Have I ever told you about the time I discovered a sinister cult in my city? No? This was several years ago, and I rarely talk of it, but it makes for a good story, or at least a good enough story for this third rate blog.
I was walking around the downtown market area one summer evening, and noticed a coin on the ground. It differed from other coins I had seen before. This one was bigger, much bigger, around two feet in diameter and had holes in it. What a strange coin, I thought to myself. I suspected this wasn’t typical United States currency, but perchance instead belonged to a dark and primitive cult. I am an intellectual, and I think like that.
But a lucky coin is a lucky coin, and finder’s keepers and what such. By the sheer weight, this coin was very lucky! It was metal and heavy indeed! Luckily, I found a small piece of pipe and a wheelbarrow at a nearby construction site. I used the pipe to get enough leverage to pull the coin up and into the wheelbarrow.
My new mysterious cult coin had strange markings and words. “Property of…” Blah, blah, blah. I didn’t have time to decipher the rest. Who knows, I may need the help of some cryptologist or old sacred text to do so. For now, I am just happy to have found –
What I found next nearly blew my mind! If indeed an intellectual like myself can have his mind blown. For this large coin covered a secret passageway leading straight down into the ground! Whatever was down there, it sure was stinky. I suspected that the cultists that made this coin thought this hole to be a mystic portal. What a bunch of primitives, indeed. They must think this chunk of round metal wards against evil underground inhabitants invading our realm. I assume, therefore, the cult placed this large sacred coin over the hole, and my assumptions are never wrong, I assume.
With my new heavy coin now in the donated wheelbarrow, I could take it with me to find answers. Who is this cult? What is this so-called ‘magic portal’ they worship?
As I walked away, a young woman wearing headphones and engrossed in her cellular phone passed me. “Watch out for the magic portal.” I said to her with a wry smile, for I could tell she was an intellectual like me. The young woman continued on her way with her eyes glued to her cellular phone.
As I walked away, I heard the young woman scream behind me. Her scream of terror became quieter and quieter, then a splash and thud. But here is the strange part. When I looked behind me, I couldn’t see her anywhere. How strange indeed! I came to the only sensible conclusion. The cult knew what I said and immediately kidnapped her. Clearly, these are powerful and dangerous people. I must proceed with care.
I walked along the street and passed many fellow pedestrians. As is my custom, I smiled and said good day. I am fortunate to live in the Midwest of the United States. And for politeness, the Midwest is the Canada of America. However, those who passed stared at the coin, then at me, in disapproval. Many refused eye contact and hurried on their way. What strange power this round relic has over people.
But back to my investigation of this strange coin. Who best to confide to in my discovery? At first I thought of a church, or synagogue, or mosque. But unfortunately none were nearby, and which one to choose? I also worried that if I picked the wrong one, they may provide me with a biased account of this sacred coin’s meaning. Not out of malice, mind you, but simply through the lens of their particular faith.
No. Maybe first would be someone with knowledge of numismatics, or the study of coins. As if the fates heard my thoughts (not that I believed in the fates, for I am an intellectual), I turned a corner to find a coin shop! And open as well! What luck!
I entered this small shop. It was musty and dim, but there were several glass counters brimming with coins of all colors, sizes, and smells. A squat figure, the shopkeeper, I assumed, faced away from me.
”Good day, sir. I happened across this odd coin on my walk today and wondered if you could help me?”
“I’ll be happy to. Now let me.” He turned around. He was a middle-aged man with a balding pate, a scruffy beard and thick, dirty glasses. The expression on his scruffy face told me all I needed to know. The moment he saw the cult coin in its wheelbarrow, his eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing with that?”
”Exactly, my good man. Clearly, this belongs to some sort of…”
His temper flared. ”Get that thing out of here!”
Well, dear reader, I certainly don’t appreciate being spoken to in such a manner, for I am an intellectual. I shot back, “Dear sir, I don’t care for your tone!” But then evened my temper. I assumed he was a cult member. And my assumptions are never wrong, I assume. And clearly this poor, simple fellow was afraid of this coin’s ‘mystical power.’
I slowed my speech and nodded slowly to calm the simple brute. “My apologies. I will speak more clearly to you, for you are unsophisticated. Tell me about this magic coin you uncivilized people worship?”
He just stared at me for a very long time with a puzzled look on his face. Finally, he said slowly, “You’re a moron.”
“Moh-ron” must be, in their primitive cult terminology, a word for “disbeliever” or “heretic.” Oh dear, I have absolutely offended this simple oaf’s beliefs about this coin, magic ground portals, and what such. Getting nowhere, it was time to leave. As I left, he shook his head and repeated the word “moh-ron.”
