Joseph, where art thou?

So I'm at a church barbeque in someone's back yard. We're seated at picnic tables, and the yard is surrounded by a cedar fence. However, we are all 1840s Mormons, and Joseph Smith is in attendance.

A carload of 1840s rednecks pulls up, shouting about how they're "gonna git" Joseph Smith. We Real Men in the back yard, including Smith, decide on our strategy for fighting off the attacker, and we all line up, ready to rumble. Suddenly, Smith says something about needing to look behind the gate for other attackers. He opens the gate, goes through, closes it behind him, and disappears.

The rednecks enter from the other side of the yard, and the fight begins. I have the teenage son of Papa Redneck in a headlock, and he won't stop biting and thrashing, no matter what I do. I conk his head into the fence repeatedly, and he still won't stop. I advise him that he probably has a psychiatric disorder, and that I know a doctor who can help him. Next thing I know, I'm out front looking for Joseph Smith as if he's a lost puppy or something.