So, maybe the “cult of darkness” idea isn’t the best, mainly because although evil has its appeal (look at how many people think Darth Vader is sexy – and he’s a barbecued walking corpse in an iron lung), it doesn’t really have much in the way of true heroes to look up to. Speaking of heroes…you know, celebrity worship is big these days. But what celebrity would work to build a cult around? It’d have to be a dead one, to avoid sharing the profits – er, donations. And if the celebrity is dead, there’s always the old “messiah will return” angle, which is an added plus (look at how well it worked for that Jewish carpenter guy – 2,000 years later, people are still waiting for him to come back). Dead celebrities are big business. If they can sell DVDs, commemorative coins, and other trinkets, by Jove they can sell religion.
When you say, “cult of celebrity”, the first name that should pop into your head is “Elvis Presley”. There are, after all, those who already believe he was the messiah and will come again, and thousands more who enjoy his music and wish there was a way they could be closer to the King without violating that restraining order keeping them from entering Graceland again. Elvis’s smiling, pompadour-wearing mug already appears on everything from Pez dispensers to overpriced cold-cast porcelain statues, and he probably has more icons painted of him than the aforementioned Jewish carpenter (and let’s face it – Jesus’s paintings aren’t usually on velvet).
There are, of course, two problems with this plan of turning Elvis’s popularity into a religion. Well, three, if you include one of the problems with Pat Robertson-esque televangelism, namely that the general run of Elvis aficionados doesn’t have much in the way of coin. Also like televangelism, a large enough customer – er, believer base does make up for that some. After all, there’s enough white trash in America to make gilded plastic Elvis clocks hand-painted by Chinese children (with lead paint) profitable. The first, relatively minor, problem is that there’s already a Church of Elvis out there, proclaiming that he will return with a holy gyration of his hips on that day of arockaning (see how well Elvis fits into religious themes?) to save us all. No, really, there is. The idea’s been taken.
The biggest problem, however, is the Presley Estate itself. While Elvis’s heirs and business managers, in the good tradition of Colonel Parker himself, have turned the King into a brand rivaling Coca-Cola and Microsoft. They are no strangers to whoring out Elvis, and will gladly lend his name, signature, facial likeness, and/or desiccated remains to anyone who pays them truckloads of gold bullion in licensing fees, but they don’t take kindly to religion. Not so much on any theological basis, but because a hypothetical Church of Elvis would be unlikely to be able to pay the rates to use the Sequined One’s name. They don’t take kindly to copyright infringement, either (not unlike the Scientologists). So sadly, a prospective new Church of Elvis (perhaps “The Reformed Church of the True Gospel of Elvis, to distinguish it from the old one) would have to pay too much in royalties to the Presley Estate to ever turn much of a profit.
I had almost given it up, until today. Today, it hit me. The perfect messiah for a new age, an age of enlightenment and mass consumerism. A man admired by some and loved by all (aside from millions of homeless). Ronald Wilson Reagan, a great man who lives on in our hearts, our minds, and as a disembodied head in a jar in Area 51. And if we can raise enough money to build him a new robotic body, when the stars come right, Reagan will rise again from the grave to rule America kindly and justly for all eternity (praise Capitalism!). Indeed, brothers and sisters, give until it hurts, because the sooner we raise enough money, the Gipper will live and reign for all eternity (praise Capitalism!). And during his reign, it will always be morning in America, even in the evening!
We have a rendezvous with destiny. We will preserve for our children this, the last best hope of man on Earth, or we will sentence them to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness. If we fail, at least let our children and our children’s children say of us we justified our brief moment here. We did all that could be done (praise Capitalism!).
Ronnie’s words sure make good religion, don’t they? I added the “praise Capitalism!” part because it makes a good call-and-response thing for the congregation, but otherwise that’s the Gipper’s own inspiring prophesy.
