Dear Anyone Who Might Be Interested in Joining My Cult,

Do you feel lost and alone, like when your mom “accidentally” traded you to one of your neighbours for a toaster oven when you were five?  Do you fell hurt and confused, like when your father told you he didn’t love you anymore because he could no longer claim you as a dependant?  Do you feel angry and betrayed, like when you thought you had won that free coke but it turned out the contest was already over?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, then I just might be able to help you. 

On the other hand, I might not.  Don’t get me wrong; I’d be more than willing to buy you a coke if I thought that would make you feel better, but that other stuff to do with your parents is probably best left to professionals.  After all, I’m just a guy who works at a bookstore.  Still, severe emotional problems aren’t necessarily a barrier to becoming a member of my cult.

“But Steve,” you ask, “how can I decide if I want to joint your cult if I don’t know what it’s all about?”  That’s an excellent question, and I thank you for taking the time to ask it.

Let me start out by telling you what my cult isn’t all about.  For starters, I will never ask you to drink punch, unless maybe (1) we’re at a wedding reception or other large, festive gathering, (2) I’m absolutely sure that the punch isn’t poisoned, and (3) you look unusually thirsty.  Secondly, I give you my word that there will be no attempts to catch rides with passing spaceships, although as I don’t have a car, we will be forced to catch rides with passing buses and taxis from time to time.  Thirdly, I swear to you that there will be no attempts to make contact the dead (with the possible exception of Courtney Love, and even then we’d just be using the telephone).  And, lastly, I can honestly tell you that I don’t want your money.  Well, that’s not entirely true; there’s a yearly membership fee of $29.95 that goes towards administrative costs, and decorations and catering for our annual sock-hop.  Still, as cults go, I’d say that’s pretty reasonable, wouldn’t you?

But enough of what my cult isn’t, and on to what it is.  Members of my cult will be required to phone me once in a while and ask me how I’m doing.  I’m not looking for free therapy here, I just want someone to make sure that I’m not trapped under the fridge again, or that I haven’t become irretrievably depressed after watching a show on how many unwanted kittens and puppies there are wandering the streets in search of food, and maybe someone to scratch them behind the ears.  Secondly, members will occasionally be asked to go see a movie with me, to go out for dinner with me, and to wish me all the best on my birthday and on major holidays.  In return, I will provide the same consideration for you.  It doesn’t sound so bad, does it?

Oh, and there’s just one last thing.  I hesitate even to mention this because it seems like such a small part of what my cult is about, but I suppose I should let you know before you commit that you will be expected to take part in a small invasion of Libya.  After all, we wouldn’t be much of a cult if we didn’t have our own country, would we? 

Anyway, just try to focus more on the non-punch drinking and going out for dinner aspects, and less on the invasion of Libya part, and I’m sure you will see that this cult represents a great opportunity to meet new and likeminded people, and, hopefully, to make some lifelong friends.

Thanks for your time,

Stephen “Loopy” Lopez

PS – Ownership of automatic weapons, camouflage outfit, and / or Aegis Class Destroyer considered an asset.