King of Pentacles [Reversed]

A Farm—EARLY MORNING

It is morning now. I think. Little light filters down here in what appears to be an ever increasing network of tunnels and catacombs under the farm complex. Mary and I have lost our Boss, masked as Anubis, whom we’ve followed after she slipped down a back stairway from last night’s party on the floors above.

By this point we are well past the typical dank cells expected beneath the farm and are blindly roaming a labyrinth of lavish hallways with red carpets and gold baroque trim.

We turn a corner to spot a meeting between the Boss and what we at first think are some kind of subterranean gangster-creatures right in the middle of the hall; they are big and round and bloated characters that we realize (as we duck back around the corner to eavesdrop) are really members of Spike’s gang, wearing large mascot heads.

Clearly there was a miscommunication between the Boss and Spike on the appropriate animal totem masks to be wearing for the event.

There is nowhere to hide and listen. We run off silently before we are seen, randomly taking twists and turns until we find ourselves entering through a panel into the rear of a ladies rest room seemingly back on the main above-ground floors of the farm. There is a stand of porno tapes and mags, sex toys and the like.

“Apparently the weird fetish event is still on-going.” I point out to Mary.

The female washroom attendant, previously unnoticed in the corner, speaks up.

“I set this table in the dead of night, when the orgies start to slow down. I make a few extra bucks of the lonelier members of the cabal. Not everyone gets invited into the action.”

“Hey, there is some kind of weird meeting going on down in the catacombs. I don’t suppose you would mind strolling down past it and eavesdrop a bit for me?”

“I will, but only if you buy something.”

Time is of the essence so I quickly grab a VHS tape and try to pay for it. The attendant shakes her head.

“Both of you buy something.”

“Okay!” Mary chirps and begins looking over some dildos. Slowly.

“Taking your time aren’t you?” I hiss, “Hurry up!”

“I have always been too shy to buy one,” she muses, “But since we must buy stuff, I might as well get a good one.”

“Hurry up, Mary.” I implore, as she deliberates.

“I am looking for a medium size,” she explains, “Because I am no stretched out whore, but I’m no spring chicken down there either.”

Exasperated, however I head back out through the panel in the wall. In the dark, now alone, I am confused by all the secret doors and hidden passageways. Two women in masks, one the goddess Bastet and one just a giant Kitty cat furry, come at me from behind in the dark and attempt to drag me towards an open shaft in the floor. Between the dark and the papier mache heads however, they have limited vision and I am able to swiftly duck under and around, instead shoving them into the cavity meant for me.

Suddenly the passage is filled. My co-workers, with torches, still dressed in esoteric robes and Egyptian masks. The Boss is at the forefront.

“Frank Trautman, you have been selected to join our ancient, mystical Order of the—”

“Ugh. I should have never worked at an engineering firm. Masons are so lame.” They hand me a script and chain me up loosely, then lead me to a larger antechamber containing a ceremonial altar, etc.

Sigh.

They recite a ceremony which I ignore. Soon they are all pissed because apparently it was my turn to answer from the script.

“Other. Not applicable.” I say glancing at the script, “Or C? Or none of the above? Whatever. You are a bunch of douche bags and I don’t want to join your stupid club.”

I break free and leave, heading back into the surface.

Nearing the ladies room again, I sense someone behind one of the secret doors and open it to surprise her.

It is Mary.

“Mary, are you in on this too?” I ask, “Listen, I know about all the hidden passages and the secret society.”

“You called them douche bags!” she hisses, “Well, you are the douche bag for walking out!”

“Whatever.”

“When they chained you up your fly was open.”

“So?”

“So we could all see how small your penis is and now nobody will ever sleep with you. Even Iris.”

She is lying, of course.

I am huge.

And I don’t care anyway.