If I was rich I could buy the best cigars in case I smoke, and I could buy me an important last name like Buddha, and I could hire some thugs to beat the shit out of Dr. Plutus on my way out of this prison. It has something to do with the Optometric Priests. I remember more now that I stopped swallowing the red pills.

I had this wrinkled page from the magazine in my pocket with the advertisement for becoming an eye doctor in a couple weeks without having to study. It said the college president was Dr. Frederick Nergal. I figured I should let the president know I had arrived and was determined to wear the Holy Green Robe and Crown of Thorns.

It turns out you have to go through two doors to get into the president's office. The first door lets you into his secretary's space. She is supposed to keep undesirables from bothering the King; but how was I supposed to know that? She was having her nails sharpened or something and the room was empty. Nergal's door had his coat of arms on it: Two Lions on either side of a dead ant with two swords crossed above. Underneath was the clan motto: "Eat or be Eaten". I let myself into Nergal's office.

Dr. Nergal was burning huge black ants with a tiny blow torch. He had on thick rubber gloves and a good thing too, the ants were biting and hissing; not going to Ant Heaven without a heroic last battle. I couldn't see too clearly, but I swear the ants were wearing red helmets. I didn't know it at the time, but these were baby ants. The adults get to be the size of small dogs. When Nergal ran out of ants to fry, he put the tiny flame thrower down, took off the blood spattered rubber gloves, and looked right at me "Do you know who's office you're standing in?"

He looked a little like Dracula. He had slick black hair, purple lips, and he was dressed in a black robe. He had on sunglasses so you couldn't see his red eyes.

"Yes, sir. You are the college president."

"That's not entirely correct. I am the King of this Netherworld. I am also the chief of the secret police. Our headquarters is a mile south of hell. And why is it you are standing here with your dirty feet on my shag carpet?"

"I just wanted to let you know that I arrived, sir, and I am eager to wear the sacred robe and crown of thorns."

Nergal paused a moment to let this information process. Then he decided to deliver a short speech.

"I like the way you walked right into the throne room without knocking. You remind me of myself when I was a young moron. Why did my secretary let you in here? No, no, don't talk. Potentials don't talk to the King. Lean over here and listen up. Here are some school rules. Commit them to memory."

"Rule One: Never visit the King's office, never ever. Even when the King's Secretary steps out for a smoke, even then, tempting as it is to lay one's eyes on royalty, never again, ever set foot inside the sacred walls of the King's office."

Rule Number Two: No poetry. I hate poetry. If I catch you writing poetry, your ass is an ant.

Rule Three: Confess. Don't stand there with that stupid shit eating grin and tell me you didn't do it. We all know you do it. Just confess. And son, lean over here, I'm talking to you. We are bored with your imagination. Use your left brain, boy. The right brain is evil.

Rule Four: No imagination.

Now go, no, no, don't say goodbye, don't say anything, just get your sorry ass off my shag carpet. Go straight to the gymnasium and confess that you wasted the King's time and gave him a migraine headache just knowing what low standards the college has sunk to. I'm looking away now, and when I look back, your ass will be gone. I'm looking down now."

Strange guy, that Nergal. You couldn't see his eyes, but there were flashes of red light behind the sunglasses when he got agitated. He kind of creeped me out. I left his office quickly and headed off to confess.

The confessional was in the gymnasium, which was empty (the Priests hate exercise), except for a rusted yellow taxi on cinder blocks. The Priest inside wore dark sunglasses. His hairy hands gripped the worn steering wheel. For a few moments, he bumped up and down, and made motor sounds, pretending I wasn't there. I climbed in the back seat like you are supposed to do and repeated the familiar mantra: "Forgive me, General Motors Sir, for I have sinned; again."

"Beep, beep," he said, pretending to look out the cracked windshield.

This is a traditional Auto Priest ritual. I repeated "Beep, beep," like I was supposed to do, except I started to giggle. I mean, come on, "beep, beep?" What a bunch of fucking idiots. I hate the stupid Auto Priests and their asinine rituals. The rituals are so stupid it's funny. Which is why I ended up laughing for about forty five hysterical minutes. Or maybe it was for only a second or two, or maybe both, time being weird and all.

Speaking of confessions, Tim. I still get those laughing fits. The nurses come running with the pointy calipers, and Dr. Plutus rushes around with needles and chloroform suppositories. They hate laughing around here. It sends them into a rage.

When I feel like laughing, I have to lay on my back in bed with a pillow over my face and choke out this tiny gagging laugh so no one can hear me. I feel better when I do that.

