As the sun sets over Butthole Town, the great and the good, the powerful of the town, gather in the hushed halls of its most mysterious landmark, operating in near total secrecy for centuries, if you can ignore the shirtless prophet outside, with his one massively swollen black foot and a voice that sounds like a lawnmower fighting a possum. His proclamations echo from Yancy’s Bangkok Style Go-Go-Bar all the way out to Smooty and Bitternuts’ Downvote Distillery.
This is The Noble and Most Ancient Mystic Society of No Frodos.
Known locally as “The Lodge”, the Society has operated in the shadows for centuries, despite having one of the grandest buildings in all of Butthole Town.
According to ancient legends scribbled on beer coasters, the Society was founded at some undetermined time in the very distant past by twelve men who became furious after being banned from the saloon after a disagreement over parking.
Determined to create a brotherhood devoted to secrecy, strange robes, and unnecessary handshakes, they established the Order and built their grand lodge. Their meetings have occurred here ever since, except for back in 2014, during the unfortunate Evil Puppet Incursion incident, when they temporarily relocated to eBob Jr’s Krazy Kommunity Klub.
The Society’s sworn purpose is allegedly:
“To hold back the eternal darkness and evil of Satan through ceremonial chanting, cryptic meetings, and heavily subsidised raffle nights.”
Nobody knows exactly how they do this. Many suspect the raffle is somehow involved. Very few outsiders have entered the building and returned with their sanity fully intact.
The obsfuscating nature of their mystic war against the forces of darkness has led some, particularly those who protest outside, to believe that they are indeed on the side of darkness. They don’t dispute this because it is funny.
Members gather in ceremonial aprons to perform ancient rites, including standing around in silence, pointing at maps, speaking vaguely about “the coming struggle,” and arguing over who forgot to bring ice. At midnight, the Grand Elder reportedly strikes a ceremonial whipper-snipper against a plastic wheelie bin while chanting:
“No Frodos. No Questions.”
Visitors are discouraged from making eye contact during this portion of the ritual.
The war against darkness and Butthole Town Council zoning decisions rages eternal.
