The tragic life of a daughter of a donut shop cult member

Did you know that the world will come to an end if my father does not go to the donut shop every single day! Yes, every day! End I SAY!

There is some kind of magic that happens and he must go to Daylight Donuts and get his coffee and cake donuts. Even on the days, that we are going to IHOP to have breakfast, Dad will get back from the donut shop and go to IHOP with us???

Have you ever notice who goes to the donut shop? Who goes and gets the donuts and leaves and who goes gets donuts and sits down? It's only men who eat in the restaurant. I think there's some sort of voodoo that only effects people with testosterone. It causes them to sit and swap WILD tales with each other and forces them to return the next day.

I believe this to be the "Donut Shop Cult" where members will all go out to the desert to commit mass suicide with the poisoned sticky bun when the President's Fat Tsar declares war on donuts with the  "Just Say No to Dough" campaign. Until that happens, a requirement to being in the cult is that you must walk out of the shop with a cup full of coffee and leave the half drank cup in your daughters house.

Every Sunday, when mom and dad drop off Seamus before church, Dad will leave the cult's calling card somewhere in the house - sometimes on the coffee table, in my office, on the kitchen bar half a foot from the trash can and I've even found one in the garage on a shelf with the tools.

You've got to click on an ad as I hear that "Donut Shop Cult" rehab is rather expensive. If you've ever known a cult member click on an ad, let me know I am not alone.  

Enough for now I've gone spastic...