By Barron B. Hoffbeck (no. 12513)

Every member of the Grand Lock is familiar with the expression, “to every lock a key.” We,  members of our ancient order often take this to mean that every problem has a fitting solution; conversely, this can also be interpreted that some keys should not be inserted willy-nilly into keyholes where they most certainly do not belong. Sadly, this rings true in the case of the recent takeover of rival lodge, the Brotherhood of the All-Seeing Loon.

Last week’s meeting at Lodge 129 was both Bird Night (as it is every first Thursday of the month) and the first post-ceremonial pledge event to feature our ex-Loon brethren in attendance. It began with excitement–as Lock after Lock (after Lock!) ambled up the squeaky old steps of our lodge, Tumbler Abernath remarked that we’d likely break the attendance record high set in back in 2002 (for a performance by touring musician, Barron J. Mayer). The electricity of the room was invigorating and I was thankful for the strong arms of my Yegor, my bubby beloved for fetching additional folding chairs from storage.

The first Loon to arrive introduced himself as “Jean-Michele”, a roundabout quinquagenarian in bowling shoes and a bleach-blonde moustache. Jean-Michele (like the many other Jean-Michele’s I’ve met in my life–often hairdressers) was quickly drawn to me–complimenting my string of pearls (my mother’s) and very quickly confiding with me funny, harmless (so I thought!) gossip about other Locks’ fashion decisions. Jean-Michele seemed of good nature and I was glad to have an ally from “across the aisle.”

The glow of friendly fellowship soon cooled as suddenly cresting the threshold of Lodge 129 came two more Loons. I stood to greet them and dear reader, I confess my heart nearly seized in fright as a high-volume ejaculation sounded from the mouth of Jean-Michele: a resounding, falsetto “OOH YEE!”

The two new arrivals merely tittered and sounded back “Ooh yee, Jean-Michele,” before finding their seats. This vociferous farce played itself out ad mortem with each new visitor filling the hall. I held my tongue, nodded a friendly hello, and played the part of the ever tolerant pukka sahib but even now, my head yet throbs. A lodge meeting should be a pleasant gathering, not a reenactment of the sinking of the USS Arizona!

These histrionics continued to echo through the hall throughout the evening. Roll-Call heard a restrained “present” from the Locks and a shrieked “ye yee!” from the Loons. When Secretary P. Foucalt introduced “Old Business”, the Loons all stood and parroted “Old Business!” Throughout the formal introduction of the night’s meeting, this misbehavior continued with Loons inexplicably standing, sitting, squawking, spinning, et cetera, and so on. These esoteric theatrics might fly at a screening of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” or at a niece’s Catholic wedding but in the context of our noble order these outbursts were shameful and wrong.

And another thing that set me off–when we got to the “Recitation of Brotherhood of the All-Seeing Loon’s Terms of Surrender and Incorporation” (as is dictated that we’re to recite at every lodge meeting for the next 24 months), the Loonies were downright chipper about it. They were all smiles! Sophie (one of Jean-Michele’s inner throng), had the gallto bring along a little white flag that she waved cartoonishly. Who’s really in control here?

Just as a newborn babe shouldn’t suckle at a plague-riddled teet, so too should the Order of the Grand Lock be more choosy about what goes in. Ours is a history of power, secrecy, and enforced supplication. When the supplicant is this eager, and dare I say gauche, the entire body suffers. It’s not too late–I call on the High Keys to expunge the Brotherhood of the All-Seeing Loon before it’s too late! Let Loons be Loons but don’t dilute our order with their strange and Loony ways.

To cap off the evening, when the birds were unfurled from the aviary, the Loons grew sullen and bore stymied expressions. Jean-Michele leaned over and whispered that he “didn’t know that ‘Bird Night’ was literal.” How else could we mean it? The aghast Loons finally lost their good humor and even refused to share in Locksmith P. Haggerty’s peach tart (just because a few cockatiel feathers had landed on the crust). If a Loon can’t abide a bird, perhaps we should not abide a Loon.

Toodle-oo for now!

From Volume 873 Issue 2 – Subscribe here, members, to be the first to get the next newsletter!