Magic Spell Ritual For A Wiccan Leader

Wiccans are always looking for leaders. The more people gravitate to Wicca from Christianity and other mainstream religions, the stronger becomes that overall urge for leadership.

They seem impressed by writers for some odd reason. Write yet another book of allegedly “original” ways to invoke the deities, cast circles, draw down the moon, and observe the Sabbats and Esbats, and you too might well be a Wiccan leader. Maybe it is because they are the only people as a group that are willing to publicly identify with the religion, while doctors, lawyers, and accountants would just as soon keep it to themselves, thank you very much.

On the other hand, maybe Jim Webb is on to something. He is now the Democratic Senator from Virginia, but who cares? He is a writer, by God, that is all that matters. Hey, Jim, if you ever run for President, I have the perfect Attorney General for you-John Grisham.

Anyway, it seems obvious to me that the more Christians convert to Wicca, the more there is going to be a clamor for “leadership”. After all, the Catholics have the Pope, the Southern Baptists have whoever is President of the Southern Baptist Association, and Episcopalians and Anglicans have the Archbishop of Canterbury, and all religions have a hierarchical structure, so Wicca needs that too, right?

So who should it be? Isaac Bonewits? A J Drew? Gavin and Yvonne Frost-or Bromwyn?

Well, a true Wiccan leader should be someone who wishes first and foremost, as leader, to help each individual realize their utmost potential, strive for constant improvement, and become the best person they can possibly be.

Therefore, with this in mind, I have concocted the following ritual, which all Wiccans should engage in to help them discern who that great Wiccan leader should be. The best thing about it is, you all do not have to do it all at once. You can each do it individually, in the privacy of your own homes, in your sacred space, in your own good time. Nevertheless, if you do it correctly, I guarantee that you will soon be gifted with a vision of who will be the perfect leader of Wicca.

To conduct this ritual, you will need the following items:

1. One black candle (South-for Fire)
2. One censor filled with sandalwood incense in cone form (East-for Air)
3. One silver or pewter cup filled with water or wine (West-for Water)
4. One large brass or ceramic bowl filed with rich, fertile soil. (North-for Earth)
5. Bowl of white vinegar
6. A mirror
7. A black ritual cloth
8. A second cloth

In the middle of the circle, place an oval or square mirror, ritually empowered to be a magic mirror. Before you start the ceremony, invoke the Goddess and The God. Meditate into the magic mirror on your own image. Ask the deities for the wisdom and grace needed to find the hidden answers and to lead you to the object of this sacred quest-a true, authentic Wiccan leader. Then, take a black ritual cloth, made of satin, silk, or some other natural material, and cover your magic mirror.

Then, you should invoke the elements. Begin first at the North and, invoking the elemental Power Earth, ask for the power of fertility, strength, good health, prosperity, and sound, good common sense. Then, pick up a handful of the rich, fertile soil and walk around the outer perimeters of the circle as you visualize a green energy field encompassing the area of the sacred circle. When you return to the North, visualize the power within you and, with your magical energy, slowly pour the dirt on top of the black ritual cloth that covers the sacred circle.

Then, move to the east, and to the censor. Light the incense as you invoke the elemental Power Air, and ask for wisdom, decisiveness, and the ability to see clearly through the haze at where the truth lies. Pick up the incense and walk the circle. As you do so, visualize a yellow energy field, mingling with the green that you should still visualize as well. Return to the East quadrant. Breathe in the fumes of the incense, and then take one deep breathe. Exhale this breath directly onto the black ritual cloth that covers your magic mirror.

Then, move to the South, and light the black candle, as you invoke the elemental Power Fire. Ask for passion, dedication, and spiritual strength as you then walk the circle, visualizing a red energy field, which will take its rightful place amongst the other colored fields. Return then to the Southern quadrant, taking care as always to walk the circle slowly. Once you have returned, allow some of the candle wax to drip down onto the black ceremonial cloth that covers the magic mirror.

Then, move to the West. Take the cup of water (or wine) and sip it, as you invoke the elemental Power Water. Ask for peace, love, and faith. Then, walk the circle, visualizing this time a blue field of energy that, like all the others, surrounds the circle. Return to the Western quadrant, and then pour enough of the liquid onto the black cloth to soak it thoroughly on top of your magic mirror. If possible leave just a small amount remaining in the cup.

You should then return to the North quadrant, whereupon you should bow down in front of the magic mirror. Utilizing the power of your visualization, you should meditate upon the black cloth on the magic mirror and, with your energy raising techniques, grasping hold of the black ritual cloth that covers the mirror, you should rub upon the mirror. Do this for an extensive period, until you feel your energy and your desire for a true Wiccan leader imbued within the very essence of the magic mirror.

After some time, you will feel when it is right to release the circle. As you do so, take up the black ritual cloth. Dip it into the bowl of earth, as you thank the elemental Power Earth for its presence and assistance at your ritual. Proceed then to the east. Allow the remaining wafts of incense smoke to swirl over the black ritual cloth, as you thank the elemental Power Air for its presence and assistance at this most important ritual. Proceed then to the South. As you thank the elemental Power Fire for its presence and assistance at the ritual, release the power as all the others, in this case by pinching out the flames of the candle by grasping the burning wick with the black ritual cloth (which should be sufficiently wet to enable you to do this painlessly). Finally, proceed to the West. Thanking the elemental Power Water for its presence and assistance at your ritual, release it by taking yet another sip and then dipping the black ritual cloth into the cup and, thus absorbing all the remaining excess liquid as is possible.

As you do all these things, you should visualize the different colored energy fields vanishing. You are now alone, and you should thank the deities, the Goddess and the God, for their presence and assistance at your ritual, and ask them to give you the guidance to make the final choice. Who will now be the great Wiccan leader?

Sit down in front of the now smudged, wet and dirty magic mirror, and meditate. You will, if you do this correctly, be graced with an image from The Goddess and The God. Perhaps you know who this new great Wiccan leader is. Yes, you are sure of it. Is it Isaac Bonewits? Is it Bromwyn Frost, or one of her parents? Is it A J Drew? Wait a minute, you might think. I think this is Silver Ravenwolf I am looking at here.

You must take your time, in order not to allow false images to infiltrate your mind, as the subconscious can play tricks on you. You must be careful. You must be sure. After all, this is an important decision you are about to make. It might conceivably be one of the most important decisions you will ever make in your life. Allow your mind to drift, to relax, as you meditate, and allow your inner spirit to guide you, with the help of the Great Goddess and God.

Once you are certain the time is right, take the clean, new, fresh ritual cloth and, dipping it into the bowl of vinegar, rub vigorously your magic mirror as you proclaim

“In the name of the Great Goddess and The God, I command you, begone, false image, and let the truth prevail. Use all your magical ritual energy in the cleaning of your magic mirror. Then, when you have finished, look down upon the surface of your magic mirror-

and say hello to your fucking Wiccan leader.

Witch Warriors

I recently ran across this little tidbit about Gavin Frost, which will go some ways toward explaining the current controversy. It seems that at some point in time during the decade of the nineteen seventies, he became associated with a gentleman by the name of John Todd, who previously, as a Christian evangelist, claimed to be a reformed Satanist. No evidence to this day has ever been uncovered to verify this, but he made quite a name for himself, as well as quite a bit of money and, more importantly, followers.

When called to account for different controversies, including sexual contact with minor girls, he dropped out of sight, and eventually acquired a charter from Gavin Frosts “Church and School of Wicca”. Eventually, there were once again charges of sex with minor girls, and there was a resultant investigation. Frost himself looked into the matter, with help from Isaac Bonewits, which resulted in Frost revoking his charter.

Again, he dropped out of sight, but soon enough started making the rounds as, once again, a Christian evangelist warning of the dangers of the occult. However, it bears mentioning that his target was not merely the Frosts or their church, or Bonewits, but the rising Christian metal music industry. He claimed it was a Satanic influence, a way for Satan to infiltrate the church by way of rock music and influence children with that “satanic beat”.

In fact, he seems to have declared that this was just another aspect of rising Satanic world control, and infiltration of churches, through such disparate forces as Wicca, Satanism, the Masonic Order, and The Illuminati.

Indeed, he was also heavily into the Anti-Masonic conspiracy theme that runs rampant in deranged and delusional conspiracy circles. His main supporter throughout all of this was the famed and somewhat amusing Christian pamphleteer Jack Chick. Yet, through all of his various incarnations, one thing stood out perhaps even above and beyond his stellar contribution to what is termed the “Satanic Panic” industry that ran rampant throughout the eighties- constant accusations of child sexual abuse.

Before long, all of his former followers, from whom he had made quite a good living as writer and guest speaker, deserted him, with the sole exception, it seems, of Chick, who just a few years ago was still making use of some of his stories in his pamphlets, and particularly in one comic book One known as The Broken Cross.

Finally, evidence as well as eyewitness victim testimony proved he was none other than the University of South Carolina Rapist who had claimed a number of victims, mostly young girls. He was prosecuted, and ultimately convicted, and now spends his time in a maximum-security facility for the treatment of sex abusers.

According to him and the handful of defenders he still has, Gavin Frost and Isaac Bonewits, whom Chick refers to as, respectively, “The Black Pope” and his “enforcer”, set him up. Amusingly, some of Todd's defenders state that he is actually dead. According to a story told on this supporter's website, upon winning an appeal he was released from confinement. He was picked up in a helicopter immediately after his release, and murdered-by the Illuminati. The John Todd now incarcerated, they claim, is an impostor.

Evidently, at any rate, this is the reason for a lot of the controversy directed at Gavin Frost, who, remember, revoked his charter for The Church and School of Wicca as long ago as the mid-seventies. Is it possible he was drawn to the Frosts due to the ill-advised writings in their book “The Good Witches Bible”? Well, of course, anything is possible. Could there possibly have been others as well, others who have gone on to contribute to the so-called “Satanic Panic” industry? This as well would seem possibly to be the case.

What I am damned sure of is that Gavin Frost is not, in my opinion, a co-conspirator or a knowing facilitator or in any way approved of his actions. Nor do I believe that he purposely “set Todd up”. There is no proof of either of these charges whatsoever, or even anything in the way of reasonable evidence to suggest such a thing. Until such valid evidence or proof surfaces, I continue to give him and his wife the benefit of the doubt. As for their own stand on the matter, I refer you to
this interview from 2003 with the Pagan News website.

