunami?

PT Barnum, the master of traveling entertainment is rumored to have once said that nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public. And the traveling carnival is the intellectual equivalent of Paris Hilton at a Mensa Convention. Now granted traveling carnivals are a staple of summer time activities; but so is poison ivy. And I do my best to avoid both.

If anything good has come out of taking my child to a traveling carnival, he now understands the value of a college education… Or at the very least getting a GED.

Next Monday is Memorial Day; or as I prefer to call it here in Utah: Let’s have a picnic on our dead relative’s graves!

People in Utah, those that are alive anyway, will, in loving tribute of remembrance, break out the hibachi, thrown down some blankets and enjoy hamburgers and fried chicken just six feet above the rotting corpses of their loved ones. I saw a Tongan Family visiting some of their dead relatives last year and they were resourceful enough to use an empty grave for a pig roast.

For those of you that don’t bring your own picnic supplies, my wife’s relatives are resting eternally in a very considerate cemetery that has it’s own concession stand and provides visitors with free hot dogs and drinks. Which is great because I can get my fill of free hot dogs and drinks at the cemetery in the morning, then in the afternoon hit the sale at RC Willey for even more.

But I have to tell you, that’s a real selling point for me when it comes to my eternal resting place. I picture my great grand nephews deciding whose grave to visit on Memorial Day: Uncle John’s or Uncle David’s? Then one of them chimes in, “Uncle John’s! They’ve got free foot longs!”

Now competition for your final resting place must be getting fierce. Several years ago on Memorial Day a local Utah cemetery also put on an antique car show. Now there’s a hook! Come see the cars your relatives were driving when they were still alive!

Communist Premiere Vladimir Lenin had the right idea. He is the gimmick at his final resting place. His dead body has been on display at Lenin Mausoleum for the last eighty years for millions of people to stroll passed and gawk at. It should be noted that many of those people mistakenly thought they were actually going to see the remains of John Lennon, so an actual total of how many people were interested in seeing Vladimir is unknown.

Now I understand the Lenin Mausoleum also offered all visitors free kielbasa and vodka, but given the financial struggles of the former Soviet Union they’ve done away with that. In order to generate enough income to keep Lenin on display, his remains have had to make a few appearances at supermarket openings, grandchildren of the revolution’s birthday parties, and most recently guest stared on an episode of CSI: Chernobyl.

The fact that millions of people have strolled by to take a look at the preserved remains of Lenin goes to show that mankind has a morbid fascination with death. So maybe we should forget graves. We could just sell our bodies to those Haunted Houses that pop up every year at Halloween. Then instead of just Memorial Day, our relatives can come and see us for the entire month of October.

For the environmentalists at Halloween, they can just have their bodies cremated and there ashes sprinkled over a corn maze as fertilizer.

Cremation is becoming more increasingly popular. You’d have to acknowledge the positive aspects of having your dead relative’s ashes right there at your house. Now instead of going to your dead relative’s grave for a picnic on Memorial Day, you can barbeque with your dead relative anytime in the comfort of your own back yard.

So as you visit a grave or two next Monday, remember that some day hopefully somebody will be visiting you. So plan ahead folks. I told my wife I want my tombstone to be designed in the shape of a barbeque. I’m also going to buy up all the plots around me and then burry a couple of those huge underground tanks they store gas in, only I’m going to fill those with beer and install above ground tap. You can rest assured my relatives won’t be just visiting me on Memorial Day. At the very least I’ll also be guaranteed Super Sunday.

Have a great memorial day weekend!

TUNE IN MONDAY MAY 8, 2006 TO SALT LAKE’S KBER 101.1 WITH MICK AND ALLEN AT 5:10 PM TO HEAR JOHN READ THIS BLOG FOR HIS COMMENTARY SEGMENT, “MOYER ON THIS…”

Several weeks ago a Brigham University Study concluded that on average, Mormons in Utah are 4.6 pounds fatter than non-Mormons… Yeah… And I need a university study to figure that out?  I went to BYU fifteen years ago and one of the oldest jokes there was did you hear about the car that swerved to miss the BYU Coed? It ran out of gas.

