In post 87, Mina wrote:We congregate in a secret subterranean cavern, guarded by elite assassins. To enter, we must provide retina and fingerprint scans, along with the secret handshake. Mods have been gunned down on the spot for messing the handshake up.
New list mods and discussion mods must endure a grueling six-month period of hazing, involving giving ourselves alcohol poisoning while standing naked in the harsh Dallas winters, receiving cigarette burns on our genitals, kidnapping Christian children to use their blood in our dark rituals, and performing obscene acts with pigs. If we survive, we pledge our everlasting loyalty to the Mafiascum cabal by our holy altar--a noose painted gold--and sign a contract in our own blood. Then we are finally given the passcode for the inner sanctum of our lair, where we hold our policy meetings.
Inside, Thesp and zoraster sit on a dais, decked in chains of precious metals and jewels. On a ledge behind them is mith's coffin, where he sleeps...waiting.
Beneath them, we are seated around a massive marble and oak table--blues on the left, greens on the right. We are then served elaborate banquets of quail and pheasant, fresh bread with caviar and foie gras, a bottomless supply of champagne, and pies full of live kittens for dessert. Now and then, the Unofficial Mafiascum Contributors crawl in on all fours with trays of hors d'oeuvres and cocktails on their backs, and we help ourselves, occasionally stepping on them and kicking them in the face for our own amusement.
Once the meal is winding down, zoraster rises and announces the beginning of the policy discussion. He calls on us one by one, clockwise around the table. The mod must stand--if he or she dares, the mod may suggest a change to his queue or general site policy. If the suggestion especially displeases zoraster, or if the mod forget to refer to him as Lord Otter, Supreme Otter, Holy Ruler of All Otters and Infallible God Who Blesses Us with His Otterly Wisdom, he signals to the assassins, and the mod is riddled with bullets. In his more charitable moods, zoraster just laughs cruelly and banishes the mod from that night's meeting.
But if zoraster thinks the idea has merit, he motions to Thesp, who reaches beneath his chair to retrieve several items. Among them is an ancient cistern covered in arcane markings, rumoured to have been in the inner circle of admins' possession for centuries, and plastic baggies full of white and black pebbles. Thesp recites an incantation over the cistern, and then he and zoraster cast two pebbles apiece into it before Thesp descends the staircase of the dais.
In order to rule on the change, we all cast our pebbles into the cistern. A white pebble is a vote for yea, a black for nay. The suggestion shall only be passed if two-thirds of the pebbles in the cistern are white. If fewer than a third are white, then the mod who suggested the idea is sentenced to two hundred lashings for his folly.
If the suggestion receives enough votes, we perform a ceremony to seal the pact. One at a time, we walk up the stairs of the dais, kiss mith's coffin, and then kneel before zoraster and Thesp and kiss each of their feet. We then chant in a language none of us understand but which seems to mention "diabolus" a lot. Finally, we march to the altar while Untrod Tripod fetches the screaming Christian child we have locked in the dungeon. On the foot of the altar, he slits the child's throat to the sound of our bacchanalian ululating, and we dance frenetically as we bathe in its spurting blood. Then we wash up, and Thesp and zoraster retreat to their office to draft an action plan they'll hand us in a week for implementing the changes.
Meanwhile, the list mods and discussion mods each retire to their separate chambers to sift through reports, which involves randomizing a number and declaring that to be the ban length, then having another drink.
Any other questions?
/confirm
