The sun is shinning, and the sky is clear. It’s the perfect summer day. But what’s that I hear? The clickity Clack of tires? The polite little ring of a bell? My eyes grow wide and my heart is cold with fear. It’s the Mormons on bikes, and they’re almost here. With their white collar and tie, and their precious book by their sides. I run inside and deadbolt the doors. I remember the last time, the screams the horrors. With their matching Backpacks and helmets, they step onto my porch. Pulling out their pamphlets, on the door is a peaceful rap. I remember the debates and the insistence of all their Mormon crap. Looking out the window I can see them perfectly clear. No need to worry. The Mormons on bikes are here.