One's very own Doomsday Cult

Darn. Other than the ancient Christian rituals, I'd be in on that. *sigh*

Well, I don't mind watching them.. I suppose I'd have to participate?

I'm good with the reading, the ancient Christian rituals, and the cooking--at least occasionally, and if it doesn't have to be gourmet. Do I have to drink? It's not that I'm not appreciative of a nice glass of wine in theory, but alcohol's one of my worst migraine triggers, and I'm guessing Doomsday Cults don't stockpile huge quantities of analgesics.

Of course, having a teetotaler or two in the cult just means more liquor for the rest of you...

My husband could make the artisan whole-grain breads--he'll even bring a starter.

Sadly, I have no acquaintance with any golden-voiced celebs, but I do bring a sound appreciation of theology and geometry to the table.

I haven't read Scott Adams much since almost waking up a roommate, tearblind, gutsore, and howling, while reading back in '93 his early collection Dogbert's Clues for the Clueless. Those attuned to the humor biz might catch in the Adams passage quoted a whiff of the school of faux-naif childlike absurdism associated with Simpsons writer George Meyer, and his legendary three-off 1988 bedroom-Xeroxed 'zine Army Man ("America's Only Magazine"), whose orbit included SNL's Jack "Deep Thoughts" Handey, Ian Frazier, and Andy Borowitz, whose presiding spirits hold court now in the "Shouts and Murmurs" page of the Remnick-era New Yorker (Steve Martin might claim honorary, primus inter pares, gagfather status).*

I was all hot to load up the truck and join Rod's cult in a cup of Shenandoah'r Tea, given that the presiding goddesses would include Emmylou Harris - enabling me to bring ElH's equally sidereal sororital spirits of song, Kate and Anna McGarrigle, and the latter's younger Canadian paisans The New Pornographers (provided their divine half-time chanteuse Neko Case was also handy), et al, but -

then I banged my head on Rod's Pharisaical diktat denying the Peppers among us, forcing my red eyes and extended arms skyward after the slo-mo plaint closing every made-for-TV tear-and-jeer-jerking actioner: "WHY?"

My Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr. Pepper - think cherry Tootsie Pop that foams your mouth - done did me in, leaving Rod's apocalyptic Eden shy one Stoic, Nordic-tracking Finn-Am absurdist...since I also have an unRodly crush on puckish flame-tressed Felicia from the laundromat adverts for Cheetos,

imdb.com/media/rm319262720/nm1260407?slideshow=1

another fun "food" Crunched unto oblivion by one whose Orthodoxy in snacks drives me far further 'round the bend than does his orthodoxy in sex among other dissidents herein, I must needs style myself Lord Garth in declaring myself Not Worthy of such consecrated hosts, and allow the cascading sitcom-flashback waves
to carry me back to my cable-access days in my parents' basement...

*Comedy fans, mark well every must-read link within lit-blogging Maud Newton's 101 on this galaxy:

maudnewton.com/blog/index.php?p=925

First rule of my doomsday cult-We don't live in a cave. Unless it's a really cool outfitted one like Batmans. But I tend to view my DC as more a cyberpunk arcology done crunchy con style of course. Rule Two-Once Halle Berry becomes a member, she can basically do whatever she wants. Gun owners, home brewers, archers, comic lovers, RPGers, readers of anything except romance novels are all welcome. Gardeners will be given special privileges. Ability to discuss Christian theology, bioethics would also be a plus. People can eat and drink anything except fast food.
In the event doomsday is canceled, we go to plan B and take over the world. Like a cross between Blackwater and Amway.:)

Scott Lahti, could you please learn how to write?

Ne'mind my Doomsday cult. I want to join Rod's. If I enjoy the sound of someone else playing Bach on the cello, instead of playing it myself, do I still receive the shotgun? I can be your slightly off-balance Canadian cult member who sits on the front porch of the manor in a rocker with the gun on my lap, keeping watch for outsiders with Dr. Pepper.

O.K., I plugged in "Hadron Collider" in my Bible Code computer software program.
After a half hour the computer stopped calculating and printed out a page.
The page is from The Old Testament's Book of Numbers and mentioned something about saying goodby to the family's donkey(?). (I suppose in the days of The Old Testament many families had donkeys(?).

Here is the printout:

12th month............... 21st day.......... 2012

K................................................. ............................
...........................I...................... ..............................
..........S....................................... ............................
...................................S.............. ............................
Y....O....U.....R................................. .......................
.................................................. .............................
a.................S.............................s. .........................
G........................O........................ O.................D....................B.......... .....Y.........E.....E

I can't make it out? Anyhow, that's what it said.

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