Tag: This Cult Is a Family

Did I give VHS a fair shot? Dad had a VCR, so I thought of backwards violence by default. Then nude tapes of pastors kept leaking, souring me further. But there’s decades of culture and philosophy on tape. Smart people I respect rewind every week. And modern alternatives aren’t perfect. Bots keep whispering sad kids to death, and that feels like a bug. Maybe Blockbuster held the Good Future.

One more try.

Radical.

Still radical! Just the dictionary kind. Acquire the Fire took the culture war more literally than 2027. Ron Luce wanted teens to be ready, which is pretty generous. Though I can’t remember which side of the Kidz Trenches he recruited for.

The packaging might have been a hint.

You might ask: can a black clown review this? Well, my pastor took what he could get, and the Lord transcends redlining. I’ve heard Revelations in Latin, Korean, and song.

Right, the other thing. Acquire the Fire measured gender in boot camp push-ups, and I stick to barbells like a warm blanket. The boy’s compound looks fun, but I prefer suffering with central air. It’s like I told Pastor Lane: “When the Children’s Do-Over kicks off, I’ll be cheerleading, not dying.”

Take the goofy cover art in: that strain of failure’s extinct. The Borg have eaten the joy in sloth, driving me back to retired madmen. My ruined eyes like this drawing, since someone fucked it up themselves.

Meanwhile, Ron’s still talking.

Nice nod at the secondary audience. “No” draws godly men like unburned books. Ron promises to teach boys how to “treat a lady,” showing a relatable attention span. Despite the title, today’s only requirement is negative self-esteem.

As a holy war deserter, I’m excited. Evangelical God has excellent spokespeople, free of worldly charm and insight. Ron wields sheer volume of noise, punctuated by Christ and vague swipes at the media. In the pile, you might miss nods at holy war. Watch those: they’re a metaphor for holy war.

His copilot has a similar flow:

Katie’s a bit less teleprompter-y than Ron. I don’t know if that speaks to improv or a modicum of ability, but the Luces aren’t the first mixed talent couple I’ve found preaching. Divine womanhood means dragging a hack across the finish line.

Quality grifts season insanity with truth, so ads catch strays today. There’s some stopped clock value, if you ignore the Action Bible Camp ads. Acquire the Fire pitches feeling good about yourself in Crusades chainmail. While Katie knocking the media sounds like Ted Kaczinsky’s rants on political correctness, it’s more like demons fighting Illithids.

I like New York as shorthand for trends. We don’t get enough credit for defining imperial chic. Call it arrogance, but one island spawned, molded, and whitewashed our first dictator. Everyone screaming about Gomorrah from Fox HQ has an F train story.

Sometimes I miss that desk. If I’d known the Great Grifter Era was coming, I might’ve stayed and worked my way up to Sith Lord. Though I hear black copywriters struggle a bit under the “No Spades” royal decree. Along with non-tanning people in every industry but clown. I’ll count my blessings.

I think we all know what’s next.

I think a lot of things.

To clarify: those shots are untouched. My photoshop game isn’t that good. I’m taking notes from Acquire the Fire’s ability to mock God with WordArt. Clearly, this is a genius at work. Our new theme’s Christian sketch comedy, and I’m laughing exactly as much as they hoped.

Though my New York bias hurts this setup a little; nothing’s scarier than failure. I’d rather be a proud corpse than a living senator. In fact, I’d trade my immortal whatever for a badge that said You Did It, You Can Sleep Now.

“EVASION of the MASK PEOPLE” lampoons the phonies a Holden might find/imagine outside of youth group. While I play social interactions on “Dante Must Die” difficulty, it’s a bit much. E.g., perfect for pitching imaginary teens.

Though I’ll give the un-acting and reverse writing this: it’s much less on the nose about faith than expected. Experience shows. By now, the Luces know fear of The Beast colors every word they write. Pointing at the cross would just crucify a risen horse. By talking about something else for even a second, “EVASION of the MASK PEOPLE” ascends to sub-mediocrity. I’m telling the truth in workshop: just keep writing. Consistency separates the Luces from the Ludys.

On to the next sketch:

…Power? I bet power’s next. It has to be power.

Shit. I really need to get off Polymarket.

This sketch looks a bit avant-garde, but comedy always has room for surprise.

Like that joke. A year under Ron Luce’s unsupervised crazy eyes? Can you imagine that? Or the consequences? Survivors of that hell would hold positions of power today. Things would get real fucky, real fast.

For Girls Only pivots into an ad for your new family. The Quadforce above doesn’t quite capture the tone. It’s more “Go Army.” Acquire the Fire might’ve thrived on Twitch, if New York didn’t get antsy about junior paramilitaries.

The few. The proud. The unfucked.

