The Root

You guys remember the viscious bishopbric of the 9,865th ward from this post? Sit down, grab a pillow children. This ranting might go on for a while.

One day myself and my dear boss whom I love, we shall refer to her as dear, were cleaning out her office. After cleaning her office dear appeared at my desk with two gloriously shining bottles of Brick Oven Root Beer. Now let me make one thing clear. Brick Oven Root Beer is unlike any beer of the root. No No my friends, this fine beverage is brewed in the restaurant and has a sweet tang of success as the bubbles slide down your throat. I don't like root beer and man I like this stuff. So after salivating after the two bottles of root beer dear boss nonchalantly asked if I would like them to which I answered a cool, "Uh, sure". Success! I had obtained a fine drink and now I needed to make a plan. Matt loves drinks and so in protection of both myself and his belly I decided to only take one bottle home and leave one bottle on my desk for another special occasion.

The night with the root of beer was glorious. Matt and I wined and dined like we were in NY about to see a Broadway show. Then suddenly and without warning our deer root beer was gone. Without fear or hesitation I declared, "Don't worry there's another bottle at work!" And me and Matt had dreams of root beer fairies brewing our soon to be devoured bottle.

I arrived at work ready to take my fine friend home for another night of drinks when to my surprise the root of beer had left. I looked right, I looked left...I even looked under my desk like maybe during the night the janitor thought this root beer should not be on the desk no it should be cleverly placed in a nook under Sarah's desk. But I found no Root Beer.

Right away I knew the culprit. It's the Rice Krispie stealing pencil using Dutch bishopbric of the 9,865th Ward! All the sudden a cloud of ideas began to brew over my head. I could see the bald first counselor with his high waters, chugging my Root Beer straight from the bottle as he counted tithing. I saw the bishop with his feet on my desk counseling a member as he took a drink of my Root Beer from a mug. I would have my vengeance I thought. They'll learn their lesson. And I began to come up with ideas of how justice could be restored to the world again. While brewing (pun totally intended) in my dark thoughts with a bitter scowl on my face my dear boss poked her head in with a nonchalant, " Sarah, I hope you don't mind. I saw you didn't take the Root Beer home so I took it." I smiled knowing that I was a fool but that the bishopbric was still Dutch.

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