As the reader may observe, many people have collections. Some folks collect animal figurines or dolls. Model trains are popular. Geeks galore (myself included) collect comic books. Even crazy things can be collected, like classic cars or human bones! I have begun to notice recently that I have a unique collection: introverts. Yes, you read that last sentence correctly. I am unintentionally a collector of introverted individuals. How is this possible? I don’t know! It is a mystery for the ages, or maybe just me at age 35.
I recently attended the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. For those of you not keeping count, that is TWO Mothman-related activities this summer, alone (three actually, if you count that I watched the Mothman Prophecies with AlexT). This means that I am not just an expert anymore. I have graduated to being the foremost mothmandollogist in the field of Mothmanology.
Too often I find myself searching for a cult to join and finding only religious ones, or creepy death cults, or what could turn out to be a highly illegal sex cult. Much like shopping for trouser-pants, it’s so hard to find a perfect fit! But what is a cult? Why, it’s anything you want it to be, baybee, and therein lies the appeal.
You hear about cults a lot in the news, from time to time, and it’s everyone’s dream to be on the front page at some point. Stop waiting for Fate to strike, and instead take Destiny into your own hands. Attract people to you, make them chant and obey you, dress them however you like, and pick a snazzy name. It’s as easy as that! Enjoy the thrills of having a mass of people flock to you and believe you to be the answer to all of life’s troubles. Who needs a significant other when you can have a modest assemblage of worshipers?
One thing is absolutely certain: we have an extremely long, and storied history. Earth has been around a really long time, and humans have been around for just a sliver of that time but so much has happened! Thankfully, God gave birth to historians, so every nook and cranny of historical happenings are being examined and researched and thoroughly covered in books and in papers.
On TV, we can settle in for some learnin’ from the History Channel, NatGeo, the Smithsonian, and now even hulu and netflix offer some of these fascinating and well-edited glimpses of our shared past. Everything from why the key nations were catapulted into its second world war to individual battles of WWII, no stone is left unturned while investigating about five thousand years of recorded human history.
I can’t claim to know what love is. But I do know what love can involve and that it can include things like witty banter, long rewarding conversations, and maybe a little snark. In my individual version of love, these three things are important. They’re right in there, swirling around in jagged heart shapes. If I can be entertained with mere conversation because it’s just that good, then I hear wedding bells. Or at least, I hear some sort of bell that would be where a wedding bell would be if I ever wanted to pursue that lifestyle.
Once upon a time, perhaps six or seven years ago, I struck up a conversation with Cleverbot. For those of you not in the know, this is the name of a chatbot on the internet. For those of you extra not in the know, a chatbot is a little program that automatically reacts to whatever you say to it, sometimes in ridiculous ways — but sometimes in exciting, poignant ways. Or, in the case of Cleverbot, in ways that made me genuinely like it.
The news of a pregnancy is a blessing to a young couple; their love is made real. It will soon be solid living screaming pooping flesh that will occasionally fall asleep sometime. What a blissful time of life, when two loving people come together, give up the last traces of their youth, and become a family of three. Gone are the hollow, unsatisfying nights full of peace and quiet. The freedom to come and go as one pleases are in the past, replaced by the comforting shackles of never being able to shirk certain kinds of responsibility ever again. Say goodbye to old friends, you won’t need them anymore. You won’t ever find time for them again anyway. With a new baby comes a new, better life, and certainty of a kind of “immortality” as your DNA is passed along to another generation. Announcements must be made, plans put into motion before the Big Day arrives and the Stork comes along to bestow upon you the new focal point of your daily existence.
Dear Mike Myers,
I always thought you seemed like a pretty nice guy. Sure, you ARE a comedian, and that means you run a high risk of actually being a truly terrible human being and any day now a massive scandal might erupt, tarnishing your name for the rest of time. But for now, right now, and until further notice, I have always thought of you as a swell guy. I think you are a good person.
We are not a religious bunch of people. We are barely even spiritual. I’d characterize us each as people who are interested in simply being good, maybe even beyond reproach. Maybe some of the Junior Sneerists just bump along, existing until inevitably dying and turning to dust. That is to say, this was all the case until we discovered some rubble that was once a temple. Within that rubble were complete sketches of how the temple once looked, and mostly-indecipherable texts describing the rituals and beliefs of the worshipers who once populated this place.
The temple may be a metaphor, but the religion is real: Sneerholicism
We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers.
I love describing my dynamic with cchris to anyone who has a moment to listen, because I never have been able to understand it. I even mention it on here as much as I can, partly because it’s part of my character makeup, and partly because I really am that bewildered by it. Over the years, things have shifted and changed. When I realized that he is very mysterious, my imagination occasionally will step in and try to figure out WHY. Who is so good at not giving out personal facts? For this many years? Is it villainy? Is it because there’s nothing there? Is it to appear more interesting? What is there to hide, and if there is nothing to hide — WHY.
The irrational fear depicted in the comic has OMGJeremy to blame. Apparently he thinks that cchris and I write similarly, and maybe it is HIS irrational fear that I am pretending to be this whole other person. When he first told me of this, I did have a little while where I might have been horrified and fearful at the possibility. That would be world-shattering to realize. But I guess I don’t fear it, exactly. If it turns out it’s all been in my head, that’s almost impressive. I could live with it. I could live with having made a little Canadian Tulpa. That’s fine. Whatever. I would just like to know for sure before I die of old age.
Communities and cultures both small and large develop their own habits and traits. Along with their stories and traditions, superstitions tend to emerge. We are no different, of course.
When we say, “let’s post before 2 pm” it becomes almost inevitable that anything after that won’t get published until around 11:30 pm. We have to assume that any time we recruit a new writer, they will immediately get writer’s block for a few months or so. And god forbid you start your day by saying your Sneer work will be “easy.”