This Cult Can Go To Hell

“I told you so,” Helen said, taking off her blouse.

“I’m not sure what you’re happier about, the fact that the world didn’t end, or that you lived long enough to say, ‘I told you so’,” Evan dropped his pants in front of his wife.

“You actually thought that old guy knew what he was talking about!” Helen laughed, unbuckling her bra.

“Hey, you were part of the cult, too! Don’t laugh at me for believing what you believed!” This kick to his ego caused Evan to lash his tongue.

“Hey, don’t be mad at me. I tried to save us from paying next month’s membership dues. I saw it was a hoax as soon as he brought up next month’s dues. I thought, ‘why is he charging for next month when he says the world’s going to end today?’ It didn’t add up.”

“Maybe we can get a refund, seeing as the Rapture didn’t destroy the world today like he promised. False advertising is what it is.”

“I really doubt he’d give a discount. He’s pretty shady. I mean, he said we were all going to die today, but we didn’t. And, have you noticed his hair? I mean, is he looking for sympathy? Who has hair like that?”

“I thought it was prophet-like hair. All the stories of the prophets have them looking weird, being weird. Jesus could walk on water, but, he didn’t know how to dress for the beach.”

“But, now you recognize that Harold is not a prophet?”

“How can you say that? We paid next month’s dues! We’re official subscribers to his podcast!”

Helen saw her husband was dumber than she had thought. “Honey, he was wrong. He said the world was going to end today. I don’t know if you noticed, it didn’t. The world ending today was his very reason for being. That it didn’t, means he has no reason for being, at least our spiritual leader.”

“I’m still going to the bar-b-cue tomorrow,” Evan said, crawling under the covers.

Helen stood half naked in front of her husband, lying face up in bed, watching her. “You’re going? What more do you need to see the guy’s serving up shit burgers?”

“We’ve already paid for it, might as well enjoy the hotdogs, not shit burgers.”

“I don’t want anything to do with him. Ever. I’d rather eat at home, with my husband.”

“But, why give up free hotdogs?”

Helen couldn’t believe her husband. She had an urge to put her blouse back on and go out and check into a hotel or an asylum. Was he really so obtuse? “By going we’re accepting him, accepting that he got another Rapture wrong. How many Raptures do you give him before he cries wolf?”

“We’re not talking about Raptures, we’re talking hotdogs. And acid. It’s supposed to be sunny.”

“I think we need to stay away from him and his acid, Evan. He’s brainwashed you.”

“And you!”

“Not any more. I see through it now and I wish you would too. We’re not going tomorrow. We can have hotdogs here, at home. Nicer.”

“I’m going to the bar-b-cue. I paid for it, I’m going.”

“You’re paying for it in ways you don’t even see. You’re paying for it by being brainwashed, blindly brainwashed by the old guy, the con artist. Forget the money, you’re paying for it in mental capacity.”

“It’s just hotdogs. I know he was wrong. I’ll take his food and his acid, but I’ll ignore his words.”

“You say that now, before, but, what will you say tomorrow after the hotdogs and acid start kicking in? And Harold gets up and gets into one of his speeches, where he’s on fire, rolling around, speaking in tongues, what are you going to say then?”

“I probably won’t even be watching. I’ll get my fill and go.”

“You say that now. You really shouldn’t go and test and tempt yourself. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re going to get into trouble.”

“I’m fine, come on to bed, turn off the light, I’m tired,” Evan rolled away from her, on his left side.

Helen unzipped her jeans, pulled them off, thinking it was probably best Evan go to the bar-b-cue, cause she felt their marriage had reached a crossroads and she needed to see if they were heading in the same direction. If he comes back tomorrow raving about Harold’s latest prophecy, she would see it as a sign to face the Apocalypse alone.

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