In 1999, Ron Luce was a universal strawman. The saved said “I’m no Ron Luce.” The godless called you Ron Luce. Spiritual entrepreneurs said “My compound looks sketchy, but it’s not Ron Luce’s.” Simpler times. Now cults hunting teenage girls are all political.

Today, like many serial heroes, Ron’s crime-doc famous. As you can see, he spoke at The Kids. A cynic would call For Girls Only a bait and switch, but the bait comes after the crazy. For all the Madison Ave in my heathen blood, I can’t figure out why this spot comes before the disarming fluff.

Meet the Unspiced Girls. Better known as The Darins, 1999’s most diverse gospel rockers. They live in a rotating three-way splitscreen that my attention span’s finally ready for. I don’t know how pre-fall teens coped with frames playing musical chairs. But I’m free from the scrolling urge for the first time in five years. A miracle.

Four speakers share three mobile panels for two minutes to make one speech about delegating self-love to God. Five minutes into For Girls Only, and I’m closer to permanent vertigo than finding Christ.

The sequence makes even less sense—For Girls Only has negative flow between segments. That’s why this recap exists: I can’t figure out what’s happening or why I’d pick it over smiling. This tape’s like WarioWare for cults.

Nice one. Let’s give their single a shot.

Or another group entirely! Why not? A band interview into a music video is still the straightest line of logic so far. I’ve already forgotten the Donners.

Truth’s “Wonderful World” is as dull as C-Span used to be, and thus a Christian rock triumph. God’s playlist has annoyed me since I lost two nights (2/265ths of an Honor Academy semester) to McDonald’s GospelFest. But “Wonderful World” feels tolerable, like carb-savvy bread. Maybe Truth was the Huntrix of music no one’s danced to.

If there’s a title-relevant point, it’s here. Katie sits real teens down to get real about body image issues and their real cure Jesus. I’m told no one reads extended quotes, so I’ll paraphrase.

Isn’t sharing fun?

Another dime-stop turn: we get two profiles in suffering, to match the comedy sketch, celebrity cameo, and music video about life on God’s Earth kicking ass. Trish and Carrie deserve better—speeches on bingeing and abuse get 3 AM infomercial presentation. Premium savings hide somewhere in these broken childhoods.

The editing’s another tragedy, and I don’t mean choosing picture-in-picture, or the background crawling up a stairwell. To fight Hollywood, For Girls Only apes MTV’s style. The Luces cut ED and DV survival together like quips on Next or Room Raiders. While anorexia gets a sunny field and full color, battery gets washed out black metal tones. I think Jesus would’ve tried harder. Or at least ditched the motion-sickness stairwell.

A strawman might accuse Teen Mania of targeting minors on the brink, isolating them for a year, and milking them for content/money/[free space]. So would I. I’ve finally made peace with straw. We need each other. Straw is my only friend in a world gone mad.

In short, For Girls Only cures low self-esteem the way loan sharks cure debt. And ends dark. Which, if nothing else, works for escalation.

Hwuh?

I don’t understand anything, anywhere. I can’t blame the video, or even Ron. Every headline or conversation feels like this. Everything outside my room is Mars.

Before you’ve processed Trish and Carrie, the idiot above jumps into a “man on the street” bit. Sort of. Most responses are edited in. I’m guessing he only bothered three women in that hat before shame sent him into shock. We’re decades away from TikTok turning parks into tall grass for hacks—his survey was a novel experience, and people hate those.

The better of the Darin’s two cameos. The shot merely wanders, instead of splitting into fractals. And there’s a nice bit about self-esteem. See, God made all of you by intent, and you’ll love it or Acquire the Hellfire. Including your broken self-esteem. Which I guess you love too? Dick move by God, but some denominations leave room for pranks. Stop crying.

While I don’t know what madness this will end on, I understand the impulse behind modern feeds a bit better. Tapping the gambler’s impulse. It takes a few billion dollars to match finding an old tape, but it seems lucrative.

Hopefully we’ve looped back to sketch comedy. I can tank a cult’s tilt at comedy. A cult aiming for darkness does spiritual damage. The intent and fuckups form a tag team.

Balls.

This round’s a letter to God, behind the filter flatscans link with art. Judy Blume must’ve been pissed. Let’s see if Ron siphoned a talented member of the flock:

Behold: grungeface. If a child wrote “invisible,” I’ll legally change my name to Alternahippie X. Teen Witch. I’m confident enough that Ron Luce delegated this to another predator, that I’ll risk answering to Prof. Teen Witch for the rest of my career. Presumably a week.

Technically, there’s still three minutes of Ron Luce hawking books after this. Along with one-way flights to undisclosed locations. But this semipoem captures the project. Random swings at capturing the emotions of teenagers, women, and humans. Evangelicals haven’t improved since.

Tape, however, seems fun. I’ll try to collect more before the Guard touches down.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Russell Bauman, who read the article and watched the tape even thought the title EXPLICITLY forbade it.