Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

Bill: Let’s shout it, so all those wage slave losers in the bar next door
hear us.
All: WE ARE NEUROSURGEONS!
Ray: (CUT TO WHITE MAN WEARING RAY’S CLOTHING
AND PLAYING HIM IN BLACKFACE) Take it to the streets!
ALL: We are neurosurgeons!
Greg: Call your family tonight and give them the good news.
Rachelle: Fuck med. school—it’s expensive.
Robert: (TAPPING HIS HEAD) Be a neurosurgeon up here.
Bill: I am.
Anne: We are. Together.
Greg: (DRESSED AS AHAB) Avast I say!
Ray: (CUT TO RAY DRESSED AS FIFTIES HOUSEWIFE) Oh, I
don’t earn a lot of money yet, but I’ve got a spatula and a wire whisk and
I’m sure when the time comes I’ll know just what to do…
Anne: We’ll be having the time of our life.
Greg: One more time, so it’ll seem like this play’s got a real ending!
ALL: We are neurosurgeons!
This was a public service announcement brought to you by Ayun
Halliday, Larry Snodgrass, and the Mothers of the Cuban Revolution, et
al.
J read this a number of times before slowly putting it down on the
table. The professor was still talking, making less and less sense as the
setting of the sun marked the end of class. His comments seemed to be in
some form of code. Between the professor and the peculiar script, he was
on overload.
“That concludes my lecture for today,” the professor said, reaching for
his books. “Uh… I’ll be testing on the mythological significance of the
Fish next Tuesday. So, don’t forget to…” without finishing his thought,
he put on his wide-brimmed black hat and was out the door.
“Fish?” K mouthed at J.
“Have you ever heard of the Order of the Hidden Path?” J asked. The
other students were quietly filing out of the room.
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