Remember, back in the seventies, there was not a national database of child sexual abusers. Back in those days, what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas, and the same was true of Frisco, New York, Charleston, and Peoria. It really took some digging to find any evidence of such records. In this case, what would have been the point? This was a person fairly well known within evangelical Christian circles, who just evidently saw the error of his ways, and came to realize he had taken the wrong path in life. Perhaps now he wanted to make amends. Who really knows what line of shit he fed the Frosts? Who knows, for sure, if he ever talked directly to them, or for that matter if they even knew who the hell he was?

Here is another point I would like to make. I like to read Jack Chick’s pamphlets. I think they are hilarious. That does not mean I agree with the content. Similarly, I do not think one ill-advised passage by Gavin Frost in one book negates his other contributions. For that matter, it does not mean that Frost approves of the actions of a few deranged followers looking for a place to practice their perversions based on that one unfortunate passage. It is something that the Frosts will have to deal with over time, hopefully in a definite and positive way.

Then again, the Pope has his problems as well, does he not? Nevertheless, you can expect him to give the forthcoming Papal Christmas greetings from Saint Peter’s Square live, in about eighty different languages. That is the way it should be, too, regardless of what passage in the Bible he supports that a pedophile priest might purposely twist for his own perverted reasons.

Of course, it also goes without saying that the Pope's followers expect him to be an allegedly anti-homosexual monotheist, whose Bible and organization's other publications are not published by Llewellyn.

Make of that last statement what you will.

A Fool And His Money

Barak Obama, Democratic Senator from Illinois and current Democratic Presidential candidate, has decided, by gum, that he can do without the support of A J Drew. He just recently made a statement to the effect that pre-school and kindergarten children should be taught sex education.

While a good many of Obama’s supporters are doubtless in the process of trying to figure out how exactly to extract the figurative foot sized bullet from his brain, self-inflicted by the candidate himself by way of his mouth, let me explain exactly why he made this incredibly stupid pronouncement. By the time someone has come up with a conceivable plan to resurrect his campaign from the all but dead, I might even be able to explain it in a way that makes it understandable.

Not excusable, mind you-just understandable.

I offer you two words by way of explanation-

Ophra Winfrey.

This is a perfect example of why Hollywood people and other celebrities should be told upfront, “Look, I appreciate your help and support, and I especially appreciate your financial contributions and fund raising and your promotion of me to all your friends and fans. But if you expect me to get out there and promote some stupid fucking idea like that, your money and support are worthless to me, because you are going to make me look like a fucking brain dead maniac.”

Not that I know for a fact, of course, that this absurd and ill-advised idea came from Opra Winfrey. Yet, she is Obamas most well known and most fervent open supporter. She has helped him overcome and surpass the best fund-raising efforts of the Clinton machine with her contributions, encouragement, and open support. It is a known fact that she has stated that she herself was a past victim of child sexual abuse. She is also an advocate of all kinds of children’s issues. I would not be surprised or for that matter upset were she in fact a supporter of reasonable high school (or even middle school) sex education. Knowing this,however, why should it be a shock if she also supported this insanity?

Moreover, without a doubt, she is a major factor in Obama’s fund-raising success in general, and for his overall popularity, especially in California.

So, come on, do the math. No, once again, I don’t know it for a fact.

But I bet’cha.

Political Poverty Pretenders

Democratic Presidential candidate and 2004 Democratic Vice-Presidential nominee John Edwards recently made a campaign swing through Eastern Kentucky, where he made a number of stops in his efforts to publicize his “Two Americas” campaign. He describes it this way-the Two Americas is not about the rich and the poor. No, the Two Americas, according to him, is about the very rich and “everybody else”.

His campaign swing through Appalachia is supposed to echo the similar trip four decades ago by Democratic Presidential candidate and former Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy.

There is a big difference, however. Kennedy, had he not been assassinated about a year later, would have without a doubt been the Democratic nominee, and there is a pretty good chance he would have went on to be elected President in 1968.

Edwards has an outside chance at best of winning the nomination. He has to do really, really good in the early primaries. He also has to hope for an implosion from the Clinton and Obama campaigns. Where one such occurrence would be conceivable, two of them are highly unlikely.

Edwards main base of support-in fact his only significant support-is from trial lawyers whose fantasies revolve around unlimited access and influence from an Edwards Presidency, and the potential of all the multiple billions of dollars in class action lawsuits that might bring. He has an uphill climb to say the least. His is an example of his best friends being his worse enemies. Nobody as a rule likes trial lawyers as a group, and anybody with an ounce of intelligence knows what an Edwards Presidency would amount to.

A Palestinian refugee assassinated Robert Kennedy. Despite the controversy surrounding Muslims and Islamic terrorists in the present decade, this would be the least of Edwards worries. If, however, somehow Edwards fortunes improves to the point that he actually has a good chance of winning the Democratic nomination, and the polls were to show him to be the likely winner in a general election, he might well find himself in danger. His security detail might well look with a wary eye, not toward anyone with a vaguely Middle Eastern appearance, but instead toward anybody in a clown suit-especially one that looks suspiciously like Ronald MacDonald.

In the meantime, all of this waxing nostalgic about Kennedy’s past trip to Kentucky kind of overlooks one vital point. It was good of course, that he made the trip, as it pointed out the real problems of poverty in the area that existed then, and exists yet today. On the other hand, Kennedy was helping himself by the trip as much as calling attention to the very real problem.

Remember, Kennedy was at the time considering running for the nomination to the Presidency of the Democratic Party against Lyndon Baines Johnson, the incumbent President of his party. The major issue of the day was the Vietnam War, the thing that decimated Johnson’s legacy. In fact, if certain facts had become known during that time, Johnson might well have been in danger of impeachment. Nevertheless, it was bad enough as it was. Bad enough that Johnson might well have had to endure a bloody primary battle, which would have left him weakened in the coming general election against the Republican Nixon.

Kennedy of course did not know that Johnson would eventually wuss out of the primaries, after barely fending off a stiff challenge from Senator Eugene MacCarthy in the New Hampshire primary. He did not realize that Johnson would then declare that he would not seek the Democratic nomination in 1968. Kennedy assumed Johnson would fight the good fight, on through the end. He had to know that if Johnson did this, he as President would have the power of incumbency on his side. Though it would have been difficult, more than likely Johnson would have persevered and been re-nominated, though it would have split the Democratic Party straight down the middle.

Kennedy understood, to defeat Johnson in such a way as to insure Party solidity, he had to have more than just the Vietnam War to go on. Therefore, Kennedy involved himself in other issues. Race became a big factor in his up-and-coming Presidential bid. The streets were aflame during this, the height of the Civil Rights era, despite the fact Johnson was the most proactive supporter of civil rights of any President up until that time.

He had signed into law the Voting Rights Act of 1964, and the Civil Right Act of 1965, two landmark pieces of legislation originally proposed by President John F Kennedy, but which that President-Roberts brother-had been unable to push through Congress. Johnson did it, though it split the Party, and along with other reasons-some good, some bad- caused a massive exodus from the party that continued unabated on through the eighties and even into the early nineties, like a dull earache that just gets worse and worse.

In the meantime, those who were to be the chief beneficiaries of the two pieces of legislation in question-African Americans-seemed to constantly be taking to the streets in perpetual outrage over first one thing and another. Therefore, in his success, Johnson faced not one massive failure, but two. One from the people who felt betrayed by his efforts, the other from those he tried most to help.

Kennedy saw an opening here which he might exploit, and immediately set about doing so, by positioning himself as the heir apparent to his brothers so-called “Camelot” legacy, and therefore as the chief proponent and supporter of civil rights. The assassination of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King provided the perfect opportunity for him. I sincerely believe the speech that Kennedy gave had been written beforehand, and well rehearsed. His intention was to give it at some point under another context, in support of some nebulous perceived future gathering of civil rights leaders in a march on Washington, or perhaps one he intended to give during the Democratic convention in accepting the nomination to the Presidency-or to the Vice-Presidency. Whatever the case, he ended up giving it in the context of the assassination of the nation’s then most controversial civil rights leader. King was by no means the universally loved and admired figure that he is today. Nevertheless, Kennedy made it clear exactly where he stood (which was by the way commendable).

Still, Kennedy knew he could not content himself even with this. Other aspects of the Johnson presidency presented opportunities for Kennedy to chip away at his record. The most obvious accomplishment Johnson might point to was his work in promoting “The Great Society”. This was a labyrinthine government group of programs supposedly designed to alleviate the problems of poverty. Many such programs, known as “welfare”, included financial assistance to poor families and the unemployed, Medicare, Medicaid, Head Start, and food stamps. There were other such programs deigned to provide educational opportunities in poor and dispossessed areas, as well as infrastructure projects such as roads, bridges, and dams. It was designed as a kind of continuation of FDR’s New Deal, and was pretty much inspired by that program.

Unfortunately, to a great extent it was run shabbily. It was a bureaucracy that created dependency on government, and was self-perpetuating. Not enough controls were instituted on it, and so it became a nightmarish farce, despite the good it undoubtedly did in many individual cases. To a significant degree, it was utilized largely as a vote-buying scheme, and it worked all too well in that respect. Unfortunately, what it did not do was eliminate poverty, nor did it even reduce it to any significant degree.

This was the reason for Kennedy’s trip then to Appalachia, and to other poor and dispossessed regions, which you will note included many sections of the Deep South, where Johnson made a good many enemies toward himself and the Democratic Party.

Kennedy’s purpose was then of multiple intent. One, he wished to portray himself as an anti-poverty crusader. Two, he wished to present a caring face toward the rural poor, including especially poor rural whites. Finally, and just as importantly, his purpose was to illustrate the ultimate failure of Johnson’s Great Society.

Unfortunately, for John Edwards, his hopes are predicated on many faulty assumptions. For one thing, Hillary Clinton may not be well loved outside of the Democratic base, or even by that base, but she does nevertheless bear more of a similarity to Kennedy than does Edwards, in one respect. Robert Kennedy ran as the brother and heir apparent of a well beloved Democratic President. Hillary Clinton is running as the wife of an equally well beloved Democratic President.

John Edwards is the candidate whom most people would see as most like Johnson. To most, he is just another hack politician who tries to buy votes by promising to eliminate poverty, and who would use intrusive government bureaucracies and higher taxes as a means to control as much of their lives as possible.

