Reasons I Decided Not to Accept My Open Invitation to The Illuminati

I’m going to say what’s on all of our minds… I’m too nice. I know. I have a kind spirit and an old soul. I like befriending people that don’t have friends, and on a fiscally prosperous day, you may even see me giving money to hobos on the street. I love puppies and babies. I like to see minorities succeed at things that only white people do. It’s a blessing and a curse.

With that being said, sometimes I find that I extend my hand to people that probably aren’t the most trustworthy individuals in the world. That’s why a pretty respectable number of my fraternity brothers have slept with girls that I’ve openly confessed to being interested in. Most of the time, I count my losses and move on, but there’s only been one time that befriending someone has led to me fearing for my and my family’s life. The irony of it all is that it started in a little class that I like to call Children’s Literature. There was a girl that kind of shied away from the rest of the class. I didn’t want to see her lonely, so my friend Kasi and I began sitting with her. Soon, we would have our own inside jokes and would cling to each other when projects would come up, though her opinion on our topics were always a little more eccentric than what the rest of the class would do. I should have known something was up when she avidly campaigned for my “utopian/Atheistic” interpretation of The Giver. It made me so nervous that I felt guilty enough to pray to God later that night for even recognizing that a Godless interpretation could exist.
After the semester was over, Kasi and I began finding out odd things about this girl… like that she’s wasn’t 28 like she originally had said, but rather 36. We didn’t think much about it; sometimes age can be an awkward thing for some people. Later we would find out that she fanatically supports the writings of Ayn Rand and Karl Marx, and to an extent, lives her life by them. Still, nothing too out of the ordinary. Kasi eventually distanced herself from the girl, but in true Justin spirit, I maintained contact. Eventually, I starting noticing an uncomfortable number of likes from her on Facebook. She began sending me incomprehensible messages about how we were to rise up against the government, which really startled me. Then it happened: my message came.
I was alerted of my participation in the Illuminati. From what the message said, I suppose it was never a choice that I was part of it, but currently “I did not know that I was.” She told me that I would eventually have my kick (you know, like on Inception) and that we would all come back to campus so that we could all move on together (you know, like Lost). The whole thing began feeling really dangerous, but really fun at the same time because I’ve always enjoyed pop culture references, and I always longed to be in an exclusive group. (Oh, you didn’t know? Check out Failed Attempts at Being in a Social Circle)
The whole debacle really climaxed when she changed her name to something Russian, started posting pictures of my best friend on a Vietnamese fansite for Communism, and was found in the campus chapel at three in the morning screaming about being chased by the man. Eventually, she would contact me and ask me to meet her at a driving range across the street from my house. I turned her name into the authorities and started watching over my shoulder. Sorry Illuminati. It was real.
One day, I’m sure I’ll befriend a serial killer and get my head chopped off. I’m kind of mentally preparing for it every day. If that does indeed happen, I would like to say a couple things to some people.

  • Mom, you really were the light of my life.
  • Ashley, I’m pumped for your wedding, but I apologize for not responding to that nice card.
  • Vandy, thanks for having my back, girl.
  • Gabourey Sidibe, I was shocked to find out you were nominated in the Drama category of the Oscars. I swear, I thought Precious was a comedy. I don’t apologize for it.
Yeah, I think that’s it. And most of all, Anastasia, as I believe that’s what you’d like to be called these days, I really am sorry that I declined your invitation to join the Illuminati. I’m also sorry we didn’t meet for coffee less than a mile away from my parent’s house. I’m mostly sorry that I’m not fluent in Arabic; I’m positive that’s why I still don’t understand half the messages you sent me. But I’ll never be sorry for our friendship, even if it does leave me stranded in an internment camp one day.
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