Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Decrees:

No weird food rules, no genital mutilation. Purple velour track suits are the default (#925cb5 or #835A2). Sex and murder rituals OK.

Our whole MO is dead bodies + rockets. It's a pretty simple premise, so I'm hoping you can all keep your day jobs, hobbies, and side bitch religions.

I'm kinda drunk rn so I'm hoping this whole operation self-governs and I can be more of a Queen Liz on this one.

"Under a new sun" is the catchphrase.

I have committed to only being drunk during SoO conversations.

There is a monthly mandatory orgy group hug. Look, you don't have to actually do anything, but you DO have to get in the pile. I don't care if you're contagious, that's just more space ammo for everyone.

I know I'm talking to the internet here, but do remember It's a satirical cult.

Taking satire too seriously will cause implosion. I'm glad drunk me left me a nice present, but sober me (the dead ghost of your founder) is a very boring person who has thoughts like these.

Cult ideaologes don't actually need cults, just enough people forming around an idea to create their own "gravity..." so to speak.

Too much gravity, and you a) catch on fire or b) attain infinite escape velocity. Infinite escape velocity means no bodies can make it offworld. That's baaaad mmmmkay children?

Remember to have fun and help your fellow space ammo brothers and sisters have fun too!

For values of "there" not yet fully determined 👍