Promises, Promises

I try to not allow my blog to be hijacked by electoral politics. After all, this is not a national election year, and we can all use a break from the constant deceptions, manipulations, and outright lies. Still, it is advisable to keep abreast of the more noteworthy political shenanigans. On the other hand, there are some important developments in politics this week, so I will allow myself the luxury of playing the political pundit. I like to do that, of course, because I am always right.

Harry Reed’s Senate slumber party did not turn out so well, as he did not get enough Republican crossover votes to accomplish his purported task of demanding a deadline for troop withdrawal, ostensibly slated for completion by April of next year. He got four Republicans to vote for him, but even if he had gotten the four others he targeted-John Warner of Virginia, George Voinovich of Ohio, Dick Lugar of Indiana, and Pete Domenici of Arizona-he still would have ended up four votes shy.

That is because there were three Democrats and one independent (Joe Liebermann) who voted with the Republicans. Of course, it does not really matter as, of course, any such bill would face a sure veto, which would hold up if challenged. This would just make it that much harder on Republicans, who are hoping against any seemingly realistic hope for a drastic improvement on the ground in Iraq by the middle of this September.

Which brings me to Fred Thompson, Hollywood actor and star of the series Law And Order, and former Tennessee Senator. Many conservatives see Thompson as their great white hope. He leads in a great many polls, including Zogby, and by all indications, he is planning on running.

So what is he waiting for? Christmas? Labor Day? Yeah, Labor Day. That would pretty much coincide with the time allotted for the “Surge”. By then, we will know for sure what already seems to be the standard wisdom as of now-it’s not working. If that turns out to be the case, it is even more trouble for the Republicans.

That is what Fred is waiting for, then, in my opinion. He plans to tailor his message accordingly. After all, if he declared shortly after the Fourth of July, as originally believed, he would have to take a stand on what most consider to be the most important and pressing issue of the day.

If he came out wholly in support of the Presidents policy, and of the Surge, then he risks his message blowing up in his face in the ever increasingly likely event the Surge proves to be the failure it looks to be.

On the other hand, were he to come out that early in opposition to the President and his policy regarding the Surge, then he risks not only disappointing but also irretrievably alienating a large segment of the Republican base. That is something no GOP candidate can afford to do if he or she hopes to win a national election, and especially a primary contest.

In other words, Thompson is playing it smart. A bit craven, but smart, nevertheless. He understands he will not attract a sizeable portion of Democratic breakaway voters, so he has to concentrate on holding the Republican voters. Unfortunately, that requires walking a tightrope, as a large segment of the GOP voters are becoming increasingly disappointed in the Iraq War, and want it ended one way or another.

By the end of September, Thompson will be able to craft his message in such a way as to coincide with the realities on the ground in Iraq. Though he will still have to walk that tightrope, he can walk it more comfortably and for less time, and in such a way that he might be able to hold the GOP coalition together. This might also enable him to draw support from a substantial number of independent voters as well, which will definitely be a necessity in order for him to win the general election.

That is something he could never do if he declares early and comes out as a hawk in support of the President and the Surge, especially if that policy indeed turns out to be the failed policy it seems destined to be.

Of course, you might not believe as I do that this is such a divisive issue within the rank-and-file of GOP voters. In that case, I point out this fact. One of the staunchest groups of Republican voters and supporters are military personnel and their families, who tend to vote Republican by as much as 2-to-1.

So, what candidate does this important Republican demographic currently support? No, it is not a Democrat. In fact, one Republican in particular has gotten more support from this group, in the way of campaign contributions, than any other single candidate has so far-from either party. The point being-

That Republican candidate is Ron Paul, the former Libertarian and now Republican Texas Congressman and current Presidential candidate who is, as of now, the only such candidate among the GOP who has openly called for ending the Iraq War and bringing the troops home.

You can damn well bet the Wall Street set is sitting up and taking notice of that. It is an equally safe bet the RNC is as well. After all, by the time September rolls around, this could well be a public relations nightmare. With just a year to go from that point on before the elections, they are going to have some hard choices to make, some that Mr. Bush is not going to like.

They had better realize that Mr. Bush is going to be too, errrr, “busy” with the “duties” of his office, to do much campaigning for them anyway. Otherwise, by the time the 2008 general election gets here, the best campaign pitch the GOP might be able to come up with might well be-

“Please vote for us. We promise not to fuck up this time.”

More Reasons I Wish I Was An Editorial Cartoonist

George Bush went to the hospital yesterday, for a colonoscopy. While there, he handed the reigns of power over to Vice President Dick Cheney.

Let’s see now. Bush was getting his ass probed. Cheney was in charge.

I think I’ll just stop while I’m ahead.

UPDATE-Well, it’s already over and done with, and Bush is back in charge. I guess that was what you call a “quickie”.

Chick Cartoons

The world lost a great potential editorial cartoonist, when Jack Chick married a woman from a fundamentalist Christian family from Canada in the sixties. Since that time he has never looked back. Instead of editorial cartoons, this creative cartoon genius has made a name for himself as a Christian pamphleteer. Of course, to my knowledge he was never an editorial cartoonist. Though that is too bad, perhaps it's just as well.

It might seem odd that I enjoy the work of Jack Chick, but I do. I enjoy his art, and even the stories. I don’t agree with them, but oh well, it is what it is.

I recently discovered his website and hunted down this old gem that someone once left in my mailbox, warning about the false teachings of reincarnation. The title of it is The Tycoon. It is rip-roaring hilarious.

Of course, it is supposed to be scary, and in fact, I can see why Chick’s pamphlets are so effective. They scare the hell out of you by simply pointing out the exact words of the Bible. I’m not talking about obscure little passages that are open to interpretation either. No, I am referring to exact passages that are absolutely meant to be taken literally.

Of course, belief in their veracity requires a very big leap of faith that I can’t take. Like, for example, you have to believe the Bible is the literal word of God, you have to believe in that particular God, you have to believe he has always existed (no beginning or no end) and that he created the universe,even though there is absolutely no demonstrable, explainable, or conceivable way any of this could be possible.

Then, you have to take the biggest leap of faith of all, in believing that all human beings are “sinners” and “fallen from grace”. If you can accept that doctrine, then everything else in the Bible becomes logical. If you can’t accept it, well, then Houston, we have a problem.

Nevertheless I still enjoy reading Jack Chick cartoons. Maybe I’m just a masochist.

I doubt the Islamic community would share my amusement at Jack Chick cartoons. At least, not those which are very critical of the Islamic faith and Mohammed.

Out of all the thousands upon thousands of angry, screaming faces shouting “Death To Europe” due to the publication of a cartoon in one newspaper in Denmark (which was then reprinted, however, in several other papers across Europe), finally four have been charged in the controversy.

I strongly urge the distribution of this cartoon by Jack Chick. It’s hilarious, as are many Chick cartoons, in this case mainly due to how easily the Muslim character is converted, after being convinced that Allah is a false idol-a former pagan “moon god”.

The offending European cartoon merely featured a likeness of Allah with the lit fuse of a bomb protruding from the turban on his head.

If this cartoon were ever read, it might well result in the death of western civilization as we know it.

Then again, cartoonist Robert Smigel and Saturday Night Live got away with portraying Mohammed as a member of a superhero team-one lead by Jesus Christ-so maybe not.

Unfortunately, the cartoon in question, from the Saturday TV Fun House series-a semi-regular segment on Saturday Night Live for about ten years now-has vanished from the list on Wikipedia, nor is it to be found on any other list of which I am aware. Almost like it never existed. Very strange.

Radu-Chapter XIV (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS:

Prologue with Chapters I-X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Radu-Chapter XIV (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
Fourteen Pages Approximate



Debbie Leighton knew how to turn on the tears when it was appropriate, or when it was expected. When she was informed that her mother and father had died in the course of a fire at the family farm, along with an unknown and yet unidentified guest, she knew just what to do. She thought back to the day of her First Degree initiation into Joseph’s Vampire Coven of Blood.

She remembered how they attacked her, told her she was a fat, ugly, stupid little whore. As if all that were not bad enough, her pussy stank so bad no one could stand to get close to it, let alone fuck it.

They laughed at her mercilessly, and they beat her. During all of this seven-hour ordeal, during which she had been tied, and whipped, and not permitted to even go to the bathroom, she urinated all over herself, and shit as well, but the one thing she never did was cry-not even when they called her a little girl, a stupid juvenile, and a spoiled, worthless little brat.

Then, after they cleaned her with a hose and detergent, they raped her, all of them. Joseph, Sierra, Milo, Larceny, and Rhino all took their turns with her. Then came, by far, the most horrifying part of the ordeal-they told her she was a useless failure, and she had to die.

They laughed at her as they each drank her blood. They then dug a deep hole, after which they produced a coffin. By now, she was weak from the abuse and the loss of blood, and too terrified to move, or even make a sound. They buried her, and they left her there alone, buried. She felt like she was already dead, and now resigned herself to the realization they intended this all along.

She remained there from the midnight of that night and all through the next day. Her father would probably laugh at her if he knew, or if he ever found out. Her mother would cry, but would say nothing in her defense. She would just agree with her father-she brought it on herself.

When they brought her back up, it was the following midnight. They looked at her and smiled, and then laughed, as each one welcomed her back to “everlasting life”. They all hugged and kissed and, after she partook of their blood, all mixed inside a silver cup, she made love with all of them.

Joseph assigned her to Milo, who was to teach her the different rituals and articles of faith, and with whom she quickly fell in love. In time, however, she tired of him, and aspired to be with Joseph, the groups’ leader. They were all nothing without him, this simple cab driver and son of a Baptist minister, who proclaimed himself the reincarnation of Vlad The Impaler. They worshiped Joseph as an incarnation of Vlad-and God.

Debbie thought it was a lot of crap, but who cared? It was fun to her, and fun was all that mattered. After all, Milo didn’t take it seriously either, nor did Rhino. No one did except Larceny and Sierra, and of course Joseph. Spiral seemed more devoted to Joseph than all the rest, for all the good it had done her. They all stood in a circle as Joseph strangled her for her betrayal of him with another man.

When she and Milo then dumped her body at the Krovell mortuary, they all thought eventually they would hear something about it, yet not only did it seem as though the finding of the body was never reported, but Marlowe never initiated contact with Joseph, as their leader claimed he most definitely would.

This had Joseph in a sour mood for days.

“The motherfucker must be playing a game with us”, he said. “Well he’s playing with the wrong person.”

