The Cult of Story Time

I was recently taken by Mommy and Daddy to an exceedingly peculiar ritual which I could only assume was attached to some sort of cult. Many children and their servants were gathered around a lady who led the group in chants and songs. She would hold up stuffed animals and shake them about, instructing the group to make outlandish noises to the poor, inanimate beast. I am unsure whether we were meant to worship said creature, or humiliate it. We then read books which taught us even more ludicrous vocalizations, such as vroom vroom or honk honk. Hand motions were even indoctrinated upon the group, but I stayed true to my principles and did not allow Daddy to drum my hands. Unable to escape, I formulated a plan by which I went to the front of the circle, feigning to participate more effectively, and then ran for the door. The room, however, was surrounded by a transparent wall through which I was unable to traverse. Finally, after much time of staring nonplussed at all present, attempting to render how insane one must be to enjoy this activity, it ended, and toys were dispersed throughout the room. I concluded that toys were toys, and no matter how warped of minds the children may have, I could still stand to play in their presence.

As I do not have a photograph of this experience, here is another glamorous image which will suffice as showing my general opinion of the situation.