Just Let the Kings Fans Have Their Damn Moment

Last year, when the Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup, I got to experience a portion of it.  I’m – obviously – not a player.  I’m just a fan, in a city full of fans.  Of good people who put a large amount of themselves into the way they watch sports.  I used to let my moods be dictated by how well the Bruins were doing. 

I think the Win (hey, writing it that way is a good shorthand for “this is important”!) brought out some of the very best traits of this city.

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The Order of the Rum & the Pineapple

Today is to be a most Hallowed day (note the capitalization.  See?  It’s how you know it’s important).  Today I bring you not a rant, but a true gift.  Today I give the world a new religion.  Today I begin four separate sentences with the same word, a skill I did not know I possessed.

These are to be the central tennants of said religion – hereby proclaimed to be known as The Order of the Rum & the Pineapple.


1.) The word “religion” is never to be used.  Forget about the nine times I said it up there.  This is a word that has been co-opted and abused and is beyond saving.  We abandon this word, cast it off as forbidden, as the only profane word in our lexicon.

Acceptable words, by contrast, include shit piss fuck cum cocksucker motherfucker and tits

2.) Our God is dead.  Literally. The Order of the Rum and the Pineapple has but one God to evoke, the Sacred Spirit of Hunter S. Thompson, as seen to the original disciples, the people of Hawaii, in the year of HST 1983:

The word traveled swiftly, up and down the coast, and by nightfall the downtown streets were crowded with people who had come from as far away as South Point and the Waipio Valley to see for themselves if the rumor was really true – that Lono had, in fact, returned in the form of a huge drunken maniac who dragged fish out of the sea with his bare hands and then beat them to death on the dock with a short-handled Samoan war club.

Lono sits sideways on a massive throne of sticky pig bones, swatting at the air with a mighty black machete with one hand whilst he drinks deep, dark rum from the hollowed-out carcass of a pineapple.  His is a cigarette that never goes out.  His is a thirst that is never quenched.  He wears the head of a swordfish atop his own.

Evoking the spirit of Lono can be done in several ways and are sure to vary from person to person.  The one Ritual we all share: outside, preferably in the wilderness of a forest or among the vast expanse of the coast, bring a machete down hard across the top of a pineapple.  Leave the leaves where they lay as tribute to Lono.  Violently make a pit inside with the machete – greedily eating the bits that are struck off, graciously drinking the blood of the thing.  Fill this pit with rum.  Dark rum.  Putting clear rum into the pineapple is a slight against Lono and his vengeance will be brought down upon those who do.  Drink the rum from the pineapple as fast as you can and, aloud, demand his audience and accept the drunken, brazen confidence he will assuredly instill in you.

3.) No one will ever die for or be killed in the name of the Order.  The only violence ever to be allowed in the life of an Order member is the kind that is strictly an act of defense or a drunken, brotherly trespass that can be absolved with a firm slap on the back and a sincere apology.

4.) All are welcome.  Be good to one another.  Those who have seen the yellowy light of the Order and those who remain blind – be good to all.

5.) There are no tithes.  There are no dues.  No donations can be made or will be accepted because there are no buildings built in the name of the Order to be maintained. 

6.) Six is a number offensive to Lono.  Never include a sixth entry in any list.

7.) Finally, know the symbols of the Order.

The Pineapple.  The Machete.  The Swordfish.

Hail Lono,

The Captain

Dictated but not Read