In due time, I returned from the loo to find the party in full swing. It was amazing ... so remarkable that so many would have traveled the world just to be at the Red Lion for that momentous evening!
I procured a fresh glass of Riesling from the bar ... my fourth ... and feeling light hearted and gay, as well as a trifle unsteady, I began to mingle ... sashaying about the crowded floor, greeting everyone gaily.
I spotted Dorothy Brown off to one side, holding court, regaling a circle of CFers with her crazy ribald fantasy stories of nights in Detroit, or of sitting on a dunking stand at a fair waiting to be dunked. I loitered in the fringes, laughing along with the others, amused by the naughty absurdity of it all.
Wandering off, I exchanged greetings with newly arrived DarkPrincess69 and Erin, before tottering over towards the low stage along the room’s far wall, which presumably was the place where musicians might perform for a festive event like a wedding celebration.
But this night, that stage was to serve a different purpose, for hard at work there were CFs most accomplished cross builders, TheHangingTree and Baracus. And I could see that they had nearly finished constructing five new wooden crosses alongside the one I had seen Kathy hanging from when I had first arrived nearly two hours earlier. Kathy was gone now, returned to the party. Apparently she had only been up there earlier for the purpose of testing the cross design ... trying it out for size, one might say.
Tree noticed me standing near the edge of the stage, and when he had finished driving a nail, he set his hammer downtood up and said to me, “Hiya Barb, how’s it going?”
To which I slurrred, “Fine, Ah think.”
I have to admit I was felling quite tipsy by then after consuming nearly four glasses.
Coming over, he put an arm around me, guided me onto the stage and over to one of the crosses to ask me what I thought of the workmanship.
I said it looked a bit crooked ... you know ... lopsided.
He stared at it appraisingly for about a minute, and said, “Nope, straight as an arrow.”
I figured he had to be drunk, so I turned around and headed back towards the party but promptly ran straight into an upright timber secured to a heavy supporting base.
I muttered, “excuse me,” thinking I had plowed into someone. But realizing my mistake, I turned to the nearest person, who turned out to be HarshMartinet, and blurted out, “what the fuck izzat?”
“It’s a whipping post, Barb,” was his earnest reply. “Would you like to try it out? ... topless, perhsps?”
“No thangsh.”
I was about to ask about another wooden apparatus on the stage, that looked like some kind of bench, when my attention was diverted by the ringing/clanging sound of a spoon tapping on the side of a glass.
The buzz of conversation gradually hushed as the ringing persisted.
It was Eul, assuming her role as mistress of ceremonies, and calling our attention to the evening’s main event, which she reminded us was about to commence with a drawing of names to determine who among us would have the honor of adornIng those six crosses for the enjoyment of all assembled.
But first she said that she needed to explain the ground rules. The drawing of the names, she said, was to be done by RacingRodent and Rias, neither of whom would be expected to take their duty seriously, which meant the results could be expected to be as fixed as a Belarus election
She went on to explain that the lucky or unlucky winners ... depending on which way one looked at it ... would be chosen one at a time, and would each be expected to submit to the following before the next lucky CFer was chosen: 1) the removal of all or most of their clothing, 2) acceptance of a pre-crux preparatory punishment, either facing the whipping post or bent over the caning bench ... the number of lashes or strokes administered to be determined by the roll of four dice, and 3) to be crucified on one of the six crosses upon which they would writhe, wiggle and dance for an undetermined period of time for the entertainment of all.
At that point, she turned the proceedings over to RR, who “scurried” up onto the stage carrying a fishbowl full of small folded white cards. He held the bowl out for Rias, who with a Cheshire Cat grin, reached in to fish out a card, which she promptly handed to RR.
He unfolded it, held it up to the light theatrically and announced, “Our first winner is ....... BARB!”
Wouldn’t you know it?
“Oh Shit!” I muttered under my breath, and drained the last of my fourth glass,
