Bloodsmen,

Omnius Maxus Blut Alto.

I trust this letter finds you dominant in your professional and social circles. As always, read this once and then burn it. Stare directly at the flame until the last ash drops into your palm. Scatter the ashes on your bed. When your wife enters the bedroom for a night of love and notices the scattered ashes, tell her this: “Oops, they are Oreo crumbs.”

I hope you enjoyed that lighthearted turn which was clearly incorrect. As always, the ashes should be poured into a glass of wine and savored.

Bloodsmen, you were likely alarmed to find this message tucked into the lapel of your pajama top when you awoke this morning. Your instincts are, as ever, razor sharp, and were you stranded in the wilderness with a group of your peers they would defer to your intuition. The trouble that you perceived is this: The Order of the Blood of Thoth is nearly bankrupt. Although as a rule our Order operates on a higher plane than the general hoards, their hapless plunge into financial ruin has finally touched us. To avoid fiscal ruination I have identified a few areas in which I see opportunities to cut costs.
 

Airline Ticket Burning Ritual

We are going to have to change the way we ritualistically burn airline tickets. We can’t burn roundtrip first-class tickets to Shanghai anymore—or Perth, or Cairo, or any other exotic locales. To cut costs, from now on we’ll be burning tickets to destinations within the tri-state area. I’m sure more than a tinge of drama will be missing from the ritual as we set flame to a Southwest Rapid Rewards one-way ticket to Morristown, N.J.—but it’s still a symbolic act of sacrifice. And Bloodsmen, if you haven’t registered for a Rapid Rewards account yet, don’t wait for Miranda to send out another email. It’s a quick and easy savings that we can’t turn down right now.
 

Masked, Fireside Sex in a Cave

There are almost no changes here, except one: We will not hold the orgy in the cave chambers of Lascaux this year.

Allow me to anticipate a couple of objections:

The Lascaux caves boast some of the best-known upper Paleolithic art.

True, but we’re still paying the cleanup costs to remove the lopsided boobs Bloodsman Norris doodled onto that bison.

Everyone knows the orgy must take place in a subterranean habitat anointed by the ancients of the Order of the Blood of Thoth. The ritual would be profane elsewhere.

Anointed habitat or not, what Pearlstein did to McAlister last year was profane by any standard, and we would do well to remember that we are senior members of the Order of the Blood of Thoth and not a bunch of Tri Delts on a St. Patty’s fuck truck.

And while it is true the orgy must take place in an underground lair touched by the ancients of our Order, it just so happens that Lokey Caverns, southwestern Pennsylvania’s third-largest cave, also happens to have ties to the Order of the Blood of Thoth. The grounds boast a picnic shelter and are situated just a scenic 45-minute drive from one of the region’s wave pools.

I don’t expect anyone to be overjoyed about this move, but let’s be honest: When the fire starts roaring and we all get to whoring, as long as we’re in a dank geological park that evokes the mysterious origins of man and has ties to the Order of the Blood of Thoth, who really cares where it is? Bring your Skull Tablet and flavored self-heating lubricant.
 

Atlantis

There’s going to be some grumbling over this. This year’s annual global convention is still slated for Atlantis, but not the mythical pleasure island hidden from man. Instead, we’re moving our annual convention to the family-friendly Bahaman resort with dazzling Easter getaway discounts.

I’m aware that at first glance this appears to be a humongous downgrade. The Atlantis trip is our most beloved tradition and truly the flagship ritual of our order. On the mythical island of Atlantis we communed with the gods who anointed Thoth. We stalked beasts of prey in exhilarating clothing-optional group hunts. In the early morning hours we would murder one of our own and then bring him back to life (except in Greg’s case) and at night we played Mad Libs. Recall “Dear KEVIN COSTNER I am having a FART time at summer camp, would you please send me some more OPRAH’S BRA?” How we laughed. Classic Bloodsman Halpern.

The reality is, the whole rigmarole of getting to the bottom of the ocean and paying out secrecy bribes is more than we can afford at this moment. I hear the resort’s conference rooms are well lit and include pads, pens, and bowls of seasonal fruit when available. Miranda will be sending you quotes for the trip. Bring a swimsuit and your floor-length chocolate robe with the train. WITH the train, people. Don’t make Miranda spend the next week consecrating replacement trains again.

Bloodsmen, you are to be thanked for your continued dedication to the Order and for your compliance with these measures, which may have seemed as though they came out of nowhere. Indeed, you’re likely wondering why you hadn’t heard anything of the Order’s financial deterioration until now, and I can tell you that this is because the losses occurred suddenly last Thursday. A Bloodsman who will remain nameless (bubble butt/laughs like a donkey) used the shank of our Order expense account to act on a stock tip, which blew up in his face that has several distinctive moles.

This is a dark hour for the Order, but we have seen darker, and I assure you that by the vast, supernatural powers of our omniscient lord Thoth (as well as some common-sense scrimping) we shall emerge triumphant.

On a bright note, the White House Sleepover is still on. Bring your flavored self-heating lubricant.

Infinitum Maximus Pleneba,
Grand Monster Ultimus