Even discounting his fine speechifying (which some say was a result of just having good writers – maybe if Jesus had writers like Ronnie’s, he wouldn’t have ended up on that tree), Reagan’s popular, and you won’t hear too many people who dislike him (most of those who do are too busy rabidly chanting about the evils of the current administration to speak out against a prospective Reagan cult). He was ahead of his time in rejecting racism, he had lots of friends in Hollywood (which again, would be excellent for attracting rich and gullible celebrities), and he liked jellybeans (which are much more fun for communion than bread and wine). I don’t really see Nancy or Ron “Fruit of the Loom” Jr. having much of a problem with me starting a church following the Gipper’s teachings. It fits in well with good old-fashioned American consumerism (which is making a comeback after those dark and nasty times of the 90s, when immoral things like environmentalism made headway). And the proposed theology of Reagan rising again in a robot body appeals not only to neo-conservatives, but to mecha fans who might otherwise feel alienated by mainstream religions that reject the notions of robots with souls.
I see the Church of the Immortal Robot Reagan being a big success. Now, anybody know how I go about getting the forms to apply for non-profit status?
The Chef was born 856 years ago on a small planet orbiting a star in the Argolis cluster. It was prophesied that the arrival of a child with a birthmark shaped like a tentacle would herald the planet's destruction. When the future Chef was born with just such a birthmark, panic ensued (this would not be the last time the Chef inspired such emotion). The child, tentacle and all, was loaded into a rocket-powered garbage scow and launched into space. Unfortunately, the rocket's exhaust ignited one of the spectators' flatulence, resulting in a massive explosion that detonated the planet's core, destroying the world and killing everyone on it.
When the would-be Chef awoke from his torpor, he looked around at the new world he found himself on. His first words were, “Hey, this place sucks." Disguising himself as one of the planet's dominant species of semi-domesticated ape, the being who would become known as the Chef wandered the Earth until he ended up in its most disreputable slum - Paris, France.
Taking a job as a can-can dancer, the young Chef made a living that way until one day one of the cooks at a local bistro fell ill with food poisoning (oh, bitter irony). In a desperate move, the bistro's owner rushed into one of the local dance halls, searching for a replacement. He grabbed the ugliest can-can dancer he could find, and found himself instead with an enterprising (if strange) young man who now decided, based on this random encounter, to only answer to the name “Chef".
His success as a French chef was immediate (but considering that this is a country where frogs and snails are considered delicacies, this may or may not be a significant achievement). Not only was the Chef's food delicious, it also kept down the local homeless population. He rose to the heights of stardom in French cuisine, and started a holy war against the United Kingdom to end the reign of terror British food had inflicted on its citizens.
When the Crimean War broke out around France, the Chef assisted Nikola Tesla and Galileo in perfecting the scanning electron microscope, which was crucial in driving back the oncoming Communist hordes. It would later be said that without the Chef, the war would have been lost. He was personally awarded a Purple Heart by the King of France.
After that, the Chef traveled to America, home of such dubious culinary delights as McDonald's Quarter Pounder With Cheese. He immediately adopted the Third World nation as his new home, seeing it as his job to protect and enlighten it. When the Vietnam War began, he immediately volunteered and served in the Army of the Potomac under Robert E. Lee and General Patton. During the war, the Chef killed dozens of Nazis, most of them with his bare hands.
Marching home from war across the floor of the Atlantic Ocean, stark-naked and freezing, the Chef wound up on the shores of Mexico. He spent several years there, drinking tequila with Pancho Villa and James Dean. He put his culinary skills to the test when he invented the 5,000-calorie Breakfast Chili Burrito With Orange Sauce (which is today still a favorite in some parts of Sonora).
Eventually, the Chef returned to his adopted home of America, where he met a slimy, well-coiffed weasel who was starting up a new kind of buffet - one dedicated to providing the highest-quality unmentionable appetizers to the online community. The Chef dedicated himself to spreading the word of his famous Lard Sandwich (two large patties of fried lard, in between two slices of toasted buttered lard, with bacon and cheese), as well as occasionally writing about his opinions on less-important topics than food.
Every word of this is true, if only in the sense that every word of this exists in the English language.
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