Aldmo leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on his desk, closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. 'Shit, I have got to get rid of this cult!!'
Admo had picked up the cult while in eastern Germany, sort of inheriting it. He had been touring, in a broken down van, with a Rick James cover band. They were playing at a small pub when the cults fundamentally whacko leader fell over dead.
Something about Admo singing on the stage under the lights caught them somehow, and they prayed on the matter and decided to elect him the new head of their cult.
He stayed up all night after the gig listening to them tell him about basically being controlled by a fundamentalist guy who had whacky beliefs about the colors of toothbrushes changing ones psychic aura and all sorts of crap that made Admo laugh his ass off, at first... until after three days of their incessently following him everywhere, he started to realize that since they had all been raised in the cult, they basically had no idea how to navigate the world on their own.
Over the week they stayed at the village he was just drunk and coked up enough to think he could help them out by trying to talk them out of being religous. A period their literature referred to as The Great Testing, after a lie he had made up when he realized that someone was going to have to lead the cult, and he figured that it was probably better to have a scientific atheist run a religion than about anyone else. Not to mention, they turned out to have a decked out touring bus and a hell of a lot of cash. And they were pretty good roadies and the chicks were hot and.... one thing turned into another and three years later he was the leader of the largest cult in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
"I am fucking not evil enough to run a goddamn religon." He told himself.
For the last year he had been trying to find some religious type to take over the cult, but they were all either weirdos or full of shit or something else that he couldn't stand. "They're like my pets, now." He said this without any denigration intended at all, because he was a devote pet owner, and indeed was partial of saying he liked animals better than people and was secretly afraid it was true.
"Aldmo, old boy, what if you should have a cult, just to make them safer than they would be without? They're seldom depressed, they love all that tougue talking and crap... No, I gotta get rid of this cult."
And he did. Simply walked away... and spent a year washing dishes and reading a lot at libraries.
A few years later, Admo was sitting alone having breakfest in an empty house reading the paper and came across three names he recognized from the cult -- all dead from a serial killer, who just happened to be able to sing an almost uncanny Elvis.
"Shit, there just is no fucking Moral to anything, is there?" He told a peice of toast.
A cat walked up to his chair, rubbed against the leg. Admo reached down and petted the gray tiger, then scooped it up and set the purring cat on his lap. "Maybe I should have kept them as pets?"
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