I have seen some creepy shit in my day.

But this takes the cake.

Back when I was a baseball writer for Sports Illustrated, I once interviewed Lou Piniella, manager of the Seattle Mariners, as he simultaneously ate a hoagie, smoked a cigarette and peed at a urinal.

I found that sorta creepy.

Another time, when I was a young scribe for The Tennessean in Nashville, an elder colleague of mine fell and needed help getting up. I entered her apartment, and she was prone in her bathtub—100-percent naked and more leathery than Robert Redford after five days in a sauna.

I found that even more creepy.

I’ve covered some bizarre stuff in my day. Some bizarre, bizarre, bizarre stuff. Prostitution stings, drug deals gone bad, fans attacking athletes, chefs who slice up weird meat. When it comes to the hard-to-fathom, I’ve long been your guy.

But, well, in this moment, even I’m at a loss.

Here, take a look …

What you have just endured is simultaneously (a) the seventh gate toward hell, (b) the ideal way to drop an erection and (c) an advertisement for an upcoming podcast titled, “Around the Table.” The show will feature four women—all white, all with (it seems) perfectly Botoxed foreheads, all well-dressed, all unreasonably happy, all potential stars of the upcoming Stepford reboot, all convinced Jesus Christ guides their every move, all (I can assure you) Trump voters who didn’t mind his “grab ‘em by the pussies” comment and all (as the kids might say) creepy AF.¹

When I say “creepy AF,” I mean “creepy AF.” Which would be fine were these mere random women looking to fill the gap between pickleball lessons with Carlos and lunch at Nobu. But one of the hosts of “Around The Table” is Jennifer Adnams, a newish member of the Capo Unified School Board and a woman who—during her campaign—somehow failed to mention that (cough, cough) she was a religious zealot who doubles as a big gun in a super weird Christian pyramid scheme.

I have to say—when my family moved to Orange County from New York a decade ago, we were warned of the “Around the Table” species. You know, folks who live and die in the bubble; who never fart and never curse and love Jesus almost as much as they love their plastic surgeon; who believe they have a higher purpose, and that higher purpose involves driving their BMW to their mega-church, where they will sit alongside their $5,000 Gucci handbag while wearing their $900 Jimmy Choo heels and find great peace in the comfort of 1,000 other wealthy white people seeing glory in a God so great and powerful and magnificent that he was able to land them a 7 pm reservation at Javier’s. On a Friday night.

And, being honest, some of these folks come across as quite lovely. Like, I bet Jennifer Adnams—in the flesh—is probably a nice enough woman. But, in a way, that’s also the biggest problem. Adnams has a warm smile, good hair, a smooth forehead—and she thinks we require more of God’s lessons in school. She thinks certain books should be banned. She thinks parents need more oversight. She thinks LGBTQ+ issues shouldn’t be raised. She thinks—quite literally—God is on her side, and the thoughts that enter her head have been placed there (again, literally) by Jesus Christ.

Literally.

By.

Jesus.

Christ.

Which would be fine, were Jennifer Adnams not (once again) on the Capo Unified School Board—a public entity that should have nothing to do with anyone’s religious beliefs. In fact, a place where church and state need to mingle, literally, in zero ways.

Alas, she is one of the people guiding educational policy for thousands upon thousands of children.

The apocalypse has arrived.

1. AF stands for “As Fuck.”