Someting is rotten in upstate NY

There isn't much I consider Must-See-TV. 

Does that phrase date me or what? 

But The Vow, the docu-series on HBO detailing the lurid and often comical behaviors/platitudes/volleyball tips of the NXIVM cult, led by Keith Raniere, is definitely phrase worthy.

We are now in the thick of Season Two, wherein we are seeing the hands of justice slowly forming an iron fist and about to spike a thorny volleyball in the face of the one time, diminutive, greasy-haired Svengali. I'll try not to give away too many spoilers for uninitiated, but Season 1 is a must see primer.

Raniere, a skilled salesman, who toiled for many years in various multi-level marketing schemes, found himself in the company of many wealthy Jewish women from New York and upstate NY. Mishbuchah, if you will. (In fact, during some post-viewing online research I discovered this clownish cult leader actually went to my high school and was only two years behind me!) 

He also found himself in the vicinity of a whiteboard and some magic markers and began spitting psycho-babble verse. What Eminem was to the gritty streets of Michigan, Keith Raniere was to Manhattan socialites and well-to-do suburban dwellers seeking "self improvement wisdom".

"Fear and resentment are cousins. They live near each other. And are co-dependent. To eliminate one one must sever the relationship with the other. Who wants to be the libero?"

Did I mention Raniere's demented obsession with volleyball?

The dozen of his disciples soon became dozens. Then hundreds. And those hundreds included small time Hollywood actresses and wealthy relatives from the Bronfman Empire, whom made money the old fashioned way -- they sold liquid spirits and got people soused.

At one point, the cult, headquartered near Albany, NY, had franchised outlets around the world. I've been to Albany and can't understand why anyone or anything would be headquartered there. Albany makes Syracuse look like the Amalfi Coast. 

It ain't.

Perhaps the most jaw-dropping aspect of this pre-Pete Davidson character was his extraordinary ability to bed down women, who not only fell under his "charm" but would do so in droves. I never understood women before watching this series. I understand them even less now. I'm as clueless as a Red Hat in a library.

If I haven't convinced you to to tune in...er, stream...the hijinx of a narcissistic douchebiscuit corralling willing sheep into an abyss of self destruction (sound familiar?), consider the picture above. 

It is the result of human branding, that's right. He convinced his harem to sear their flesh with his own less-than-cryptic brand via a custom made iron rod heated to more than 1000 degrees.

I say less-than-cryptic because if you flip the picture 90 degrees to the left, you are left with Keith's initials.

Point. Set. Match.

I hope this fancy man gets his cumuppance in the Big House -- misspelling intentional.