cooking stuff

HOW-TO

How to caramelize onions

How To Make Brown Rice Not Suck

How to make cheap, easy veggie stock

how-to soup guide.

Taco/Mexican seasoning

how to make curry powder

Basic Seasoning Guide

Veggie Seasoning Guide

How to make mayo

How to make simple salad dressings

In-depth salad dressing guide

Guide To Cooking Veggies


RECIPES

Basic Frittata

Fancy Frittata

Indian Chickpeas *channa masala*

Awesome tomato soup *sub veggie broth for chicken broth*

Black Bean Soup

Hummus *can use hand blender as well as food processor*

Baba Ganoush *eggplant dip* *it's nom*

Easy Zucchini "Noodles" *no fancy tools*

Lentil Tacos *very nom*

Portobello Pizza Bites *also very very nom*

Super Easy Healthy Ice Cream ONE INGREDIENT

Basic Roasted Sweet Potatoes

Roasted Cauliflower

Cauliflower "Rice" *i make this all the time*

Roasted Brussels Sprouts *one of my faves*

Deviled Eggs

Shakshuka *amazing perfect egg dish*

Falafel

Roasted Beet Salad

Lots of recipes. Favorite Youtube food channel, vegetarian playlist.

"Showtime": Loki Movie Post

A friend on FB was looking for some movie characters that can be related to Loki.......

This of course, fills my blackened little heart with JOY, as I sort of have a thing for analyzing movies as though they were modern myths. That of course, leads to a lot of "Hey, that reminds me of Loki" moments. I tried to pick movies that are actually well made, engaging films. I get a somewhat "darker" Loki compared to what you will find out there in interweb world. Not to say there aren't moments of levity and humor and wit and all that. There's plenty of that.

In any of these, I'm not saying "This is Loki". But rather "bits of this and that bring Loki to mind for me". I haven't related it back to any specific myth and it's obviously highly UPG oriented. I'm not sure how one could undertake this task without it becoming colored by UPG and personal taste. I sometimes feel at a loss for words when trying to talk about Loki things, so I have included Youtube clips to give you an idea of what I mean. Hopefully it helps. As often as possible, I have provided links to places where one can watch the movie in question. Enjoy!


For starters, Bedazzled, the 1967 version. Peter Cook as Lucifer. The sense of humor is what does it for me. What says "hey, reminds me of Loki". Especially as someone who frequently suffers from suicidal thoughts and depression, this is very much reminiscent of him for me. Minus the million pounds. This is the ONLY clip you can find on Youtube from this film SO PLEASE GO WATCH IT ok?  This film is just brilliantly funny, yet hits some great philosophical points as well. I cannot recommend it enough.
Example from Youtube:1967 Bedazzled Suicide Scene
IMDB : http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0061391/

One of my absolute favorite movies is Harlequin (1980). You can see the trailer HERE. I don't want to describe it too much due to spoilers, but there is a definite "dark trickster magician" thing going on that reminds me of Loki in many ways.  You can watch the movie on Youtube Harlequin (dark forces) on Youtube . It's also on Harlequin(Dark Forces) Netflix DVD.

Onto something more modern. Have you ever imagined a redneck/metal Loki? Me neither. Til I saw this movie. Which is basically what this seems like to me. The way Hesher helps and interacts with the child who's suffering, and the kindness with which he treats the grandma......and the overall message of Hesher's character seem very Loki to me. Again, this is a great film. Highly recommended for fans of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
Youtube ( my favorite part of the film starts at the 5 min mark in this scene. Great story, very Loki to me) : Snake and Mouse Story (Hesher)
IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1403177/

