I’ve just scored an exclusive interview with Gene Spriggs, charismatic creator of the Christian cult: The Twelve Tribes of Israel. Spriggs, a former guidance counselor and carnival barker, is usually quiet about his cult. He’s allowed me, however, a rare visit to his headquarters.
SW:
“So Gene, how did you come up with the concept of creating a cult? I mean, was the counseling crap too challenging? Did you get sick of sucking up to students’ parents?”
GS:
“Well, I wasn’t making much money in the school system, so I decided to start my own ‘business.’ Several sociological studies, taught me a lot about the pliability of people. I also researched religious cults. My experience as a carnival barker, pulled the circus scam together, too.”
SW:
“Sounds like a sensible plan. I’ve actually experienced one of your communities in Cambridge, NY.
We’ve even been to a few of their Friday night dinners. Although they seem like friendly folks, we felt like we were surrounded by Stepford Wives and their henpecked husbands. They don’t ever reveal what they’re thinking, or who they really are. It’s like they’ve taken a sworn statement of silence and secrecy.”
Gene looks away, and starts to fidget. I can tell that I’ve pushed a big button. Apparently, he’s heard this before. He starts to take out his Bible. God damn it! I hate hearing scriptures quoted out of context. He glances at me, then appears to have changed his mind. Perhaps, he senses that I’m an unrepentant sinner, and immune to futile salvation attempts.
SW:
“Gene, who are the best candidates for joining your cult?”
GS:
“Well, we attract weirdos from all walks of life. We have a myriad of misfits, kooky castoffs, the depressed and disenfranchised, dimwits, troubled teens, unhappy housewives, sick seniors, spiritual seekers & sleepwalkers, the mentally ill, lonely losers, and folks with no families. We’re good at discerning, those who are vulnerable victims.”
SW:
“Isn’t that, ah, a little predatory?”
GS:
“No! We offer them the facade of family, fellowship, and food. We also give them a superficial sense of contributing to a greater cause – like the funding of my Bahamas beach property.”
SW:
“I’m also impressed, that they ‘donate’ all of their possessions and property to The Twelve Tribes. And they’re certainly not living in shacks. They paid $500,000, cash, for their Cambridge ‘compound.’ How did you cunningly convince, total strangers to give up their gelt? I don’t get it.”
GS:
“Well, it’s clear that many stupid sheeple people, don’t want to control their own lives. It’s simpler, for them to abdicate all personal responsibilities. They prefer to be a part of the human herd, rather than think independently. Then, you just throw in some psychological sprinkles of Jewish guilt, and add a decent dose of eternal damnation. Voila! It’s the right, religious ‘recipe’ for training them to be good little disciples!”
SW:
“Wow! I wish that I’d have thought of that. I’d have my own comedy cult, by now. Could you teach me how to start one? I promise, that I won’t compete with you.”
GS:
“Sorry, I can’t do that. You have to be chosen for this line of work. It’s kinda like a calling.”
SW:
“I understand, but you can’t blame a gal for trying. I’ve also read online, about allegations of authoritative abuse, harsh punishment of children, and other negative aspects of your community. Is there anything, that you’d like to say in your defense?”
GS:
“Well, you can’t please everyone. I’m only human. If a bunch of wimpy whiners want to kvetch about my practices, I can’t control them.”
SW:
“And it’s obvious, Gene, that ‘control’ is your brainwashing, bottom line. Once you can control your cult, you can get them to do anything. Look at the moronic Moonies and the hokey, Hare Krishnas. How they convinced their foolish followers, to wear ugly orange robes in public is beyond me. Speaking of fashion, or the lack thereof – I’ve also noticed, that your drones dress like hopeless hippies. Both genders have long hair, and the women don’t wear either makeup or jewelry.”
GS:
“Well, we don’t want to encourage superficial vanities in either sex. That’s why they’re not allowed any adornment. The long hair and unkempt beards, are supposed to resemble biblical patriarchs. Basically, we want them to look like they’re ‘back to the land’ Vermonters, time-trapped in 1967.”
SW:
“Groovy, Gene! I totally dig what you’re doing, dude. I can relate. It’s much cheaper to buy clothes from cruddy thrift stores, rather than retail. Finally, we can agree on something.”
Unfortunately, I don’t think that we’ve still really bonded yet. I can tell that he wants to wrap up the interview. He’s got a bulky bank bag, that he needs to deposit. I almost pity the poor, stupid souls who’ve entrusted him with their finances.
GS:
“Apparently, both you and your husband aren’t willing to join our cult, give me your money, and change your beliefs. Although you could try us out. We’d put you to work in our soap factory, and your handy husband could pick potatoes.”
SW:
Gee, Gene. As totally tempting as that sounds, we’ll pass on your gracious offer. I’d become a Kansas manicurist, before joining your crazy cult or any other. And my husband has a bad back, he peels potatoes – he doesn’t pick them. We won’t live by your ridiculous, ‘religious’ rules, and made-up, meshuganah mythologies.”
Suddenly, Spriggs picks up his battered Bible. He leaves the table, and doesn’t even bid me goodbye. Was it something that I said? I still had some curious questions to ask him. And I wanted to tell him, how much I loathed their lousy, lemon mate. I also wanted to inquire, as to why his cult ate with chopsticks. It’s probably less silverware to wash. Whatever the case may be, it all comes down to Spriggs. He arbitrarily invents, idiotic customs for his groveling, grownup groupies. “And that’s why they call him, the leader of the cult.”
Unless you live under a rock, you’ve heard about Patricia Krentcil. The Nutley, New Jersey, middle-aged mom, allegedly took her daughter into the tanning both. The issue is, her daughter is only five. Not only is crispy Krenticl, infamous for her leathery look – she inspired her own action figure. The bronzed broad, was also spoofed on SNL. Apparently, she’s recently been blacklisted from over 60 tanning salons, too. They actually have a few photos of her, displayed under their desks, so their employees will recognize her. Double duh, dimwits. She’s more recognizable now, than an Arab terrorist wearing a turban. Additionally, she’s under investigation, by the NJ Department of Health.
