[I'm trying to get back in the blogging groove, here. It make take a while for posts to become coherent or interesting. Bear with me while my mind recovers from couch rot]
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As if it weren't already apparent that the Dean For America charter group is really nothing more than a cult, they've all but given the secret away with their house party ideas.
Now, everyone knows that MaryKay(c) and Tupperware(c) are just money laundering fronts for devilish cults. (See also
(c)). Once you are indoctrinated into these organizations, there's no turning back.
They will take you under their wings, purporting to have your best interests (making money, looking beautiful and organizing your vegetables by color) in mind and all the time they are sending you subliminal messages (listen real closely next time your Tupperware(c) makes that pffft
sound). You go out, ringing doorbells and setting up house parties and before you know it, you are The Stepford Seller, reciting sales pitches that have been etched in your mind through the clever use of brainwashing disguised as product pamphlets.
And now, in addition to all the jewelry, candles, gourmet food and other sundry excuses to have parties so you can convince people to join your cult comes the Dean House Party.
Now, there's nothing wrong with political house parties. In fact, they can be kind of fun. Throw out a few bowls of chips, buy a case of Coors Light and sit around discussing the November election. Like a SuperBowl party, but without the wardrobe malfunctions.
But the Cult of Dean(r) takes it a step or two farther, obviously taking quite a few pages from the Pink Ladies of MaryKay(c), and maybe a page from Jim Jones and David Koresh. Oh, and let's not forget the Nancy Pelosi handbook of parties.
The Cult of Dean(r) give you themes. You can host a Susan B. Anthony party
(come dressed as a useless dollar coin!) or an Eyes on Washington Party
(I'll bring the Starbucks!).
And the themes are just the half of it. You can download cute invitations and colorful posters and postcards. And just like any good cult/product showcase company will do, The Cult of Dean supplies you with all the goodies needed
for a sweet party. John Kerry pinata not included.
The real story is what happens when you are at one of these house parties. The host - usually an earnest young man with a goatee - will read from some literature, maybe play a few party games, and then get on with the real deal: selling the product. As an Outkast album plays in the background, you are completely unaware that a sublimal message is being played out on an almost silent track - Howard Dean is my leader - Howard Dean is my ruler
- and suddenly your eyes are glassy and you feel a little woozy, as if something has been slipped in your drink.
Five days later, you find yourself going through your address book and writing out invitations to a Dean bash and fretting over the party games
you'll play. You have become a Deanbot and there is no turning back.
Soon, you will be the scourge of the neighborhood as you drive up and down the street in your brand new Dean-Van, using the DeanScream megaphone to attract attention and get your message across: "We're going to Maple Street! We're going to Woods Avenue! We're going to Suburban Temple!"
Ah, but don't worry. The Cult of Dean(c) only has a short hold on you. In a few days, when your leader gives his concession speech, all those radiated vibes and mind meld tricks will lose their power. Unless, of course, Dean merges with another cult company. Can the ClarkShark(c) bandwagon be far behind?