Article VI, History: Growing Pains

In his search for a means to conscript members from their previous anonymity, our dear leader used various methods of recruitment to varying degrees of success. Mostly not. A brief glimpse of some of those means are detailed below.

2.1 The Preservation Society’s Peanut Butter Meltdowns

What could be a more enticing invitation to join an organization than candy? The Preservation Society’s Peanut Butter Meltdowns were comprised of a delightful crunchy shell that miraculously contained a molten center of peanut butter. Molten, provided the purchaser heated the candies in the microwave, as per the preparational instructions. After heating, the individual was treated to the sweet snap of peanut shell followed by a gush of volcanic liquified peanut butter. Delightful. However good they were, the sale of the candies was inconsistent, to say the least.

The success of these delicious treats may have also been marred by a dispute which arose over a lack of proper FDA oversight and a brush with the Better Business Bureau. This misunderstanding was possibly due to The Preservation Society’s desire not to divulge our secret recipe and the FDA’s insistence on “not poisoning people.” Instead of printing a list of ingredients on the wrapper of The Preservation Society’s Peanut Butter Meltdowns, we thought it a perfect place to outline the conditions and bylaws of joining our institution --an action the FDA apparently regards as “irresponsible.”

The dispute with the BBB became an ongoing back and forth of accusations revolving around the fiery wash of peanut butter which erupted in one's mouth upon consumption of our mouthwatering little bites. Much like Donald Rumsfeld’s logic regarding weapons of mass destruction and the resulting invasion of Iraq, much can be said of what we knew, when we knew, whether or not we knew we knew, or unknowingly acted in our unknowingness. All this to say, we judicially apologize to those who received second-degree burns or higher while eating one of our candies -- even though we know you enjoyed it.

In short, The Preservation Society Peanut Butter Meltdowns were abandoned as a means of garnering members in order to avoid further legal repercussions. And so, the field of hot candy remains unexplored. Someday we will continue our revelation of its delights to the world.

2.2 The Threat of Violence

What could be a more enticing invitation to join an organization than not getting one’s ass kicked in the street? It's true that The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance is not an aggressive bunch, but in their early days, when backed into a corner, they could hold their own in a street fight. To clarify, the concept of “holding their own,” the board would simply hold their faces and nethers and become a defenseless ball of quivering cowardice as quickly as possible.

The idea of using violence came one night after a brief, but very intense, encounter with a fraternity brother. While on their nightly constitutional, The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance was aggressively engaged by the young man who apparently was asking for directions to a place known as “The Boogie.” The young man’s sudden shift toward aggression resulted in the entire membership lined up in protective position #1.* It was in that moment that the threat of violence was realized as a powerful motivator that could be used to intimidate members into joining the society. A short meeting ensued. Post meeting, The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial of Governance collectively accosted the next young man they encountered on the street. The young man, turns out, was a green belt in kung fu. The idea of using the threat of violence to add to our ranks was consequently abandoned.

*Hereby deemed the roley-poley.

2.3 All nude Conclave: A Fanciful Romp of Procedural Dealings

What could be a more enticing invitation to join an organization than seeing sexy men and women peacocking about as they dutifully fulfill their intuitional duties? The Preservation Society presents, “All nude Conclave: A Fanciful Romp of Procedural Dealings,” was a cabaret meant to excite the attendees by re-creating a flawless performance of one of our monthly conclaves in all of its provocatively bureaucratic glory. Gyrating hips and the shedding of clothing would be our tools to keep our prospective members rapt in their seats as we drafted them into our ranks. This was the plan at least.

Our initial consideration of using the physical wiles of The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance as chum in the shark-infested waters of a bawdy review was met with some trepidation. But after much consideration, we established that all propriety would be preserved and each performer would remain decent throughout the performance. Our best estimation was that the mere suggestion of undress would be enough to lure potential members in the door and the show itself would convince them to join our institution.

The plan for adding to our membership via our review seemed simple enough. The entire Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance, still clad in standard-issue short shorts and seasonably appropriate footwear, would lead in a call and response rendition of “I shall sign, th’dotted line” which led the singer through The Oath of Obligation**, and thereby, the audience would be conscripted into our ranks. Whether or not they did so knowingly was entirely up to whether or not they had read the fine print on page 13 of their Playbill. After their induction, they would be charged their customary dues and fees on their way out of the performance.

“I shall sign, th’dotted line.” A tune of our own composition which, due to its catchy tune and lyrics,*** could be recalled by even a slack-jawed forty-year-old pervert. Unfortunately for us, opening night was extremely well attended by none other than a theater full of slack-jawed forty-year-old perverts.

The big night arrived and backstage The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance was all a’flutter. Boas and fat-suits (neither of which appear in our show), were strewn akimbo, clouds of powder hung in the air and the constant calling out to find a kitten we’d found on the street named Macbeth**** meant that emotions were running high. The curtain rose and we were off to the races. After the first five minutes, the catcalls of “Take off your blazer!” and “How about you staple my 2104(b)!” we were quite frazzled and our prospective members began to trickle out the door. The fact that a word-for-word reenactment of a four-hour meeting takes four hours to complete, had escaped us completely. In a moment of desperation, our Senior Minister improvised and shed his cravat and necktie but it was too late. The initiates were gone, as well as the Board of Dictatorial Governance who had pursued the audience out of the theater to try to persuade them to stay.

At that point, as luck, or misfortune, rather, would have it, the line attached to Mr. JRH’s Peter Pan style flying wires were hoisted prematurely by a falling sandbag and instantaneously ripped off every stitch of our Senior Minister’s clothing. Naked as the day he was born, he watched his attire flutter to the catwalks.

In the harsh spotlight of failure, unabashed, naked, and alone he sang “I shall sign, th’dotted line” at full volume acapella and thus concluded the first, and final performance of, “All Nude Conclave: A Fanciful Romp of Procedural Dealings.”

*Unbeknownst to us, saying the name “Macbeth” in a theater is frowned upon due to a curse that results in catastrophic events. We attribute the mixed reviews and subsequent canceling of our cabaret to this unfortunate error.