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  We are the extremist minimalists, though some refer to us as negligibalists, so high and utterly inaccessible is our piety. Whereas minimalists will be content with a gas efficient vehicle and organic vegetables, the negligibalist refuses to be satisfied until guilt infiltrates every area of life, until the only method of transportation is by crawling, and every taste bud has died an inexorable, hopeless death.
  We ask you to join us on this journey. Return to a prehistory where creating fire took three hours of rubbing sticks together and an elaborate, exhausting dance to the sun god Huitzilopochtli. Return to when fear of bears, snakes, lightning, wrathful deities, menstrual blood, white men, and misplaced rocks made us devote most of our time to expensive psychotherapy.
  In our search for truth, we are insulted by anything that could not make sense to the Neanderthal. Science, “knowledge,” and government are seen as unnecessary baggage when most of our time need be spent scavenging for dandelions, bark, and recently deceased prairie dogs—after, of course, we give thanks to the rodent’s mighty spirit for running headlong into the path of a GMC Yukon.  
  Running water, electricity, road systems, technology, and democracy are really ways for the government, religion, big business, aliens, and anyone in an authority position to control one’s brain. We actively reject modern devilry such as cups, hair brushes, bar soap, can openers, and medicine that cannot be adequately harvested by licking a mushroom or rolling in grass. Our clothes, when the seasons require it, are made of fallen branches, berries, recyclable plastic, and smeared dirt.
  Following our holy book, Negligibalism: Ten Steps To A Better You, we consume food and water without the use of cutlery or hands, instead pursuing the noble method of the canine. We also greet our fellow members by circling them and sniffing their anus. 
 We reject all values, except the ones we like or anything that mentions “primal,” “paleo,” “Jurassic,” “raw,” “natural,” “smoothie,” “Eastern,” and “yoga.” As for our daily path, we accept the teachings of our founder, Grand Master Mamma Tutu.
 Taking the ultimate step of accepting our material offerings, Master Tutu moved permanently to a yacht off the Florida Keys. We are to understand this as a metaphorical death. He has accepted the burden of our possessions for us, forever spending the money we don’t need.
  Most do not understand what it requires to be a negligibalist—the extreme periods of deprivation and the burden of telling everyone about our deprivation. A key tenet of our life is the denigration of these people, except when they offer the use of an electricity outlet or a shower.
 These individuals may view the negligibalist as a burden to humanity’s progress. We simply question their idea of “progress.” Is one more content because one doesn’t defecate in a hole? Does one truly exist when detached from Mother Earth’s natural rhythms and the constant threat of diarrhea and E. coli infection? Is it such a burden to walk fifteen hundred miles for Thanksgiving with one’s family?
  In his last address, Master Tutu said, “Death is the true path to life.” Thus, the end goal of negligibalists is to so ostracize oneself from one’s surroundings that death is preferable to life. This known as The Release.
  Eventually, we must all take this path, the path of the sun and the dodo and Blockbuster. It will be a happy day when our movie sales and rentals no longer live up to the world’s Netflix and Red Box, and where—in a metaphysical sense—we can all become yoga studios, vacant lots, sex shops, and places where homeless individuals do drugs.      
  This is the path. Few will walk it, though several will try. If you have any further inquiries, please visit a connection group or one’s local cemetery for communion with those who have Released. One can also summon a member through a primal scream or email us at [email protected]
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