He knew of Marlowe’s membership in an on-line site known as Sanguinarius, and so he told her to join. After she did so, she initiated private contact with Marlowe, but nothing ever came of it. She eventually told him about her friendship with Joseph, whereupon he replied that she was a little idiot and to stop bothering him, as she had nothing he needed. He made no mention of Spiral Lamont.

Joseph was enraged, and sent him a threatening e-mail, to which the man named Marlowe responded, but still no mention was made of the dead former member. It was almost as if he was not even aware of what happened. It took Milo some time to convince Joseph they had dropped the body off at the right place.

In time, it was seemingly forgotten, and they settled back into their usual routines. Larceny maintained a private loft apartment where she conducted her business under an assumed name. Rhino was constantly working out and training for the day he would finally land a pro-football career, though he now settled for the opportunity to play for the Arena Football team the Blackbirds, having all but given up on the prospect of playing for his beloved Ravens. Sierra continued to sell drugs, tend bar, paint, and constantly talked of a hoped for career as a death metal singer while she fucked her way to the top of her pharmaceutical class.

Milo, ostensibly her boyfriend and tutor, counted the days until he could go off probation and back into the crack and meth trade, but until such time he had to content himself with his ho-hum job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. At least he got free food at the end of his night shift job, which helped not only the group, but also her Aunt Barbara. She honestly seemed to believe that Milo was Debbie’s friend and mentor, and therefore was happy to allow Debbie to spend as much time with him as she wanted-as long as he kept the booze and pot coming her way, of course.

However, Joseph kept the group together. He made good money as a cab driver, but more importantly, he was always finding someone who was in desperate need of a fare, usually a druggie or alcoholic who Joseph manipulated into getting so high, the person always passed out by the time Joseph delivered him to his true and final destination. This was usually a small park area some two miles from the large lake to the north of the city. By the time the person came to, it was time for the fun to begin.

There was something about ripping into a person’s raw flesh, with nails and teeth, and eating them, gorging on their flesh and blood while they were yet alive, that was a more exhilarating experience than any she had previously experienced or for that matter even imagined. There was a sense of power that she herself experienced the first time she engaged in the activity against her own parents on the night of her Second Degree Initiation-her Sweet Sixteen Party. It was even better than sex, and she truly could not get enough of it.

When she said in her Sanguinarius Profile that she wanted to experience the blood of the innocent, she was not joking. Marlowe himself had told her, in response to reading her profile, the blood of the innocent made all others pale by comparison.

Great, she thought, she might have found somebody cooler even than Joseph, but of course that turned out not to be the case.

She and Joseph, and all the others, shared a bond that few people could hope to understand, let alone share. They had all been together now for over a year and, despite the unfortunate incident with Spiral, she had a deep and abiding love for them all. They were a family, and their times together were all good.

However, it was not the good times of which she thought now, but that horrific night of her initial acceptance into the clan. She found their words and taunts repeatedly sounded in her head, and for the first time, she cried. She was so distraught she almost collapsed. One of the police, in fact, had to hold her up.

When she returned to the home of her mother’s sister Barbara, with whom she had been staying for nearly all the last year, it was all she could do to refrain from laughing in good old Aunt Barb’s face. Barb was of course distraught. Just because she and her sister had fallen out years ago did not mean she was not upset at the grisly fate her and her husband had suffered. In fact, she was terribly upset.

Debbie knew just what Aunt Barb needed. Debbie called Milo.

When Milo arrived he was not in the best mood, but of course, it was hard to tell with him when he was in a bad mood, or merely affecting a petulant persona that demanded appreciation for going out of his way.

Milo brought some beer and pot, but now Barb was insistent that Milo stay and share with her. After all, since he and her niece spent so much time together, surely it was time they got to know each other better. Fortunately, Milo had an excuse-he had to work tonight. Nevertheless, Barb was all but begging him to call in sick. Worse, she demanded that Debbie stay home tonight. In the aftermath of her parents’ death, it was unseemly that she go out to her earlier arranged party.

“Damn, Milo, you have to do something”, Debbie insisted as she took him off to the side in the kitchen.

“You can’t expect me to call in sick on account of that cow”, he said, as he prepared himself a cup of instant coffee. He actually despised the stuff, but that was after all the pretext for entering the kitchen alone with Spanky. In the meantime, Barb was in the process of calling neighbors and friends in search of commiseration over the death of her “favorite” sister.

“Bullshit”, Spanky said. “I’ve got some important shit to do tonight. Just stay with her for an hour or two. I need her to pass out so I can get out of here and do it. Once you start fucking her she’ll forget all about me.”

“You have got to be joking, right?” Milo despised the old drunk who was Debbie’s aunt, though she was for the time being indispensable. All the same, the idea of fucking somebody like her, a woman that fat and repugnant, and obviously stupid, went above and beyond anything he considered to be in the line of duty, even for a fellow coven member.

“Milo, I know it’s asking a lot, but damn, it’s only two years”, Debbie reminded him. “It’s not like you have to do this all the time.”

“Yeah, but what if she starts wanting it all the time”, Milo asked her.

Barb was still on the phone, now with yet another person, repeating the same news almost verbatim, with what even seemed to be the same moans and cries timed to fall in the exact same sequence.

“Just this once, Milo, please”, she begged. “I have to do something about Barnett, or it’s over.”

“And you’re sure this kid will do it”, he asked.

“He’s told me a million times he’ll do anything for me, he loves me and all that good bullshit, and he even said he’d kill anyone that ever tried to hurt me”, she assured him.

“Anybody can talk shit”, Milo warned her.

“Yeah, but you don’t know this kid”, Debbie told him. “He’s even threatened to whip your ass because he thinks you’re taking advantage of me”

Oh, fucking great”, Milo said as he rolled his eyes.

“Kids are always picking on him, and he’s always threatening suicide. I actually saved him once. He cut his wrist and I bandaged him up, then I promised I wouldn’t tell, as long as he promised never to do it again.”

“Yeah, I know all that, Spanky, but still-“

“What the fuck are you two doing in there?” Barb suddenly roared. “Bring me a fucking beer.”

Debbie quickly went to the refrigerator and extracted a 2-liter bottle of Millers, and walked into the living room, Milo right behind her.

They sat and listened as Barb repeated the same bullshit stories that Milo had heard at least a hundred times before. As always, he sat and listened like he had heard it for the first time, as Debbie, pretending an urge to go to the bathroom, after doing so sneaked into her aunts room, then extracted the pistol she kept by the side of her bed in the drawer of a small end-table. It was a Lugar, and more than adequate for the job Debbie had in mind. She tucked it into her panties, and then pulled her jogging shirt down far enough over the matching pants to hide the bulge.

She then made her way to her bedroom and found the ounce baggie of marijuana. She put it inside her purse. Tonight would be the night she would settle many accounts. Her aunt would not stand in her way. She made another stop in the bathroom and checked her make-up. She still had a few pounds to lose, but she was on her way. After tonight, and tomorrow, many people would be sorry that they ever messed with Debbie Leighton.

By the time she returned to the living room, Barb was crying on Milo’s shoulders, obviously on her way to being stoned on the pot Milo had just rolled into the biggest fatty Debbie had ever seen.

Barb was moaning and whining with her hand suspiciously close to Milo’s crotch, as her friend shot her a look as if to say, you fucking owe me big time. Debbie walked out the door quietly. Before long, her aunt would probably forget all about her. When she made it out to the street, there was Joseph, luckily still waiting for Milo.

“He’d better have a damned good excuse for missing work”, Joseph said. “Especially after what’s happened, you really should lay low.”

“So what about Barnett?” she asked. “I’m sunk if the motherfucker turns me in, it will ruin everything.”

“You should have thought about that before you offered to suck his dick after he overheard you making a drug deal”, Joseph reminded her. “Your story that somebody set you up sure ain’t going to carry a lot of weight, especially not with your past record in Virginia. If they start checking around-well, all I can say is you will probably be headed right back to Virginia, and you know what that means. It’s probably going to be a piss test for you when you go to school Monday, so I hope you’ve been staying straight.”

Debbie assured him she had been. Joseph then told her she had better hope she is a better judge of character with the kid than she had been with Barnett, to say nothing of the high school basketball jock she should have known better than to trust to begin with. She explained to him for the fourth time that she had dealt with Grant before with no problem, and as for Barnett, her offer to him was born of desperation. She was sure about Josh.

“I sure as fuck hope you are because none of us can take the chance”, he replied. “We all have to lay low. The reporter bitch that Larceny shot had a partner who identified her, and so she and Rhino are both in hiding. And it wouldn’t take much digging to lead to me, and Sierra, and Milo-and to you, by the way.”

With that, he took her to her intended destination, The Paradox, known more commonly as “The Dox”. Josh would be expecting her there, and was probably distraught by now that she was more than an hour late. Joseph advised her to explain to him the news about the discovery of her parents’ death.

“That will really impress him to think that you still wanted to keep your so-called date with him”, he explained. “It will also give you a good excuse to call it off early.”

Debbie got out not far from the front entrance of The Dox, a popular Baltimore nightspot that, since they had no liquor license, catered to all ages. Although technically you were supposed to be at least eighteen to enter, it was relatively easy to get in with a fake ID, and the one she had purchased proved more than sufficient. She made her way to the half basketball court, where Mark Grant was now engaged in a game of round ball with his friends at their high school. Most of them would be senior squad members of the school basketball team when the season started in the winter, after the regular school year resumed. For now, she and Grant were trudging through required summer make-up classes.

Though she had dealt with him on an irregular basis, she hated him and all his friends, though tonight she would pretend to love them. In fact, she had a very special surprise for them. She waited for him to see her, and when he did, sure enough he made his way over to her.

“Wow, you actually made it”, he said. Debbie smiled at him. She knew exactly what he wanted. She planned to give it to him.

“What, you think I’m going to pass up the chance to fuck the whole basketball team?” she said. “Like I told you before, if I can handle eight drunken sailors on leave, I can sure as hell deal with thirteen high school basketball jocks. I’m looking forward to it.”

“It looks like I had you pegged all wrong, Spanky”, the suddenly excited jock said with a gathering glaze on his eyes. “You really are more than just a nerdy little Goth chick after all.”

“I’m just me, baby, a girl trying to find her way to womanhood in the world”, she said as she reached down and started caressing his swollen cock. “And you are obviously all man. If the other guys are like you this might not be so easy after all.”

