That Time I Joined a Cult
Found out something disturbing the other night. Not even sure how or when it happened, but it turns out I’ve been in a cult.
You don’t willingly join a cult. Little by little, they lure you in. But last Wednesday, it finally dawned on me that that was exactly where I was.
Let me tell you a little bit about it.
It is run by a married couple. They have that All-American, their-picture-comes-with-the-frame look about them.
That’s how they get you.
There are about a hundred of us who show up every week.
Sometimes cult members bring additional friends into this cult (without warning them first!)
All our names are in a database so they can track who is good and who is bad.
They have brainwashed us so that even on days we don’t want to go, we eventually all end up in the same damn place.
They split us into teams and force us to compete against each other. Then they reward us with prizes if we answer their questions the way they want us to.
Sometimes teams will all wear the same clothes. This way, those team members lose their own identities to the collective.
The worst part is they ply us with food and alcohol that WE have to pay for with our own money!
When everyone agrees with them, they reward us by banging a gong, as if to say, “Job well done!”
But when we disagree with them, they ask, “Do you want to protest?” They know damn well we don’t have any power to protest, but then they (and this is ingenious) bang the gong again!
So what is it? “Job well done” or “protest”?
You know what it really is?
It’s madness.
The craziest part of all this is you know damn well that we will all be back there again next Wednesday night.
Who knew Trivia Night at the bar was a cult?
Apparently we all did.
So, when you realize that you are in a cult, you raise your glass high into the air and yell:
“SOCIAL!”
Author’s Note: If you would like to join our cult be at Willie McBride’s in Branchburg, NJ on Wednesday nights at 7:30 p.m. Tell them Al sent you (maybe I’ll get extra points)
