Now, some of you who know me might be thoroughly shocked, perhaps even headed to your doomsday bunker. How could I thank a talentless hack who has poisoned the cultural psyche with vampires whose tits sparkle? Fret not, I still despise her and wish many an unspeakable ill against her. The thing is, I’m getting to that point in my life where I’m actually expected to make money and/or live in a cardboard box under a bridge. Seeing as my degree is in creative writing, the latter is far more likely. Since I’m not too keen on that, I’ve been considering other options. To that end, I’ve been thinking of starting a cult.

I clearly have a decent enough personality for the job of dear leader, though I suppose I could stand to be a little older, but I’ve got a college degree in the field. If anybody ever does ask you what you’re going to do with an English major, cult leader isn’t too far out of your purview, especially if your emphasis is creative writing. Think of it this way, what are the major functions of a cult leader? There’s two. First, you have to convince perspective cultists that you understand how terrible it must be for them to live with a loving family, with a nice house in the suburbs, and access to most of their materialistic wants. Most people can accomplish this bit without much training and if they lack the skill, there’s always Livejournal. The second function is trickier. Teenagers may be easy pickings, but what a cult really needs is people with some actual cash saved up. For that, you’ve got to convince people that the world is going to shit, that they’re the metaphorical toilet, and that you’re their only hope for salvation. This is where that English degree comes in handy. Not only does it afford you practice in telling elaborate fantasies, but it trains you in the art of nitpicky analysis on various ways that the privileged, hegemonic, white, ruling class aristocracy is running a global cabal to oppress the proletariat. Sure, only some of that may be true and in more complicated analysis at that, but I’m talking about starting a cult, not a MENSA chapter.

The problem with any cult start-up is staying one-step ahead of those pesky deprogrammers who have an irrational problem with my being worshiped as a God incarnate. Fortunately, even in these tough economic times, land prices have dropped and getting that creepy farm out in the middle of nowhere is once again affordable. Plus, I’m a new homeowner and I’m pretty sure I could score some farm subsidies. With the compound in place, that just leaves the ATF to deal with. Since I’m no fan of smoking and guns are out of my price range that only leaves the alcohol, which, I’m sure if we institute a policy of carding should be sufficient. I may be the grand, great, and glorious leader, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to distribute liquor to minors. There’s still the federales, but I’m pretty sure they’re not about to deploy the napalm tanks just to rescue a few Twilight fan girls, especially since I’d volunteer to torch the barn for them, thus saving tax payer money. Given my general tolerance for teenage girls who go gaga over sparkling tits, the mass suicides are going to be happening early and often anyways.

With the aforementioned economic downturn, the challenge for any perspective cult leader is to manage on a rather small overhead. I’m not starting a cult just to be loved and adored. No, like all good cult leaders, I’m in it for the money–a nice healthcare and dental plan would also be preferred. And making money means having growth potential. This is where Stephenie comes in. She’s undeniable made this the easiest time in modern history to start a cult. Forget comets, new millenniums, and skyborn spaghetti, the real potential is in angst ridden, emo, teenage girls at the local Hot Topic whose yearly masturbation habits would, if the technology were to be invented, power Lincoln, Nebraska for a month. Even better, Meyer has taught these depressed suburbanites to define their entire existence through abusive relationships with effeminate men. They’re taught to beg for validation from older males, because, ostensibly, those in their own age group are too dumb to understand them, but unfortunately those older men aren’t dumb enough to care. Hence, this is where your opportunistic potential cult leader can swoop in and grow his numbers, and should the sparkle tits saga continue, qualify for the frequent nutjob discount from the IRS. And for that, Stephenie Meyer, we thank you.