I left the coin store thoroughly dismayed. But things were about to get much worse!
As I walked down an avenue, two figures stood about half a block ahead of me, a man and a woman, whom I easily identified as cultists! How could I identify them? Well, they clearly weren’t trying to disguise themselves. They wore matching black slacks, matching blue button-down shirts, and then this is where it gets weird. They both wore large belts with an assortment of, what I assume to me, accouterments used for barbaric, dark rituals.
Here is the interesting part. On their left upper chests, they wore amulets in the shape of shields made of metal. Just like the coin. This cult must worship metallic objects!
These two were clearly the enforcers of the cult. Paladins sent out to retrieve their coin relic and return it to their so called “magic portal.” It made me think of that poor young woman who was walking and looking at her phone, then mysteriously disappeared. What had these cultists done to her? My blood simmered with rage!
These barbarians may have caught her, but they were never getting me! The two cult lackeys saw me and their precious coin they use to, I assume, sacrifice virgins. They yelled at me to stop.
I yelled back, ”Never! I’ll never stop protecting the innocent from your dark cult! She wasn’t just some virgin for you to sacrifice! Yolonda was a person!” I don’t know if the young woman looking at her phone was a virgin, or if her name was Yolonda. But she sort of looked like my cousin Yolanda, so I assume her name was also Yolanda. And my assumptions are never wrong, I assume.
”I’m coming to save you, Yolonda!” I yelled and started running back to the portal. Would she still be there? Perhaps they hadn’t taken Yolonda far. The two cult followers said something into their walkie talkies. I can only assume they were telling the high priest they had found the magic coin and were giving chase.
And the chase they gave!
I ran as fast as I could, but the wheelbarrow slowed me down. Luckily, the streets I took to return to the portal started going downhill, and it got easier, but it got easier for the cult lackeys as well. As I ran, crowds of people looked at me and glared when they saw the cult relic. So many shook their heads, and called me a “moh-ron”, to use their primitive language.
Ohh. was I mad! I yelled, “think for yourselves, sheep!”
I finally arrived back at the portal, and there was quite the commotion. Strange boxy vehicles with flashing lights flooded the scene. How brazen was this cult? They couldn’t even drive normal cars like the rest of us? They had to use flashing lights and sirens to alert everyone to their savage rituals?
Then I saw her – Yolonda. Thank goodness she was still alive! They had strapped her to some sort of wheeled cot! And her face! Her face was all bruised and her arm was in a sling! What had this sinister cult done to poor Yolonda?
Two more cult members, wearing black pants and bright yellow jackets, wheeled Yolonda into the back of a large square cult van with flashing lights. I screamed her name, and Yolonda looked at me.
Yolanda, clever as always, pretended she didn’t know me, and even widened her eyes and started yelling “go-go-go-go!” when she saw me quickly approaching. I couldn’t make it to the large van in time and they drove off with their flashing lights and loud sirens. But Yolanda kept the act up the whole time, pretending she wanted to get far away from me.
I will always remember you, brave Yolanda.
They could take Yolanda, but I would never obey their cult leader Stefan. I don’t know if Stefan is the name of their nefarious cult leader, but I assume it is. And my assumptions are never wrong, I assume.
I checked, and the portal was still there. The cultists had surrounded it with orange cones and brightly colored tape. Clearly, a primitive attempt to diffuse negative spectral energy. These cult people will believe anything! What fools!
The two cult lackeys that had been chasing me caught up. I decided that perhaps, instead of running, I use my wits, for I am an intellectual. I yelled, “Here! Have your sacred coin! And close your foul portal! But Yolonda and I will never stop fighting you and Stephan.” With a flourish, or at least as much of a flourish as one can flourish with a rusty wheelbarrow, I dumped the coin out and stood defiant.
The next part I didn’t expect. They began worshipping me.
The cultists adorned my wrists with shiny interlocked bracelets, made of…you guessed it…their sacred metal. The coin, the shields, and now these tight bracelets. It all makes sense.
They prayed an incantation to someone called Miranda, who I assume is one of their primitive goddesses. Then they led me into a cult vehicle with flashing lights. In the back seat, which we all know is the seat of honor. Look at any procession and you will see presidents and kings sitting where? In the back seats!
They must think I’m a deity! What fools!
As my new worshippers drove me away from the ‘dangerous’ magic portal, I couldn’t help but think of my good luck. Things were definitely looking up.
Maybe that was a lucky coin after all.