Friday, October 29, 2010

The Accidental Rootworker

Initially, I was determined not to sleep with him: Over the course of our evening together, he told me how committed he was to the Baptist Church, and that Christ was his personal Savior, and that he thought Unitarians were "spooky." Not too auspicious in terms of common ground.

But he also had a charming Cajun accent and a barrel chest and really big biceps. So when he noticed that the bar was closing and suggested that crashing at my apartment would probably be safer than driving all the way back to Louisiana, I demurely concurred.

Lust does strange things to the gay brain, especially when it comes to selective memory. In this situation, a guy with a "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker was following me home, and it never occurred to me that my taste in décor might work against his religious sensibilities. Or at least, it didn't occur to me until after I'd unlocked my front door and ushered him into my living room.

"Oh," he said, surveying the scene. "You're Catholic."

"I'm actually not," I said, casually draping a newspaper over the pile of Witchcraft books on my dining table. "But I do have an appreciation for Catholic art."

"Oh, okay. Cool. And is that... is that a flying penis statue?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Is that also Catholic?"

I didn't have a good response, so I pretty much just started making out with him.

Clothing suddenly became an annoying hindrance. Things progressed from there.

Although it probably goes without saying, there are certain amorous, homosexual diversions that require, well, accoutrements... by which I mean personal lubricant, which I regretfully did not have in stock. So when the Cajun expressed heated interest in a particular activity, I had to say sorry, but not going to happen.

Being an upstanding, Southern gentleman, he understood. Again with the progression.

Later that night, after much smooching and cuddling, the Cajun excused himself for a quick second and popped into the bathroom. After a few moments, he returned with something in his hands.

"I thought you didn't have any lube," he said.

"Um, I don't."

"But I found some in your medicine cabinet."

Confused, I ran a quick mental inventory of said cabinet: Toothpaste, cologne, antibiotic ointment, dental floss, styling gel and... oh shit.

"Whoa, dude, wait," I said. "I promise that's not lube."

"Of course it is," he replied. "It says so on the label."

And then he dumped a bottle of Conjure Doctor Brand True Love Oil all over the place and got busy.

Instead of sharing any more intimate details, I'd like to skip ahead about 72 hours to another telephone conversation between myself and Dr. E.:

Dr. E. (after listening to the whole story) - "WOW. Did the oil irritate your skin or anything?"

Me - "You know, it really didn't."

Dr. E. - Good! Glad to hear it. So... what happened next?"

Me - "Well, it's been three days and he's still here."

Dr. E. - "Interesting. Would you be willing to write a product testimonial for my website?"

Me - "I would, but that's not the point."

Strifemongers, here is the point... or, if anything, here is a pointy, tangly question: Could a devout Christian with no ties to or knowledge of the occult unintentionally make use a metaphyisical concoction, thus unwittingly casting a spell?

I don't know, either. But my bedroom currently reeks of love.

And that, my friends, is auspicious.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Quote o' the Moment - Skyclad Deconstructed

"Status, wealth, temporal power--all the things you're supposed to leave outside the circle. Not because they're evil. Because they get in the way."  -Rosemary Edghill

With that in mind...


The Four Witches

Tell me what you see.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

... but this porridge is just right.

Strifemongers, please enjoy the following toll-free glimpse into my current social life.

And also, a tip o' the nib to Le Cornichon for introducing me to this song (if not to bears in general).

Monday, October 04, 2010

Quote o' the Moment - Family Affairs

"Some hillfolk believe that a woman may become a witch by some comparitively simple hocus-pocus ... a woman had only to fire a silver bullet at the moon and mutter two or three obscene old sayin's. A lady in Barry county, Missouri says that any woman who repeats the Lord's Prayer backwards and fires seven silver bullets at the moon is transformed into a witch instanter. But most of the genuine old-timers agreed that to become a witch is a rather complicated matter.

"Anybody is free to discuss the general principles of witchcraft, but the conjure words and old sayin's must be learned from a member of the opposite sex. Another thing to be remembered is that the secret doctrines must pass only between blood relatives, or between persons who have been united in sexual intercourse. Thus it is that every witch obtains her unholy wisdom either from a lover or a male relative.

"Not every woman who receives this information becomes a witch. A mother can transmit the secret work to her son, and he could pass it on to his wife, and she might tell one of her male cousins, and so on. All of these people may be regarded as 'carriers,' but not until someone actually uses the deadly formulae does a genuine witch appear. And thus, while a knowledge of witchcraft is admitted to exist in certain families and clans, it sometimes lies dormant for a long time."

-Vance Randolph, Ozark Superstitions