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Mary Kay

Mary Kay

My mom used to sell Mary Kay.

What the fuck is that, you ask? Those in the biz will tell you that it’s empowering women, that they have world-class cosmetics, and that it’s a place where you can be a millionaire.

If you work hard enough, that is.

See, Mary Kay is an MLM. Multi-Level Marketing.

My mom didn’t make a dime in selling the products to people. Because that’s just the veneer they put out to make themselves look legitimate.

No, the only way to make money in an MLM is to recruit other people to do the exact same thing you’re doing, but here’s the trick.

You get a cut of their sales. Just like the person who recruited you gets a cut of both your sales.

It all flows upwards to the person at the top of the pyramid.

It’s a pyramid scheme. They only work as long as everyone buys into the myth that you’re being empowered by lining someone else’s pockets.

The truth is that all of those things they tout are empty promises, and everyone on the bottom gets shit on while the top reap the spoils.

It’s a lot like religion, isn’t it?

The whole thing is built around a corporate structure, meant to empower true believers into untold riches and glory with the power of their god.

But only if you follow the rules.

No one starts to feel the benefits of religion until they rise up the ranks, so to speak. They cast out unbelievers while recruiting new people to their cause.

Look at Vayikra, they started with such fire, but they soon found they weren’t at the top of the pyramid.

The CEO of their little operation, Sir Vant, was the one reaping the spoils.

But they bought in, hook line and sinker. Even Gable did. If they work hard enough, if they cleanse the world of the Rainbow Party, if they recruit enough people under their sway…

…then maybe that dead god will come back. That’s the myth that they believe, that their work will do all the things Sir Vant says it will.

But like all MLMs, it sure as fuck won’t.

It’s all empty promises. Yahweh is dead. Sir Vant’s an old man taking advantage of a trio of zealots. They’re expendable, nothing more than tools in his downline.

Vayikra, y’all are in too deep.

You’re just like the women, like my mother, who gave everything they had. Every last fucking cent.

For nothing.

They have nothing to show for it, while the people on top ride around in their pink Cadillacs and live the high life.

So if you’re going to be deluded suburban housewife, let the Bad Mother Fuckers treat you like one.

Get real dressed up in your finest armor. Slap a fresh coat of paint on it. And get in the ring and wait for us to come home.

We won’t be gentle. We won’t hesitate. And when we’re beating your ass all over the ring, remember that this is what you signed up for.

You’re on the bottom of the pyramid.

And shit rolls downhill!