Reply #8: Well, cults *can* be fun, if you go in with the right attitude.

[deucemagnet]

I saw this in a local rag circulating in the bars when I lived in Buffalo:

<snip>

“If we’re going to do this,” said BEAST staffer Josh Bunting, divvying up a hefty pile of powerful blue-stemmed mushrooms, “we may as well do it right.” I couldn’t have agreed more. We choked down the decidedly unsavory psychedelics, rolled a joint, and started talking strategy.

“What do you think?” I asked, donning a latex alien mask and affixing a “Hello, my name is Xenu” sticker to my lapel. Bunting grunted his approval, then pulled an Incredible Hulk mask from a bag and started laughing maniacally. The fungi had begun to take hold. We quickly conceived and executed one last detail, designing and printing a stack of pro-Xenu educational leaflets to distribute at the party .We had our shtick, and we were out the door.

Traveling on foot, we put on our masks as the church entered sight. There was no evidence of a party. We crept around to the side entrance to see what we could see. A lone receptionist manned a wide desk in front of the elevators. She was not in costume. Her name was Tiffany, a very bone-able specimen I’d meet earlier in the week. We rushed in like kamikaze. “Hi!” she screeched with child-like exuberance, fixing her widened peepers on us and grinning ear to ear. As quickly as her expression reached its exalted apogee it came crashing down in a painful wince as her eyes panned across my nametag. “That’s real funny guys, real cute,” she sneered. Pleased by her obvious discomfort, we advanced insidiously on rubbery legs.

“RAAARGH! I’m Xenu!” I growled, fighting uncontrollable tremors and producing the pro-Xenu leaflets from my breast pocket. I handed her one over the desk, and asked where the party was. “Fifth floor,” she said curtly. “Is there booze up there?” I inquired. There wasn’t. Though it had been billed as a free party, she claimed there was a $5 cover in an effort to be rid of us. The Incredible Hulk fished through his wallet. I could tell he was getting angry. The scientologists wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. She told us to sign in. My rattled nervous system uncooperative, I made a mark resembling a seismic reading. Tiffany called upstairs and told us we needed to see Teresa’s “really great, really funny costume.” I helped myself to the candy dish, and we waited anxiously. Tiffany, meanwhile, wore a shit-eating grin, like she had just told on us and we were about to be grounded.

<snip>

more: http://buffalobeast.com/110/cult_classic_PF.htm