Join Khadijah for a tour of the infamous
Soapnuts Dungeon
~ if you dare!
Many of you have heard me whining as of
late, about not having ever had the (ahem) privilege of serving time in the
esteemed Soapnuts dungeon. I have been witness to almost everyone else as
they have trudged off to serve their time...MaryB, Jessica, Christa, Debbie,
Duane.......the list goes on and on. But, alas, I have not been decreed by Becky
to commit myself to that nether world where chocolate reigns supreme.
But, through my elite team of Soapnut spies, I have
been able to piece together a pretty good picture of our own dreaded dungeon,
and I am going to share my findings with all of you. Oh, faint of heart,
turn away from the words which follow, close your innocent eyes to the terror
and despair that is to come after...
First of all, one must commit a major faux pas on the list to be sentenced to do
time. This can include, but is not limited to, insulting a list mom,
insulting something a list mom holds dear (like Pepsi), admitting that you do
not like soapmaking, but are in it for the money, poking fun at fellow list
members, particularly moderators, forgetting things, such as the members
passwords and how to post pictures, after being told several times in the course
of a week, and sticking your tongue out at someone without being asked to.
Most people admit to what they have done as they are doing it, and head down to
the dungeon without being told. Others have to be dragged, kicking, screaming,
and tied up. This is good, though, as Becky enjoys dragging people down by
their hair, it helps her release pent up energy. Very Zen, really.
The door to the dungeon is, of course, made of solid oak, with dark, iron bands
across the front of it. As you stand before it, quaking, Becky reaches up
on top of her fridge, pushing away years worth of accumulated fragrance oils,
scraps of papers with recipes on them, and various concoctions created and
forgotten. With an evil grin she flourishes a large, silver key, dripping
with Tahitian Vanilla f.o. Embarrassed momentarily, she wipes it off on
her flannel shirt, and shoves it into the lock with a satisfying
"thunk". Her smile falters a moment as the lock refuses to
budge, then begins rummaging through various carrier oils, trying sweet almond,
olive, grapeseed, and finally castor to lubricate the lock. "Must
make a note of that..castor oil for locks..." she mutters to herself,
dashing over to the computer and saving this revelation on Notepad. Then,
her evil grin returning, she pulls open the door, shoves you in ahead of her,
and slams it shut behind your shivering form. Her malicious laughter
follows you as you begin your descent...stopped only by the glug-glug-glug as
she downs her first Pepsi of the morning.
"Drat," you think, "I should have waited until she
finished her Pepsi before I went and admitted that
Prince gives me the willies...." You trudge downward.....
The largest room of the dungeon, the one that most
Soapnuts are familiar with, is the holding room. Since every nut wants
their own corner to cower in, it has many crooks and crannies, niches and nooks,
to hide in. As you enter the room, that indefinable
uneasiness that one gets when being watched steals over you, and you shudder
involuntarily. "Goose going over my grave," you mutter, trying
to cheer yourself up. Then, as you step into the half light afforded by a
small overhead window ("Jeesh," you think, "Becky even has
adequate soaping ventilation down here..."), you see them.....
The posters.
First of all is the guardian of the dungeon, Mel
Gibson, in his Thunderdome regalia. Arms crossed over his chest, he frowns
commandingly down at you, but you know he has that cute little dimple when he
smiles, so you are not too frightened. And, so, apparently, did someone
who came before you, as right where that little dimple is you see.....
A smear of Cadbury egg and red lipstick.... "Must ask
on the list who wears red lipstick," you think to
yourself as you tenderly rub the offending smear away, only to replace it with
one of your own, this in apricot lipstick. "Much classier!" you
smile smugly to yourself.
You walk a little further, and are confronted by Sean Connery...the older,
sexier Sean, bearded, with hair just a little longer than most would consider
fashionable. "He's old enough to be my father," you
say..."Sure am glad he's NOT!!!" And Sean is also given a taste of
your apricot lips.
And so it continues, past Sam Elliot, Kevin Costner,
George Clooney... at this last you sniff the lingering
fragrance of SueK's Satsuma and see some Lindnor ball wrappers. You see
Denise's corner, with her Alice Cooper calendar (you KNOW she isn't thinking
about golfing with him when she is looking at it!) and Prince in all his dark
finery. But something begins nagging at the back of your mind..."What
about Duane? I know he has spent time down here, and he isn't ogling Al
Pacino..." And then you see her. Miss Piggy, in her pink
motorcycle leathers. And sure enough, you can see where Duane has
scratched "Duane was here" at the foot of her poster.
And strewn around every niche, crowding
every crack in the floor, are chocolate wrappers of every name and
description...Hershey's Kisses, M & M's, chocolate bunnies, Reese's Peanut
Butter cups, and.....SLIMFAST BARS??????
To explain this last, here are the words of a previous dungeon inhabitant, our
very own Doris.
"Yes, I've had the recent experience of being in the
dungeon... did a lot of thinking. It was time wisely spent. The decor 'style' is hard to describe; the
posters being so 'unique' you know (Sean, Mel, Alice
and the others). BTW Duane, I cleaned off the cobwebs from Miss Piggy, and
looked around and only found some left over candy wrappers in between the couch
cushions. My impression of the dungeon was kinda 'outsider art'! (looking
at the whole room, lol). Kinda cool. I was good; I only brought Slimfast
bars - Chocolate Nougat. It tastes just like a Milky Way, really, and only
120 calories too. I accidentally left behind a yellow (PC 917) Prismacolor
crayon, so can the next person just put it in a safe place? I started a sketch
of a Calendula plant ..taped it up too; it's not finished though (what else is
new). I figure if I ever visit again, it will keep me busy."
Now it all comes clear, and yes, you DO see the
crayon, and place it gently behind the poster of Jon
Malkovich in Dangerous Liaisons.
The last room of the dungeon is one that you have to be very, very, bad to ever
enter. Yes, it is the
torture room!!!
The major torture, of course, is the complete lack of chocolate.
The first thing you see as your eyes adjust to this
new, dimmer, light, is Debbie Devney, standing before a giant chalkboard,
chanting in a sing song voice as she writes again and again, "Green toes
look good on Becky. I will not make fun of her shoes or
feet....."
Next, is a long table with fifty top of the line,
gotta-have-it fragrance oils. You look puzzled at these, wondering what could be so terrible about this. Then you read the sign
above the table, which says, "Narrow these down to ten. The rest will
be thrown away." As your mind tries to grasp the idea that such a
horror could exist, your attention is distracted by the sound of many voices
moaning out in pain. You turn and go into a large, gym like room, where
you see tens of Soapnuts, all with Emoticon masks on their faces, doing internet
speak yoga. Jessica is at the front, whip in hand.
"Assume the LOL pose!!! NOW!" And she cracks her whip over
their heads! "Now ROFPMP!"
And finally, the last room. It is very quiet, but as
you draw nearer you hear a pleasant voice humming a merry tune. Peeking
around the corner, you see
Camille, her head bent over a doll as she carefully
beads a beautiful design on its peacock blue tights.
What could be so bad about this? She motions you to the chair across from
you, smiles, and sweetly hands you a ten page questionnaire, written by her,
just for you!!!
So, fellow Soapnuts, be aware that every time you
press that Send button on your email, you are inviting yourself into this den of
horrors, this little corner of the Soapnuts world, known only as "The
Dungeon."
~ Khadijah Lacina
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