She shot him a smile as she turned and walked off toward yet another area of the Dox.

By the time she made it to where her friends waited, Josh was staring at the murals, seemingly in a world of his own. She knew him well enough to know that he was probably aware of everything that was going on around him. She walked up to where the group sat and, smiling, she produced a fifth of vodka from her purse.

“Spanky comes through in a pinch”, Angela said as Josh turned to see her pouring a hefty shot into his large cup of Coca-Cola. She made the rounds, Angela telling her to “make hers a double”.

“Don’t be greedy, Angela”, she said teasingly, and then sat close to Josh, who looked petulant.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“I found out my parents died a few nights ago, the whole house burned down”, she said with a smile. They all looked at her and then all around at each other, as though they were not sure she was serious. Josh just stared at her, and then suddenly, he laughed.

“Did I miss something somewhere between your parents dying and the house burning down”, asked Marty, the oldest of the crowd at twenty.

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot”, Debbie said. “Boo Hoo”.

She lit a cigarette as the others were asking her for more details, but she did not know anything other than what the cops told her, she said.

“Well, so much for Barnett, huh?” Josh asked. “He can’t mess with you now.”

“Not as far as that part goes he can’t”, Debbie said, but Angela was more concerned with Debbie’s parents and their fate.

“Sometimes I think I hate my parents too, especially, well, both of them, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them. Nothing like that anyway.”

“Hey, it’s not like Debbie did it to them, or even wanted it to happen”, Josh now said in her defense. “But sometimes, what happens is for the best, and may even be fates way of settling scores that you can’t take care of yourself. I wish fate would step in and lend me a hand sometimes.”

“Well, I know what it’s like to lose somebody”, Marty said. “It’s never good. I used to fight with my sister all the time. I thought she was a little bitch. Now that she’s gone I look at things a lot different.”

Marty still struggled to cope with the loss of his sister, Mary, who had drowned just five months ago. He knew that she and Debbie fought constantly, were in fact rivals, but when Mary died, Debbie was the first to call him and express not only condolences, but her regrets over the past enmity the two girls had shared with each other. Something about Debbie Leighton’s actions tonight were more than just a little strange. She called and urged him to meet the group this night. He began to think she only wanted him to ensure the rest of the group had no difficulties gaining admittance to The Dox. Now, she looked at him quizzically.

“I’ve got something to tell you, Marty”, Debbie said. “This is going to really freak you out.”

“Yeah, it’s about Mary, you told me that”, he said, growing ever more concerned. “So, what is it? If you have any idea of how she died, or who is responsible-“

“It’s not so much what happened before she died as it is what happened after she died”, Debbie told her. “I’m telling you, I have no way of proving this, and I really should tell you this in private.”

As they left together, music started to play and the dance floor was suddenly alive, as Josh strained to see where Debbie and Marty had gone off. Without her and Marty in the group, there were now two couples and one other guy, Edgar, an overweight slob who now complained that he and Josh looked gay.

“You look gay anyway, fuckhead”, one of the other guys said. “Hell, you are gay, so why worry?”

“Hey, no I’m not so fuck you”, Edgar said defensively as the two girls shot him mock sympathetic moans. Josh barely heard them as his attention was riveted on Debbie, and now on Marty, who suddenly seemed distraught, and angry. He was shouting at her, with a look of wide-eyed incredulity on his face, but try as he might Josh could not hear a word of what he was saying. As for Debbie, she just stood there unconcerned, yet adamant in her seeming insistence as to the veracity of what she told him.

Soon, they returned, but Marty did not stay. Instead, he collected his pack of cigarettes and left without a word of goodbye. He was obviously in as bad a mood as Josh had ever seen him.

“You sure as hell have a bad effect on people, Spanky”, Angela said. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“I can’t say right now, but you’ll probably hear about it later”, Debbie assured her. “Me and Josh need to have a little talk, if you all don’t mind”.

“I guess now Josh is going to be in a bummed out mood”, the lone boy named Edgar said. “If you have anything to tell me in private just forget about it, huh?”

“Nothing to say about you nobody doesn’t already know, Edgar”, Debbie said sarcastically. “Except maybe for you”

Josh followed along behind her, curious as to what was said between her and Marty, but more concerned as to what she might now have to say to him. When they reached the approximate spot where Debbie had earlier stood with Marty Evans, he peered into her partially opened purse.

“I hope you brought some pot with you”, he said. “I’m dying to get high.”

“No”! Debbie said this so emphatically, Josh was somewhat shaken, but Debbie then held her hand with her palm upward, looked down, and breathed deeply.

“You know you’re my man”, she said. “And that I love you, right?”

“Wow, that’s the first time you’ve ever said that”, he observed, obviously elated and almost overwhelmed at the surprising pronouncement. “To hear most of these people around here talk I’m about the only guy in Balmer you haven’t screwed.”

“Well, sex ain’t everything, and that’s a lie anyway”, she said. “Besides, it’s just as well, because we might not be seeing each other before long. I might be going away.”

Josh looked stunned to be hearing this from her, and he looked her straight in the eye, and saw the first sign of regret, even sadness, he had ever seen from her. She was usually so strong, so sure of herself. She had always been there for him, when he would come to school after a night or a weekend of his fathers’ drunken rants. Sometimes the usual regular beating of somewhat more or less painful severity followed these. He would then come to school, only to have to face the usual taunts from some of the kids at school. They looked at him as the typical freak, the type that you just knew was dying to come to school one day and blow everybody away because he didn’t have the guts to stand up to any of them mano a mano.

When he tried to slash his wrist, it was more of a cry for help than anything. At the same time, he truly wanted to die, but Debbie saved him, and then swore she would keep what happened between the two of them. He almost died that day, had left his body, floating above it for some time, until Debbie pulled him back into his body, smiling at him with the kind of reassurance that made him know that his life was worthwhile. She actually seemed like an angel to him that day, and over the passing days, weeks, and months, she became his rock. If he lost her, his life was worthless after all.

“Is it Barnett?” He knew of course that teacher had it in for her for some reason he never understood. It was almost as if he knew something about her, something only the two of them knew. Whatever it was, it must have been bad, but that did not matter to Josh.

He’s going to have me kicked out of the school, I’m sure”, she said. “If he does that, he will probably call Social Services on my Aunt, and I will end up in some fucking group home, maybe here in Baltimore, but more than likely somewhere else, maybe not even in Maryland. See, my Aunt is not really my legal guardian. It is all so fucked up. She has a drug record too, and is on probation. It just gets worse and worse. Then I had to fuck up and offer him a blowjob.”

“I can’t believe you offered him a blowjob”, he said. “When the hell do I get one, since you say you love me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake Josh, is that all you can think about? Is that what you really think of me? Do you think I did that because I want to suck the bastards’ dick? No, I want to try to stay here, for you. I want to stay here for us.”

Suddenly, she heard a flurry of movement behind her as Josh’s eyes widened, and he stiffened with anxiety.

She turned to see Mark Grant and four of his fellow basketball squad teammates, all of whom would be the senior starting squad for the school team next year.

“We’re ready if you are”, he said, as Josh could not avoid noting the leering look of expectation on their faces, especially that on the face of the lone white boy, Joey, who said “hell yeah”.

“Whach’ou lookin’ at punk?” the short and seemingly fat yet muscular Mahmoud demanded. “You got sumptin’ to say?”

“He’s a friend of mine”, Debbie said. “He’s going to be helping me with some classes for next week. I will see you later on tonight, Josh, where I told you, all right?”

“Yeah, okay”, Josh said, though he was obviously not liking this development in the least. Debbie walked off alongside Grant, who had his arms around her, as though not even acknowledging Josh’s presence there this night. He watched in a mixture of rage and humiliation as Mahmoud suddenly started pawing Debbie’s ass. He continued watching as he suddenly saw Debbie laughing, her arm now around Grant.

They left The Dox and continued on some four and a half blocks down Russell Street, then doubled back to behind the complex, toward the railroad tracks. They walked on past there for about seven blocks, all of them talking the usual trash talk all the jocks usually talked about when they were around any girls besides their steady girlfriends. One of those girlfriends had been Mary Evans, and she had been the girlfriend of Joey. However, when Debbie fucked Joey, and Mary found out about it, there was a fight in which Debbie ended up on the losing end. She hated to lose fights, and never got over it. Worse, Joey took Mary back, and told her he only fucked Debbie to get back at her over some stupid argument they had about some other guy. He just wanted to show Mary that if she could get another guy, he could fuck any bitch he wanted. Nevertheless, Debbie meant nothing to him, and he spent the remainder of the school year proving it. Because of him, Debbie became known as the little bitch with the stinking pussy who would fuck anything that moved.

When Mary broke up with Joey around last Thanksgiving, Debbie apologized to her, and then commiserated with her. The two became friends. They got high together, and Debbie watched as Mary started putting on the pounds, and her skin became splotchy due to some dermatological condition that she had trouble with since the onset of puberty. She started staying high. Her relationship with Joey was on again, off again. Debbie played the concerned friend, and waited for the right opportunity. She caught her alone one day, and made her move.

She destroyed the little bitch who had humiliated her. Mary was lucky enough to be in a family that was wealthy enough to have an indoor, heated swimming pool, but on this one day, when the two of them were all alone in the house, Mary’s luck ran out along with her consciousness. The two girls got high, and Mary, as usual, passed out.

Debbie never imagined it would be so much fun dumping somebody’s fat ass in a swimming pool. The only downer was that this particular fat bitch never woke up. Debbie left the house that day, before Marty or the rest of the family came home, and washed her hands of the whole matter.

Now, it was time for the next phase.

There were indeed thirteen guys on the basketball team present there that night, almost but not quite the whole team. The entire first-string squad was there, along with some of the next year’s juniors and sophomores. Her only regret was at none of last years seniors being present-or so she thought. By the time they made it to their destination, however, she saw that all seven of them were indeed there. Twenty guys altogether.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Since we’re having a party tonight, I thought I’d invite the whole team”, Grant announced. “You remember Wilkie, don’t you?”

Wilkie was the star of the school team last year, a vastly overrated player who nevertheless somehow managed to finagle a scholarship to play for the University of Maryland the next year. Wilkie spoke as if introducing himself, although he was the one who had fixed Debbie up with Joey to begin with, and then encouraged him behind her back to “just fuck her and forget her.”

