Last night, John and I were on the phone, telling each other how bored we are. Husbandrinka is away until Sunday. Everything on TV sucks. John’s DVD player is not working, despite his having had it repaired twice. We have nothing to look forward to.
I suggested that we try to become religious. You know, to give our life meaning and happiness and shit like that.
“That’s so weird that you suggested that,” John said. “I just watched a program on cults last night.”
Clearly, that is a sign. John saw a program, much in the way that Moses saw a Burning Bush, so we are well on our way to religious fanaticism!
“Well,” I asked him. “Is it for us?”
Unfortunately, according to John, it isn’t for us, because it involves many group activities and manual labor. And although John didn’t mention this explicitly, the chances that the cult leader will work our last nerve is really high. God, if we get one of those cult leaders who says “axe” or “youse”, that’s going to be really, really hard for me. I mean, can you ask for a transfer to a different cult leader, or how does it work?
“Hey, maybe we can become cult leaders!” I suggested. John liked the idea because that would mean less work for us. The only problem with our plan was that we couldn’t decide which one of us would be the leader–he’s gay and I have freckles, neither quality historically screams “follow me to salvation”. Also we don’t have charismatic personalities and are generally very annoying. And the followers seem kind of needy. Besides, papa would totally kill me if I became less Jewish.
So for now, at least, John and I are cultless. Maybe some day.