When I got home today, I found that someone had blanketed all the cars in my parking lot with some sort of pamphlet. I thought it was going to be an advertisement for a new pizza joint or maybe a sale at Mattress Discounters. Fortunately, instead of just ignoring it and throwing it in the trash, I took the time to read it – and now my life has been changed…

…because if if there is going to be nuclear war in less than a month from now, then I may need to start changing some of my life priorities. So, if you didn’t get the newsletter in your neighborhood, remember that you heard it here first, and you can thank the good people of the House of Yaweh (HoY) for letting you know.

What I like best about all these types of groups is that they understand the basic principles of sales and marketing necessary to move their product. Like the car salesman who’s saying you can only get that great deal on a used Ford Escort if you buy it today – these folks now how to create urgency. "Hurry up and join our cult because in a few weeks you might be dead from a nuclear holocaust!"

As a member of the tribe, I’m always intrigued by groups that use the word “Yaweh” in their title. So I dug deeper and learned from Wikipedia that the current leader of the group, Yisrayl Hawkins (born Buffalo Bill Hawkins), was once a country singer, and the HoY is based out of Abilene, Texas. How in the world they’ve reached a membership level that extends to Northern Virginia, I have no idea… But I will admit that I was mildly amused by the doomsday preacher connecting random excerpts from the Torah in a strong Texan accent. Though I couldn’t help but think about that Simpson’s episode where he predicts that at 3:15 p.m. on May 18th, the apocalypse will come. As Homer said, "In a world gone mad, only a lunatic is truly insane."

Speaking of religious groups looking for new members, our housemate made the mistake of saying hello to some nice people walking through the neighborhood. Turns out they were spreading through the town looking for new members. She politely declined, but somehow they have determined the specific house we all live in. A few days ago, they came to the door looking for her, their faces beaming with smiles. They were dressed in business casual and asked for the housemate by name – so I assumed they were her coworkers stopping by for a happy hour. When I told them she wasn’t home, the promptly left.

Now that I know they were active prosthelytizers, I’m actually a bit offended they didn’t even try to sell me on the concept. I mean, did they take one look at me, use some sort of profiling technique, and deem me unworthy of salvation? Dagger.