“Why, Wilkie, I thought you’d forgot all about me by now”, she said in mock surprise.

“Forget you?” Wilkie responded. “Oh, hell no.”

He then produced a clothespin and pinched it on his nose. The rest of the gathered team howled with laughter. Debbie just looked at him, straight in the eye, and smiled. She knew she was in for a rough night, but if it worked out as she planned, it would be worth it.

She was right. Only one of them lasted more than ten minutes, by her calculations, and only three of them lasted more than five. The rest of them were finished so quickly it almost was not worth calculating. Wilkie, the supposed team star and stud, lasted all of three minutes, then got off and howled in mock agony, as the others took their turns. One guy came inside her practically as soon as he entered.

Mark was the one she wanted to get more even than Joey. Mark was the one who, she was sure, had informed on her at the school, and had turned her in for selling drugs. If not for him, Barnett would never have caught her. Now, here she was lying on the ground as Mark took his turn at fucking her, going out of his way to be as hard and rough as he could. It was a painful experience, and he was the only one who came back for seconds. He was even rougher the second time, though luckily he did not last as long.

Sure enough, one of the other past year seniors mentioned getting their dicks sucked, but Debbie said she had enough for the night, and she had to get home. She stooped to retrieve her purse, but somebody pushed her down face first onto the pavement, while another person grabbed the purse. She had luckily pulled her jogging pants back up along with her panties, and managed to hide the Lugar. Otherwise, she might have lost the gun, which would have ruined everything. As it was, she was not going to get away that easily. They lined up one at a time. Each one demanded she suck their dicks, and she had no choice now but to acquiesce.

“Okay, can I please have my purse back now?” she asked.

“Sure”, Grant said. “Get your skank ass on out of here now. You won’t be needing that fifty, the boys and me are gonna get us some beer. I left you a five spot though. Go get you some feminine deodorant.”

“Damn I don’t think we have to worry about getting that ho pregnant”, somebody else said. “No sperm could survive up inside that septic tank.”

“Let’s see you skip on out of here”, Joey then said as he hoisted a brick toward her feet, barely missing her by inches.

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going”, she said. She walked off slowly and painfully as she heard them laughing. Wilkie let out an Indian style war-whoop.

“Hey, thanks for the pot, skank”, Grant shouted as he waved the ounce. Debbie briefly looked back, and then hurried off as quickly as possible.

It was a long painful walk back toward The Dox, and she looked around for any sign of Joseph, but his cab was nowhere. Here she was in the worse pain she had experienced in months, and the person she trusted most of all was late. She could not afford to wait for him, and so she agonizingly made her way back. Once she made it almost half the way there, she had to stop and throw up. Right as she was spitting the remnants of the puke, and semen, out of her mouth, she heard the familiar voice of Josh, obviously in a state of distress.

“Debbie, what the hell is wrong? What happened?”

“Those bastards, they raped me”, she said. “They raped me and they stole my money, probably my ID as well, just to be even bigger dicks.”

“They did what?” Josh was obviously outraged, yet also still hurt over her seeming betrayal of him. “Spanky, what the fuck did you go off with those guys for anyway?”

“Fuck, when my aunt finds out she’s going to fucking kill me” Debbie roared this out in a rage, but then suddenly almost collapsed from the painful effects of the exertion.

“Damn, I think those fuckers tore some muscles somewhere”, she said. “I’d better go to the hospital.”

Josh was looking at her, both hurt and concerned. Debbie could not help but laugh, but luckily, this caused her some pain as well, so Josh never caught on. So far, so good, she thought.

“I’m sorry, Josh, I just-did what I thought I had to do”, she said, the pain she was in at least obviously not fake, though exaggerated. “I’m sorry if you’re hurt, I just didn’t want to get you involved.”

“Involved in what?” he said. “What made you go with those guys? I told you I’d do anything for you.”

“Yeah, Josh, that’s what I’m afraid of”, she said. “You’re just not a killer. I guess Grant ain’t either. Guess it’s a damn good thing I never told him who it was I wanted him to kill. Now I’m going to have to do it myself.”

“Barnett? You were trying to get those guys to kill Barnett?”

“Only Grant”, she said. “He said if I’d party with the team he’d kill anybody I wanted. God did he ever feed me a line of shit, and boy did I ever fall for it, just like I did last year.”

“So you’re still in love with him, huh?”

She looked at him and saw that he was at nearly the breaking point. She laughed again, and then howled in agony. Yeah, she thought, without a doubt she had tore a muscle, and might have a broken rib as well.

“No, I don’t love him, dammit”, she replied. “I don’t love anybody. All anyone cares about is their damn self. Any feeling anybody ever had for me is just for what they can fucking get from me. Fuck it, I’ve had it. Barnett will probably have me kicked out of school, and then I am out of here. Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass any more.”

She was now crying, but made the pretense of trying to suck it up. She had to make him think she was just trying to be brave, that she did not really care. Of course, he was not supposed to believe that-nor did he.

“I’ll do it”, he said. “I’ll get the motherfucker for you, but you have to promise me from here on out, Spanky, no more bullshit. No more screwing other guys. As soon as you can, I want you to get away from that aunt of yours, and I will leave home and we’ll get a place together. We’ll leave fucking Balmer if you want. I hate this cock-sucking place anyway. We’ll go someplace where nobody knows us.”

He had given the same speech before. In fact, she heard this about an average of twice a week, for the last three months. Only now it came with the promise of a preliminary action from which, if he carried through, there would be no turning back. Suddenly, she heard a car approaching, and turned as the headlights of Josephs cab illuminated her.

“Is everything all right, miss”, he asked. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“Wait here, Josh”, she said. “I’m going to see if I can talk him into giving us a ride. I think I know this guy.”

“Is he going to do it?” Joseph asked her this quietly as a distraught Josh stood at a distance, not sure of what to do.

“I think so”, she replied. “In fact I know he is.”

“You’ll have to get another cab to take the two of you to the lake”, he said. “If I show up again it will look suspicious. I don’t know though, he must be pretty fucking stupid.”

“Are we going to do the usual?”

“Hell yes”, Joseph said. “We can’t take the chance of him breaking down and confessing, he’ll take you down with him if he does.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on the little fucks face when we get him to the ‘hideout’”, she said with a smile.

“That’s why I wanted you in the group”, Joseph said. “I love your sense of irony.”

Joseph then put the act into high gear, coming out of the cab as he strode toward Josh.

“Did you see who did this to her?” He demanded.

“Yeah, some of them, but I didn’t actually see it happen. I warned her about those guys.”

“Well, I should call the cops, but she’s begging me not to”, Joseph said. “So I’m going to just take her to the hospital, maybe somebody there will talk some sense into her. You might want to come with us. I won’t charge anything for something like this.”

Debbie then asked Joseph for just a few minutes to talk to Josh in private.

“I don’t know what the hell to do”, she said. “If I don’t go along he’s liable to file a report, but if I don’t get to Barnett, he probably is going to Social Services the first thing Monday morning. He already filed a preliminary report with the school, so it’s a matter of time before I’m done.”

“Damn it, I told you I’ll take care of Barnett’, he said. “I know where the fucker lives. I’ll just cut his phone line and break in through his bedroom window. He’s separated from his wife, so he should be alone. Since he comes in to work tomorrow, he should be home by now. I swear it will be easy. Please, Spanky, trust me. Let me prove it to you. I’m not just some nerdy little kid that talks shit. I mean what I say, and I do what I say.”

“What if he has a gun”, she said.

“He’ll be sound asleep. I’ll just break in fast and kill him probably before he’s even half awake.”

“You’re going to have to make up your mind”, Joseph warned. “I ain’t got all night. What’s it going to be, the hospital or the police?”

“Please, Spanky!” Josh begged her.

“Just one more minute, please”, Spanky said as Joseph glared at his watch.

“All right”, she said as she reached into her jogging pants and extracted the Lugar. “Do you know how to use these?”

“Uh, hello”, he said. “I used to go target shooting with my cousins in Virginia all the time. Of course, I know how. It’s been awhile, but you never forget shit like that.”

“I love you baby”, she said. “Make me proud. After you’ve done it, I have the perfect place we can go, a house up near the lake. We’ll stay there for a couple of weeks, then we’ll head to Virginia, and on from there to Florida. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, that sounds great”, Josh said, but as he said this his eyes were suddenly glazed, and he looked down at the gun in his hands. He now looked toward Joseph. “How many bullets are in this gun?”

“It’s fully loaded, babe, don’t worry”, she answered. “I’m going to go on to the hospital before that guy gets pissed and calls the cops”.

“He’s not going to call anybody”, he said, and then, to Debbie’s horror, pointed the gun at Joseph, who stared open mouthed, his cigarette dropping to the ground as he froze in uncertainty.

“You little fuckhead, what the hell are you doing,” Joseph demanded. Josh had the gun cocked, and aimed straight between his eyes.

“Don’t try anything, I’m warning you”, he shouted. “I know how to shoot this, so turn your ass around-now!”

“Josh, for the love of God, what the fuck are you doing”, Debbie said as the sudden adrenaline rush due to this unexpected turn caused her pain to flare up worse than ever. So sudden and intense was it , this came out as little more than a whisper, as she frantically wondered what she would do, or if she could do anything. Josh was obviously crazed at this point, and seemingly desperate.

“Kid, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m telling you now, you’d better point that thing somewhere else”, Joseph said as he tried desperately to maintain his composure and to exert a sense of calm command.

“Josh, please”-, Debbie begged. “You’ll ruin everything.”

“No, I think I have to kill him now for sure”, he said as tears started streaming down from his eyes. “If he makes you go to the hospital, they’ll make you say what happened. Or they'll get their DNA and might find them that way. Then those guys will tell about you wanting them to kill somebody. Even if you never told them who you were wanting to kill, it’s going to be obvious when Barnett ends up dead. Besides, I’ve robbed cabs before, this ain’t that much different. And we do need some money.”

He then addressed Joseph as Debbie suddenly realized everything she and Joseph had planned was spiraling completely out of control.

“Hand me your money, motherfucker”, Josh now demanded. “Every fucking dollar of it!”

“What?” Joseph was now incensed, but still at a loss as to what he could do. The kid was stupid, desperate, and armed-which was a bad combination from twenty feet away.

Debbie was begging him to put the gun down, but Josh was shaking so badly she started to fear the gun would go off by accident. He seemed to be getting crazier by the second.