Now apparently it’s not just BYU coeds that are fat anymore. Take a look at the average menu at a Mormon pot luck supper. I think the reason why they call them funeral potatoes is because all that fat and cholesterol from the five pounds of melted cheese leads straight to a heart attack. It’s enough to scare Richard Simmons straight.

And let’s not overlook Sunday meetings at a Mormon Church; all that sitting around for three hours. Take a lesson from the Catholics. At least in their mass they’re getting in a solid cardio vascular workout. And if you’re an altar boy you get an additional workout just by running from the Priests.

Try moving into any neighborhood in Utah and the first thing that happens is the Mormon families show up on your door step saying “Welcome to the neighborhood! You’re one of us! Here are some fresh baked brownies, and cookies, and other treats!” Apparently their way of getting you to fit in is by getting you to be as fat as everybody else. The problem is you fit into your neighborhood, now you can’t fit into your pants.

Mormons have come a long way from the pioneers that pulled handcarts carrying their every possession two thousand miles across the country. Now that was a work out. The closest thing a Mormon gets to doing that today is pushing a shopping cart at the Super Walmart.

They say sex burns calories. And Mormons are having so many kids you’d think they’d be as skinny as an extra from the movie Schindler’s List. Of course once you’re done having children, I can imagine how difficult it would be for a married couple to find some quiet alone time with nine kids running around the house. At least if you’re a polygamist you can tag team each other. One wife baby-sits the kids while the other wife is with the husband making more kids. Polygamists are a group of people you would think would be in great shape what with between making babies, taking care of them -- and running from the cops.

I don’t know if polygamist fundamentalist are skinnier than regular Mormons. I just know the reason why they call it Polygamy Beer is because you have to drink for or five of those things before the polygamous wives start to look good.  Four quarters equals a dollar but four ugly women does not one good looking chick make.

The obesity issue among Mormons has gotten so bad, the Mormon Church, and I kid you not, has now called some of its members to be “Wellness Missionaries.” These are missionaries that teach people how to loose weight and get into shape.  I think Gold’s Gym already has people like that: they’re called personal trainers.

I mean how exciting is that missionary call?  You got friends going to the Tokyo Japan Mission, The Rio de Janeiro Brazil Mission, and you get a called to the Kentucky Fried Chicken Mission.

Now we Mormons are faithful people, give us credit for that. Last year we were challenged by our church leaders to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year and most of us followed through. How about this year they challenge all the fat Mormons loose thirty pounds? (Sixty if you're polynesian.)

I think a weight loss challenge like that would solve the obesity issues, but it might create a few more problems.

There will be those that are struggling with it. Sneaking food they shouldn’t. I can imagine some poor Mormon wife flipping on the light in the basement to catch her husband hiding in the corner secretly scarfing down Ho Ho’s. Suddenly chocolate is the new porn.

Judgmental Mormons would no doubt be eyeballing their fellow ward members each Sunday trying to determine whether or not they are losing weight. Those chatty Kathy Relief Society sisters would be gossiping at the fact that someone saw sister so and so at the Costco and she was buying case lot of Snickerdoodles.

I would of coure use my creative resourcefullness to cash in. I plan to take some Mormons hymns and redo them 70’s disco style for work out music. The CD is called: “Sweatin’ To The Spirit.”

The menu at the Mormon Pot Luck supper would be better. Though somebody might have to explain that just because you put shredded carrots in green Jell-O salad, that doesn’t make it health food.

The one thing Mormons understand when it comes to dieting is Diet Coke. They’re usually drinking it to wash down that bacon triple cheeseburger and cheddar fries. Mormons are commanded not to drink coffee or tea. Yet many Mormons guzzle down more Diet Coke in less time it takes the BYU Cougars to fumble a ball. So coffee bad, Coke good. Sometimes I think the only difference between a Mormon and a non-Mormon is the temperature of their caffeine.

So here’s to hoping all those fat Mormons can slim down. And if they can’t, Utah has the highest rate of anti-depressant use in the country; at least we can still manage a way to feel good about ourselves.