Indoctrinating members into my Cargo Cult

Will and Ollie come out to the front veranda in their pajamas last night with a pair of binoculars watching the horizon for their father to return with a boat full of supplies.  They ran up and down on the beach, tussled for control of the ‘noculars, made bets on who would see the boat first, discussed in detail which direction he would first appear.  I thought “these are the type of sturdy, impressionable young fellows I need in my Cargo Cult.”

Of course, the most anxious devotees of my cargo cult are smokers.  They stand on the beach, fidget, pace back and forth, mutter a couple of oaths and say a prayer that their precious cigarettes have not been forgotten.   I haven’t seen any attempt to construct mobile phones out of coconut shells, but that might just be a matter of time.

But I shouldn’t make fun.  My chocolate supplies are running low.  It’s not that I need chocolate every day, I just like to know it’s there just in case.  The first three weeks on the island I had no chocolate.  I can’t let that happen again.