“We can take his money and his cab too”, he was saying. “We can get away from here real fast”

“We can do that anyway, Josh, without this”, Debbie said. “Please, baby, I don’t want the death of an innocent man on my conscience. Mr., you won’t make me go to the hospital, will you? You’ll just take me home, right? That’s probably all I need, to just lay down and rest and take some of my Aunt Barb’s pills. She’s got some wicked pain pills, and some antibiotics too, left over from where she had her appendix removed seven months ago. If that don’t clear it up I’ll go to the hospital and tell them I don’t know who attacked me.”

“Yeah, that would work”, Josh said.”The DNA would be gone by then. But what about him? Do you think he’s going to forget about this? Hell no, he won’t. I’m sorry, but I have to do this. Sorry, Mr., but I ain’t got no choice.”

By now Josh began crying outwardly, but at the same time drew back with the posture of someone who, Joseph realized, knew how to fire a pistol. Spanky, in desperation, was looking for something on the ground to knock him over the head with, which would be just as well. Unfortunately, that would leave nothing of their plans to salvage. Joseph tried one last, desperate ploy.

“Look, kid, I don’t know what you’re problem is, but I’ll tell you what mine is”, he said. “I want to live. Because I want to live, I’ll make a deal with you. You put that gun away, and I’ll get in my cab and leave, and we’ll forget this whole thing. I’ll take your girlfriend home if that’s what she wants, and neither of you will ever see me again.”

“How do I know I can trust you”, Josh demanded.

“Look at me, kid”, Joseph replied. “I’m one of you. Just a few years ago, in fact, I was you. A few years from now, you could be me. Hopefully, you’ll have a better future than driving some beat up cab around Baltimore to make ends meet. If you do what you’re planning now, though, you have no future. You’ll throw everything away.”

Josh looked at the tall, thin man with the black hair, with the shoulder length sides dyed a crimson red. He had seen him before, he thought, but wasn’t sure. He seemed cool, though understandably nervous now.

“Baby, please, listen to him”, Debbie said. “Like I told you before, I know this guy, and I can reason with him.”

“Is he another guy you’ve fucked?”

Debbie was unsure as to how to answer this, so decided the truth was as good a chance as anything was.

“Yes, because I needed a ride.”

“Great, just what I need”, Joseph said. “Now I got to worry about some kid knowing I fucked an underage girl. It just gets worse and worse.”

“You know I love her, right”, Josh now asked. “I can’t let anything come between us. I know you don’t understand this, but if she goes to the hospital tonight-“

“I understand, kid”, Joseph said. “Josh, right? Look, I know how it is. She explained this all to me before. She’s worried about a teacher that might have her taken by Social Services. I get it. Hey, believe it or not, I know what that is like. My parents had me put in a group home when I was fourteen, because they couldn’t deal with me. My parents, the good Christians, couldn’t handle their one child. On top of that, my dad was a preacher. He used to pass around the plate every Sunday, and preach hell fire and damnation. He used to lecture his church members on parental responsibility. Ain’t that a laugh?”

Joseph waited for a response, as he noted Spanky had a rock in her hand and was creeping up on the kid, who had his attention riveted on him. He shot Spanky a glance, then tugged at his right ear, then propped up his upper lip with his index finger. He then shook his head vigorously once from side to side, and then laughed a bitter, sarcastic laugh in an attempt to disguise his signals, but just as much at his memories of his time at the group home, where he had in fact met Milo, and started his long journey into the heart of darkness.

“It was dog eat dog in that place”, he said. “I fought my way to the top of the pound. You had to if you were going to survive. Do you really think I’m going to be responsible for someone I care about being sent to a place like that? No, Josh-I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, you go and do what you got to do. I am not your enemy. Save those bullets for whoever is.”

So entranced by Joseph’s story was Debbie, even though she had heard it once before, she almost forgot to drop the large rock with which she fully intended to knock her stupid so-called boyfriend over the head. He was now crying, sobbing, and put down the gun, as he apologized profusely in the hopes the cab driver would be further encouraged to keep his word, even if he had no intention of doing so from the start. Joseph walked up to the young man, who stood there frozen. Joseph embraced him.

“I’ll take her home now”, he said. “I’ll leave you alone with her for a minute.”

Debbie hugged Josh, and told him if he didn’t want to kill Barnett, she would understand, but Josh was adamant.

“Did you hear what that guy said about how life is in those places? Hell yes, I want to do it. I won’t wuss out. I let him off because I knew he was just trying to help. Don’t worry, Barnett won’t have time to beg, and even if he did it won’t do him any good. Trust me, babe, I can do this.”

As he said this, he put the Luger down in his pants, as Spanky thought it was a wonder the stupid little bastard didn’t shoot his dick off.

“Come to the house after you do it, and we’ll get the hell out of here for good”, she promised him. “We’ll go somewhere else, just like you always wanted, and start a brand new life, where we don’t know anybody and where nobody knows us.”

Josh was suddenly alive with a fresh hope, and smiled through the tears that still flowed. He hugged her and kissed her, until she finally pushed him gently away.

“I’m going on home now”, she said as she turned toward the cab on which Joseph now leaned, deeply dragging off another cigarette. “I have some pills I need to take.”

“I love you”, he yelled after her as she headed from force of habit toward the front passengers door.

“I love you too”, she said as Joseph open the back door where he indicated she should get in.

He watched them leave, and after they pulled out of sight, Josh made his way toward the Dox. He could take a cab from there straight to Barnett’s house. He would have to stiff the cabbie, but what the hell. All he would have to do is show him the Lugar, get out and run to behind Barnett’s house, cut the phone line and go in through his bedroom window. He would then shoot that bastard, Barnett, and then call a cab to take him to Spanky’s aunt’s apartment. He just had to hope the same damn cab driver did not come to pick him up, but what would be the likelihood of that? Hey, come to think of it, he could just take Barnett’s car. Hell yeah, why depend on a cab, they could have their own set of wheels to take them to Florida. Barnett had two cars, a Chrysler and a Ford. Since he usually drove the Ford to work, he would steal the Chrysler. Nobody would ever suspect a thing.

He started walking. He did not want to go back to The Dox. He might run into Angela, Edgar, and his other friends, and he was not in the mood to have to try to come up with an explanation as to where he had been and where he was now suddenly going. He kept walking, in the opposite direction. He would find somewhere else from which to call a cab. He kept walking.

After about twenty minutes, he heard a moan. He had no reason to be afraid. After all, he had the Luger.

“Who’s there?” He shouted this with a firm voice of command, but suddenly he saw the figure of Mark Grant, as he suddenly rounded the corner of the vacant building, holding himself up, his eyes glaring.

“You!” Grant said.

“Yeah, motherfucker, it’s me”, he said. He checked and saw the Luger had more than one bullet. In fact, it was fully loaded.

“Please, help us”, he then heard Grant say.

“After what you done you want help?”

Suddenly Grant fell flat on his face with a thud, and was moaning in agony.

He looked around the corner, and there they were, all of them. The senior from last year, the star and captain, the one named Wilkie, was heaving, throwing up blood, his mouth foaming like some rabid animal. Then, he started twitching in a violent onset of convulsions. Some of the others seemed to be in worse shape, while others made no move at all.

He went back to where he saw Mark Grant, and demanded to know what happened.

“Bitch paid me-ounce of pot-to kill somebody-and party-with us”, he said, as he seemed to struggle painfully from the effort. “Shit poisoned. I think-probably rat poison. Oh God, please help us. Phone-in pocket.”

Suddenly Grant started convulsing as he rose, his eyes widened in terror, as his body seemed to rebel against the foreign substance he had ingested. Suddenly, his eyes went back in his head as he exhaled one last, deep breath, and Josh knew that Mark Grant, and most of the others here, were dead. Horrified at what he was seeing, Josh controlled his sickness and, gasping and crying, extracted Grant’s cell phone from his hip pocket.

He sat and cried, waiting for the cops to arrive for what seemed like at least thirty minutes. As he sat there, he remembered something. Why would Spanky agree to leave Baltimore with him? The whole purpose of killing Barnett to begin with was to enable her to remain in Baltimore. If they were going to leave anyway, what would be the point? Suddenly, nothing made any sense.

The guy, Joseph. Why did he let him off the hook so easy, and change his mind so quickly?

When the cops arrived, Josh simply told them he was walking from The Dox and found them like this. All but two of them were dead.

“I know that fucking smell anywhere”, one of the cops said. “Embalming fluid, probably soaked into whatever pot they smoked.”

“Yeah, that’s what it is”, another one said. “Holy shit, I’ve never seen it this bad.”

The only two who survived so far, provided they lived, would probably be brain damaged for the rest of their lives, one of them was saying. They would likely be unable to walk as long as they lived. In all probability, they would never have control of their bowels or their urine flow.

Suddenly, more sirens sounded, and soon what looked to be half the city’s ambulance service arrived. Josh wanted to throw up. He was visibly upset when one of the cops asked him if he knew any of the young men.

“I know all of them”, he said, and proceeded to give their names. The cops then offered to give him a ride home, but they would need to take a statement from him downtown. He looked at them as he then produced the Luger from his pants. He held it out to them with the barrel pointed toward the ground.

“What the hell”, one of the cops exclaimed.

“There’s something else I think I’d better tell you”, Josh said.

Gavin And Yvonne Frost

SPECIAL NOTE-I was going to publish Chapter Fourteen of Radu tomorrow, but I consider this post important to the Wiccan/Pagan community, so I am going to leave it at top of the blog for at least one whole day. The next Chapter of Radu is only of transitional importance, and can wait a day or two.

This is going to be a very dated post, in two ways. I recently noted an old post from last month on Jason’s WildHundBlog pertaining to the long time Wiccan American pioneers, Gavin and Yvonne Frost, in which Jason reports how they were taken to task by pagan author A J Drew for a chapter in an earlier book by the Frosts.

In one Chapter of the book, entitled "Good Witch's Bible", the Frosts encouraged the “ritual deflowering” of a child initiate, one who has gone through puberty. This caused quite a heated discussion on Jason’s blog, particularly in the Haloscan page of comments. Some people defend the Frosts, such as Isaac Bonewits, who relates that he has known the Frosts for decades, that they are kind, warm, generous people who do not advocate child rape or molestation.

