I smell conspiracy

Ahh, there's nothing like a good conspiracy to enliven my evening. Today I have been looking at the Bohemian Grove. This is an exquisite, all male (but really, what cool secret societies admit women these days?) group that meets each year in July, to commune with nature in a redwood forest. They revel in the freedom to piss on trees, drink, perform bizarre rituals and pay homage to significant people, especially from the 80s. I expect they talk business as well, although with the action packed bacchinalian revels, it would be a wonder that they find the time.

Lots of people feel very strongly about these goings on, the creepy owl altar, the whisper of Satanism. Some feel so strongly that they hold cleansing ceremonies concurrently with the July grove event.
Since I will never be invited to a Bohemian Grove party, I think the best thing I can do would be star in a prayer vigil/ exorcism/ cleansing ceremony inspired by it. I will start off small, perhaps a select group of individuals at Stonehenge Aotearoa. From there I fully expect to gain great kudos and mana, and followers in sufficient number to create a rival celebration that will effectively knock Bohemian Grove off the calendar. Maybe I'll even get some Jesus-is-saviour.com coverage of my own.
One idea I have had is to start that cult worshiping Christopher Lambert? That would be so much cooler than trying to get Jedi listed as a religion on the census form. Who will join me in the Church of Lambertology?

If your forehead is not tall like the mighty oak you aren't allowed to breed. Or perhaps I will start up a eugenics programme, and only allow those with low foreheads to breed only with people blessed with exceptional acreage.



Dylan McKay can be pope, unless he is put to stud.

Ick.