I’m the Guy from the Cult Documentary You Just Watched Who Is Revealed to Still Be Very Much in the Cult at the End

Surprise! It’s me! Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: “How? Why? Even after that whole Cheerios-in-your-ass thing?” Well, to that, I would say: a great deal of personal fortitude, the promise of an eternal life filled with unfathomable wealth, and they were actually Apple Jacks. And sacred ones at that.

By now, you’ve seen what the rest of the gang is up to these days—tearful reunions with family, joyous gallivanting with childhood pets in open fields, all underscoring the tremendous personal growth they’ve undergone over the past three hours.

Not me, though. Nope, I’m the second epilogue guy. You won’t find any Five for Fighting songs here. No, the only music you’ll hear now is whatever song this is that’s playing while I’m on hold with Rikers Island to fill The Seer’s commissary fund.

Wait a second, is tha– Oh wow, it is! I guess you will be hearing Five for Fighting, after all!

Listen, I can certainly understand your surprise about all this. Believe me, no one is more surprised than I am. After all, who in their right mind would up and leave a sweet deal like the one we had going for us? All the cool herbs you can eat, and you never have to worry about picking out an outfit in the morning? Why would anyone choose to live any other way?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my time in the organization, though, it’s that you can’t get inside the minds of other people, no matter how tightly fastened the electroencephalography helmet is.

So, the million-dollar question: what am I up to these days? Well, collect calls mostly. Definitely lots of collect calls. A little bit of neglecting friends and family when I have the time. That’s something I’ve always been super passionate about. Truthfully, I’d love to lean into the neglecting space a little more, but between threatening to poison other people’s pets and picketing outside federal courthouses all by myself, there are only so many hours left in the day, you know?

It certainly doesn’t help that I’m a bit of a “celebrity” now, which is admittedly taking some getting used to. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the exposure and all, but I haven’t quite gotten used to all the attention from strangers on the street. And for whatever reason, they all want to know the same thing: “Why are you rubbing my shoulders?”

But then the second question they always inevitably ask is: “You really think this guy is innocent?”

And my response is always the same: first off, not a “guy.” He’s a transdimensional deity. Then I ask who they would trust: three hundred people in the Tri-State area who have an “ironclad case for coercive manipulation and wire fraud,” or me, one single person who, as I’ve just demonstrated to you, owns a parrot that can say bad words.

I’m sure at this point you’re all wondering what my plans are for the future—my “ten-year plan,” so to speak. Well, for starters, I’m thinking of redoing my kitchen. So that’s exciting. Also, lopping my penis and balls off to send to The Seer as a reminder of my undying fealty to him and the cause. We’ll see, though. I mean, you have to see some of these estimates I’m getting. I’m asking for cabinets here, not a Maserati. Something about supply chain issues. I don’t know. It’s always something with those guys.

But outside of that, more of the same, really. Really just more of the same.