Others would like to have the Frosts’s heads on a platter. One poster suggested the Wiccan community should buy their books, and, in individual acts of renunciation, burn them in a quiet, private ceremony (and thus avoid the possible result of the general public shining the spotlight on pagans as “book burners”).

Others would like to see the Frosts brought to task in a more public manner, even intimating at the possibility of a court trial, on the grounds of promotion and encouragement of pedophilia. A. J. Drew himself encourages this. Others insist the Wiccan/Pagan community should collectively denounce the Frosts.

Uhhhh-no thanks, you can count me out of that. I do not agree with Gavin’s recommendations in his book, but it should be taken in context. He was, I think, incorrectly noting the supposed manner in which earlier tribal people’s observed the passage of children, through puberty, from childhood into adulthood, and simply suggested this as an appropriate ritual for modern pagans.

I disagree with this, of course. For one thing, I tend to think this was, in most ancient cultures, all but unheard of, though there were possibly a few obscure tribes that did engage in such practices. Nevertheless, it would be a fallacious undertaking in any event. This is one of the things I have pointed out previously in regards to Pagan Reconstructionism. It is not always appropriate for modern times, and this would be a glaring example of such.

The only time a parent should be involved in a child’s sexuality is in teaching self-discipline and restraint, while not embedding within the child’s’ psyche the equally horrendous philosophy that sexual longings are evil and “dirty”. Yet, such longings should not be engaged in wantonly, not merely for moral reasons, but for obvious reasons of psychological and physical health, and the dangers of long-term consequences. When the child does enter into sexual activity, it should be at a time and place of it’s choosing, hopefully having considered all the repercussions and taking appropriate measures to safeguard against the unintended consequences of unwanted pregnancy or STD’s.

By this time, the “child” should by now hopefully be a responsible adult, and should have made this decision from an adult standpoint. This should be with an appropriate partner, chosen and agreed upon by mutual consent of the two of them-not by a High Priest and coven made up of family members and family friends overseeing the proceedings of the “deflowering”, conducted by the “most appropriate” coven member.

I hope I am clear on all this. At the same time, we should remember that this book of the Frosts was written during the period of the late sixties and early seventies, when the world was in flames, a period of social and sexual upheaval and “liberation”. A lot of half-baked theories circulated about child raising, as with other ideas.

As far as I’m concerned, the child “raising” theories of Doctor Benjamin Spock are far more destructive, in some respects, than this one obscure passage in one little known book by the Frosts. Yet, you rarely hear suggestions that Benjamin Spock be burned in effigy, as Drew has suggested for the Frosts. A good many people might well like to do that, but you will be unlikely to read any heated discussions concerning the possibility. Yet, the equally fallacious philosophies of Benjamin Spock are still held by many to be the standard on how a civilized society rears its children. As a result, way too many children in western societies are anything but civilized.

However, I will avoid turning this post into a renunciation of the abhorrent Spock. I just use him to illustrate the point that there are far more things that children are faced with on a daily basis than this issue alone. In the sixties and seventies, child sex abuse was not nearly the issue that it is today, and though it was known to have occurred (and many were appropriately prosecuted and imprisoned for it, well before even this time), the long term effects on child victims were nowhere nearly so well known and documented as they are now.

The Frosts-especially Yvonne (a former Mensa member) are intellectuals and idealists, and like many such people tend to have their heads in the clouds. I do not defend them, but at the same time, it seems to me that they actually believed that, were this the norm in child-raising, it would be much better than what they currently saw going on at the time. It always helps to look at things within the context of the times in which they occur.

When the Frosts wrote this, they doubtless saw the huge so-called “generation gap” that caused an emotional disconnect between families, and saw that it was widening every day. They saw the various manifestations of this, in the form of unmoderated and growing illicit drug abuse, astronomical school dropout rates, juvenile crime statistics rising to an alarming level, and-of course-wanton increase in illicit sexual activity amongst the young, resulting in an increase in STD’s and unwanted pregnancies.

Gavin and Yvonne Frost did not formulate this theory or suggest it because they were perverts, any more than Benjamin Spock actually intended to harm children. In both cases, they both probably thought their ideas had merit and would be beneficial. That it might help alleviate the myriad of social problems that were manifesting on an explosive level at this time-and which still go on today. It was, remember, during the sixties and early seventies that all of this manifested on a large scale for the first time. Yet, Spock was wrong about so many things. So were the Frosts.

It is right that their theory is widely denounced. At the same time, while the message might have been repugnant, that does not detract from the overall beneficence of the Frosts, who did much to familiarize Americans with Wicca through their
Church and School of Wicca, which still exists, and was one of the first such organizations to qualify for recognition by the IRS as a legitimate religious organization. In this one instance, they made a mistake, though with the best of intentions-one that involved nothing more than theoretical musings about a controversial, in fact an emotionally charged issue.

For others now to come to the forefront to denounce them and insist that all others join in the denunciation-or else-is self-serving and insulting. The entire Wiccan/Pagan community should feel insulted by such obvious self-promotion and aggrandizement. It smacks of Savonarola. I for one refuse to go along with it or tolerate it.

Remember that old saying-patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. In some cases, such as this one, you might easily substitute the word religion for patriotism. A. J. Drew might well consider that when he looks out upon the sea of twisted, angry faces that answer to his drumbeat. Hopefully, it won’t be a sea, but a small pond, a body of water with no inlets, and no outlets, and thus, stagnant.

Unitarian Universalists Take A Hard Core Stand

Hat Tip to Jason at the Wild Hunt Blog, whose original post can be seen here.

The marriage between the Unitarian Universalist Church and its affiliated UU Pagan branch has just entered that most difficult of all stages-the post honeymoon stage. When this stage hits, its effects can be unsettling. No longer is every spoken word or action the epitome of wisdom or cuteness. Things that were previously hidden, or ignored, start to raise their ugly heads. Reality starts to take precedence over illusion. Suddenly, each partner notices the other actually shits and pisses just like other humans and animals-and it does not smell like roses, either.

When this occurs, there are different possible consequences. The two partners either settle into an uncomfortable period of adjustment and acceptance, or they eventually end the relationship-or in a great many cases, one partner exerts authority and says, “enough is enough.” There might be room for compromise in some instances, but some things are simply intolerable.

This would seem to be the case with the UUA Church regarding the tendency of some pagan faiths to engage in the practice of polyamory. Although the Unitarian Universalist Association is known as a tolerant and progressive religious organization, it seems that this aspect of pagan philosophy might be too much even for them. Luckily-and by the way-polyamory is not a widespread practice among pagans in general. In fact, it is more a fringe element-much like a good many hairy legged female Dianics that secretly would probably love to bring back the practice of castrating males in honor of Cybele.

Like in most marriages, this is nothing more, probably, than the most obvious manifestation of what is most likely a more profound, underlying reality-the two are not really the match made in heaven they thought they were. Moreover, the mainstream UUA adherents might be protesting too much.

The UUA is, in a spiritual sense, itself a polyamory organization aiming to become an umbrella for all the worlds’ religions-at least the more liberal and tolerant ones, those that feel themselves progressive enough to participate in such an exclusively inclusive clan.

To the UUA, there is no difference in religions, other than in the outer trappings. Therefore, you have UUA Pagans, UUA Christians, UUA Buddhists, and UUA Hindus. Somewhere along the way, while these groups were affiliating, they simultaneously began segregating, much like you might see black and white students willingly and happily segregated in the lunchroom in the middle of an “integrated” school.

The recent UUA declaration to reign in some of these independent affiliates is, in my opinion, geared more toward addressing this issue, and the potential for schisms and divisions that it portends. Otherwise, there might be the danger of a real split, and the organization imploding through the force of its more mainstream members rushing on their collective ways out the door. It was meant originally, after all, to be one body, one organization, with members that worshipped as one, in tolerance and acceptance of their individual differences. The independent affiliate program was something meant, in addition to drawing new members, to foster tolerance, understanding, and unity between all the members and affiliate branches. Somewhere along the way, I guess they discovered that a good many of these independent affiliates would just as soon remain-well, independent. As well as, perhaps, a bit too unique, as in the case of the polyamory pagans. Tolerance, I guess, only goes so far after all.

Many if not most religious organizations advise their followers that, when they attend their services, they should leave their individual political beliefs outside the door. That doesn't seem to be the problem here, as Unitarians are officially and outwardly liberal, and pretty activist at that. So that is not their problem.

Instead, it would seem in their case that they might well be the only religion in the world whose adherents might well be advised to leave their religious beliefs outside the door.

A Road Through Ancient Times

One of the most ancient archaeological treasures of the Western world-The Hill Of Tara-is slated for destruction now, very soon-why? For a fucking highway. A country that is a member of the EU-you know, that group of fuckups that insist the US cut it’s carbon emissions for the good of the planet-insists on creating another fucking road big enough to meet the demands of it’s increased traffic needs.

Does anybody doubt for one minute that if the US were to build an interstate through sacred Indian burial grounds, the EU would be raising holy hell and encouraging the UN step in and demand the site be protected? I don’t. In fact, for once I would be joining in with them.

On top of that, the road might not even be necessary. Somebody has suggested a commuter train track be built to answer the needs of the travelers between Dublin and Navan, as opposed to the four lane highway currently approved. Why not? I would be all for that here. In fact, light rail would answer a lot of the problems of ever growing traffic congestion and it’s resultant smog, while at the same time requiring much less in the way of land confiscation.

Ah, but then, you see, a lot less money stands to change hands between government(s) and private contractors. More time, equals more money, equals more palms greased.

Therefore, the Irish politicians and contractors will probably get their road, and the ancient Irish heritage-my heritage-can go to hell.

Pagan Quill

There has recently come to my attention the creation of a new website for the Pagan/Wiccan community, named Pagan Quill, which aspires to publish the best blog posts of the Pagan blogosphere. They recently published my recent post about the goddess Aradia. Any pagan who wishes to be included on the site should simply submit a recent blog post from his or her own blog. If accepted, it will be linked from the main page to a secondary page of its own, copied from the original blog.

However, it should be clear, they aren’t necessarily looking merely for pagan oriented posts, but for posts from pagan authors that touch on all subjects. At the same time, they do suggest (though it doesn’t seem to be a hard and fast rule) that the first post submitted should be pagan oriented.

It’s a new endeavor, and I will be interested to see how it goes over time. It is currently approaching its sixth week. Hopefully, by the time of it’s first year anniversary, it will be a site to be reckoned with.