"So," Priest Dr. Alaster says to me "Sinner, have you been casting lustful eyes upon the King's Secretary again?" He is wearing the Crown of Thorns but it is too big and invades his eyebrows. He has the evil, blood sucking look, like Nergal, with the black hair and sharp teeth. You can't see his eyes, the regulation sunglasses are too dark.

They have this thing for Sibyl which I didn't get at first until I laid eyes on her. You know, Tim, it's like when you are trying hard to be a normal guy and not some fool masturbating in the hall closet, but you turn a corner and there she is, this babe who suddenly makes you drool and trip over your own feet and stumble into the wall face first. Or you are walking along thinking about writing the greatest novel ever written again and then you step on a babe mine and your whole insides explode and turn into a sex swamp. Sibyl does that to guys.

"I haven't meet the secretary, sir," I told Alaster.

"You stay away from Sibyl, boy. You aren't man enough to glance at her ass. You might turn into a pillar of salt or spill your oatmeal in public."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you the one who gave the King a migraine headache?"

"No, sir."

"You stay out of the King's office. He never wants to see you again."

"I can explain, sir."

"No! No explaining. Rule Number Five: No explaining. No discussion. You are wrong. Did you get the part about never, ever visiting the King during this or any other eternity?"

"Yes, sir."

You have to say "Yes, sir" to the Priests or they get all personal and insulted.

"You need help, boy. Who is your Big Brother?"

"I'm a twin, sort of, or used to be, I guess."

"Every Potential is assigned a graduate student, a Guide to the Underworld, someone who watches your every stupid move to make sure you don't do idiotic things like walk into the King's Royal Space without knocking. You were supposed to meet your Guide at pre-orientation last night. Where were you last night?"

"I was throwing up in the moat, sir. I was lost. There are no wayfinding signs in Sumeria."

"I'm assigning Sadaya of Sumeria to your case. You need a master spy to follow your stupid ass around."

You see Tim, wherever I go I irritate people. I'm some kind of mutant. I'm defective. Dad told me once that the family tree was chopped down and used for fire wood. That's why I probably smoke, I'm trying to connect with the smell of the family tree as it smoldered in the late hours. You smoked too, remember? Up there in the attic until that day you suddenly quit. You son of a bitch.

Anyway, Alaster made me feel like I was a mutant, so I said "In Detroit, I have lots of friends, sir." It was a lie, but I felt like lying.

"Detroit! What the hell is that?"

"It's a village, sir, east of the Trinket Jungle."

This statement was followed by a very long period of silence. Dr. Alaster seemed to be talking to himself or to some unseen apparition.

"You come from the other side of the Trinket Jungle?"

"Yes sir, from Detroit."

"How did you know to come to the college?

"The Hormones Unlimited Magazine article."

"That's only published in Sumeria. How did a Sumerian Magazine get into reality?"

"You're confusing me, sir."

More silence. Then Alaster decided to change the focus.

"Do you know what I do here at the college, Potential?"

They called us "Potentials" because we weren't developed enough to be Professionals.

"No, sir, what do you do here?"

"I am the High Priest and Executioner of Optometry. My job is to torment Potentials."

"I have a question."

"And what would that be?"

"When do I get my Holy Green Robe and Crown of Thorns?

"You earn the symbols by surviving orientation. Where is your tie? All Potentials must wear the clan tie. Where is your chocolate eyeball? Where is your book of professional fight songs?"

"What?"

"When you leave the Sacred Taxi, which is right now, you get your sorry butt straight back to Sibyl's office and you get your supplies. Don't you dare even glance at the King's door. Don't you allude to the existence of the King. You get your supplies quickly and then you march your ass over to the dorm. Hold your hand out."

I held my hand out while he proceeded to lay thirty, one thousand shekel bills into my palm, counting slowly.

"Here is your signing bonus as promised in the Hormones Unlimited special offer. These new riches will make you anxious and conservative; now you have something to worry about. Smile once, beep twice and then get the hell out of my shrine. Beep, beep."

"Beep, beep, sir."

The college seemed to be run by just three professors who doubled as administrators. There was King Nergal, High Priest Alaster, and Dr. Namtar, the school attorney and professor of pestilence. Even though they all wore the same robes and had the black hair dracula look, they were otherwise very different. Nergal was so bad assed it was funny, especially since he was overweight and preoccupied, actually obsessed with killing ants. Alaster was a wirey little bastard. He seemed to be everywhere; busy making student lives miserable. He was sort of an anti-dean of students. Dr. Namtar was good looking except that he never smiled and his face was made of marble, I guess- I never saw any expression.

The only other staff member of the college was the King's secretary Sybil.