You know me. I always throw myself into something new and get my hopes up, but I joined this cult with very clear intentions: in nine months time, I would be part of a national scandal so deep-seated, unsettling and bone-chilling that national news outlets would ruin my family name for years to come. But so far that doesn’t seem to be panning out.
No suicide pacts have been planned. No one has asked for donations, which probably rules out money-laundering schemes. And although I interrogate her every night, it appears no one has even tried to kidnap my daughter, let alone scare her into silence by forcing her to watch the graphic murder of her childhood best friend and then compel her to help bury the friend’s remains in a shallow grave off the interstate highway.
I can’t help but wonder: is anyone even trying? Is the magical, 1970s heyday for cults gone for good? I thought the whole purpose of this organization was to resurrect that nostalgic feeling of obedience and commitment within our community. Now I’m not so sure what the intentions of this group really are.
No one is deliriously happy to the point that strangers are questioning their sanity. None of my fellow parishioners have invited me to partake in a communal sexual ritual to awaken the dead, or place a hex on targeted politicians who sit on committees that would have the oversight authority to investigate this group further. I haven’t even been asked to sell my property and move to an undisclosed location in the South American jungle.
If we’re not hiding or covering anything up, are we even doing anything wrong? And if we’re not doing anything wrong, why am I here?
If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said that watching Wild Wild Country on Netflix was the best decision I’d ever made, but now I’m wondering if it set me up with unrealistic expectations. At this current church, everyone is participating in bake sales and youth group athletics and religious education on Sundays, but where is the dictatorial fear and communal living environments I was promised?
I’m beginning to question if others are lacking the motivation and dedication I have. Cults aren’t for sissies. If you’re not willing to look the other way and continue to pay the church’s leader/your child’s sexual assailant while convincing yourself that this is all in the name of eternal salvation and the souls of your descendants, then you should LEAVE RIGHT NOW, STACEY.
Ya know what I mean?
I hate to badmouth people and question their motives so directly, but I would say it to Stacey’s face. Sometimes I feel like she’d choose the psychological health and wellbeing of our children above any self-sabotaging, spiritually-transformative, mass-suicide pact we would ever do—which I swear is right around the corner if we could ever just pick a fuckin’ date. So many folks are out on PTO. It’s unbelievable. I’m not opposed to doing it via Webex either.
So far we’re only required to sit in church for an hour on Sundays and follow ten rules to be a “good person,” but even that is bullshit. If you break a rule, no one is sacrificed. Not even your wife, which is unfortunate because I’m sick of Stacey. They just ask you to apologize and then forgive you. These rules are basically just loose guidelines.
Where’s the backbone? Where’s the drama? And at what point do I see God’s face and understand the basic truths of the universe? Or minimum, get in the papers for my participation in a hate group? I refuse to believe that placing a publicist and makeup guru on retainer in preparation for my numerous court appearances in the next couple of months was a poor decision.
If this cult doesn’t get off their asses, stop singing their hymns, and continue supporting what appear to be legitimate charities, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands. None of the virgin children will be safe… except for my own kids because I feel like that’s too obvious and mainstream to start with your own.
Anyways, you’ve been a doll. I’ll take the usual: a double venti grande caramel macciato. And a morning bun.
Thanks, Jeremiah.