Join My Cult... Please!

I’m beginning to think there might be something to this cult business. The latest news from the world of cults is, of course, the dramatic carting-off by Texas authorities of hundreds of children and women from the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints Yearning For Zion ranch located outside Eldorado, Texas. (Why does my home state attract all the weirdoes?) This cult practices polygamy, wears 19th century clothing, isolates itself from the modern world, and its women all have incredibly horrible hairdos, which makes one wonder why the men want to practice polygamy in the first place.

What sparked the raid on the ranch by Texas authorities is the alleged sexual abuse by the cult’s menfolk—namely, their habit of marrying multiple teenage girls, some as young as 13. Sounds like a sweet deal for the middle-aged male control freaks, and quite an ordeal for the young girls. The cult’s leader, Warren Jeffs, is currently jailed in Utah State Prison for forcing a 14-year-old girl to marry a billygoat named Jebediah—or something like that. Jeffs's followers consider him to be God’s living prophet, and his word is law. Being in prison no doubt lends him some persecuted-by-the-ungodly prophet cred, which is a bonus I personally could do without.

But enough about the downside of cult life. Let’s consider the positive aspects, which are largely bestowed on the cult leader. And thus it should be. If you’re controlling the lives of hundreds or thousands of people, you’ve got to have some perks. I’m thinking that if my bid for the presidency doesn’t pan out, being a cult leader might be a viable alternative. But the word “cult” has such a negative connotation, I'd use the less pejorative word “sect” for my group. Although to be honest, the only real difference I can discern between a cult and a "real" religion is membership size.

Before starting a cult, there’s plenty of negative press to overcome. Cult leaders have gotten a bad rap over the years, thanks to the likes of Jim Jones, David Koresh, that Heaven’s Gate dude, and now Jeffs. At least Jeffs’s followers are still among the living. Cult leaders are generally perceived as being horny, conniving, megalomaniac sociopaths who prey upon the ignorant, desperate and mentally fragile—in other words, they’re like personal injury lawyers without college degrees. But I’m beginning to see it differently. These leaders provide a valuable public service by giving people who are spiritually and emotionally adrift a place to stay and something to believe in—people who might otherwise become fanatical Barack Obama supporters or “American Idol” contestants. Of course, cult leaders do have a tendency to lead their followers to suicide and/or kill them, but those are occupational hazards I’d be determined to avoid.

For a few nights now, I’ve been lying in bed fleshing out the details of what my cult—I mean, sect—would be like. I picture myself languishing on a ranch somewhere, growing vegetables, raising livestock, leisurely rewriting the Book of Revelation so that it has a happier ending, and occasionally cleaning the automatic weapons stockpiled in the storm cellar to fend off law enforcement interlopers. I’d give inspirational evening sermons to my growing flock of followers, write the group’s manifesto, and invite the attractive female members over the age of 18 to come forth and multiply with me. I’d counsel the lost (I knew that psychology class I took in college would come in handy someday), succor the anguished, and generally exude benevolence from my very pores. And in my spare time, I’d crank out a few bad science fiction novels and a how-to-think-right tome just like L. Ron Hubbard did. It would be fun. And I’d hang a colorful banner over the entrance that welcomes newcomers with these words: “Where the Koolaid is always safe to drink.”

Who says paradise can’t exist on Earth? Yes, I see it now. This is my destiny!

Last night I was discussing my plans over dinner with a female friend.

“Why should anyone follow you?” she asked, with a tad too much belligerence.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to justify my position as the Chosen One by making a sentence out of the fourth letter of every sixth word in a certain passage in the Bible, like in all those ‘Bible code’ bestsellers,” I explained. “I haven’t yet found a passage that fits, but I’m working on it.”

“And what’s your message?” she asked.

“Message? I guess I don’t really have one, besides love one another, live in harmony with the Earth, and don’t trust the government.”

She made a face. “That’s no good. A cult leader—“

“Sect leader,” I corrected.

She frowned. “—a cult leader has gotta have an apocalyptic message, complete with a doomsday scenario where the members are lifted up to Heaven or rescued by a UFO or whatever, while everyone left on Earth is toast. Otherwise you’re just a Unitarian.” Hmmm. She had a point.

“And I hate to burst your bubble about becoming the Hugh Hefner of the wacked-out set,” she continued, “but most women who join cults look like Rosie O’Donnell on a bad day.”

“Maybe I’ll hold a swimsuit competition for potential female members. After all, the body is the temple of God, and God doesn’t like bad architecture.”

“Will the men have to compete, too?”

“Of course not. Why would I want to see men in bikinis?” I said. “Any man who’s willing to be castrated can join.”

“Castrated? Why?”

“To keep their minds on their spiritual practice.”

“So you’ll be castrated too, then?” she smirked.

“Duh—no! I’ve got to spread the Divine Seed.”

She shook her head. “Why is that men always think they have the Divine Seed? Maybe it’s women who have the Divine Eggs.”

“I’m afraid not. Women are merely child-bearing vessels and helpmates to their men.”

“What did you say?” A vein began to throb dangerously in her forehead.

“Uh, I’m just quoting the Southern Baptists. God is a firm believer in the patriarchy, you know. Do you think I should include that in my sect’s manifesto?”

“If I were you,” she fumed, “I wouldn’t quit my day job just yet.” With that, she stormed out of the restaurant.

Perhaps she’s right. Although I can see the many benefits of running a sect or cult or whatever you wish to call it, there could be drawbacks as well. The hours might be long—what with my flock bugging me with interminable questions about God, the ultimate nature of the universe, and what type of underwear is best for remaining chaste, yet attractive—and there’s always the chance of a protracted armed standoff with federal agents or Texas Rangers, which would put a real damper on my movie-going habits. And it’s really hard to effectively screen all applicants. Someone who’s really crazy might join up and decide that he in fact is the Chosen One and fillet me some night while I’m sleeping.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a sect leader after all. For the moment, I’ll continue to focus on my run for the presidency. So I’ll remind you again—vote for me!

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