Ok kiddos. Let's all put on our grown up pants because this....this is the Uncomfortable Movie. I'll start off by saying this has just about every single one of my triggers  in it, and the first time I watched it I had a 3 day existential meltdown about my childhood. This involves child abuse, sexual abuse, closets, mental torture....basically....you will wonder if you are watching a domination/submission porn without nudity. What does this have to do with Loki? Crawl inside my head for a second. Imagine healing from massive childhood trauma, but your adult life is so fucked up you spend most of your time in some semi-astral trance state because it's easier and safer than being present. During that time, Loki decides to do construction on your mind. And for about 2 or 3 years, your "godphone" (beginning to HATE that word btw) experiences bear more resemblance to a CIA interrogation/mind control experiment than anything I've read from most other Loki experiences. But it helped. It was for my own good. This movie feels like that.
SPOILER WARNING! This woman is not sure of what reality is in this movie, and I wasn't too sure of it then. (or now, for that matter. is anyone, really?). Learning the difference between your "crazy" and the Divine (however you experience it) is a long and hard process sometimes. Especially when you're having to learn  the art of discernment while still entangled in an ongoing series of abusive situations. In fact, the better I got at telling the two apart, the less and less of those situation popped up,  until I actually got a happy life. I started making better choices.  I'm not always happy (who is? who wants to be?), but I am happy with the life that I have, despite my lingering crazy-ness and "issues". In the end, the woman refuses to admit to what she knows to be a lie, and the movie ends with her going into a bright light. Enlightenment? Truth seeking? I think there is more to this movie than meets the eye and that it's very metaphorical and symbolic. Imagine that it's happening on the astral plane and maybe you'll sort of get why it feels Loki-ish to me.....or at least like what my experience was like during that time.

NOW THAT THE INCREDIBLY LONG PREFACE IS DONE and I have rambled at you sufficiently.....(FYI the whole film is on Youtube)

Youtube (go to the 5min mark til 6 min. This reminds me a quite a bit of things Loki has said to me. minus the lawyer part. Found this on VHS on a random Goodwill excursion and picked it up cause I love Alan Rickman and "conspiracy" movies. When I saw that part, I got chills.)
Seekers of Truth scene
IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101597/

Gotta follow that with something much, much more lighthearted. Lord Rochester as portrayed in movies, often reminds me of the happy shiny pansexual joker side of Loki.  For me, that side always comes in Rococo/Regency attire, so that's obviously tainted by my head, lol. Very upper class.
( I might add, that for me, Loki may wear that as a costume, but the interactions are usually deep, soul wrenching stuff)
Two good examples of this aspect, in the character of Lord Rochester, would be Alan Cumming in Plunkett and Macleane for "costume" (again, this is SO TAINTED by my personal tastes it's not funny, but look at it for  THE PRETTY. ( My Rococo Loki Story ). And for a sexier  aspect, Johnny Depp does a fine job of it HERE.

And while we're mentioning Alan Cumming, if for some reason you are ever forced to watch Spy Kids, you can delight in things like THIS SONG that are rather "Silly Loki". And if you, for whatever reason, become tempted to catch Alan Cumming in the Son of the Mask....there is no need to. Just watch This Music Video instead. All of the "Loki-ish" facial expressions, none of the shitty movie.

Another comedy is the movie Klown.  The way this is shot and the structure of the story feels very "norse myth" to me. Since it's Danish, I guess that's close enough. This feels very "Thor and Loki go adventuring in Jotunheim" to me. Sure, in the movie, they MIGHT call it "Tour de Pussy" but you get my drift. There is one scene especially in the pancake house that reminds me of Loki stopping in for....let's call it a bit of "Jotun Hospitality". The "Loki" character is Casper.
Youtube trailer: Klown Trailer
NSFW Youtube scene (mostly because OMG is she cute): Le Boobs
Netflix Instant Link: Watch It Here

Back to something slightly darker, and another "adventure in VHS". The movie "Brainscan". It came to me in a big box of tapes I borrowed from a right wing gun nut. Amongst a sea of crappy action films, this one stood out. First off, the character is straight up called Trickster. And that's basically what happens. A boy gets completely mindfucked by a reality simulation game, complete with it's own Trickster. Teen horror-comedy. Not so much a characterization of Loki really, but just a movie involving a Trickster that I'm pretty sure Lokeans would get a kick out of.
Youtube clip:Brainscan Trickster
IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0109327/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1
Netflix DVD page: http://movies.netflix.com/WiMovie/Brainscan/60027158?locale=en-US

And to top it off, a couple of occult oriented movies that I think Loki's folks will enjoy.

For example. There is a reason I always push The Holy Mountain so hard. It is ripe with occult symbolism and it's sort of a trip of a movie. I don't have the right words to describe it, but the first time I saw this film, I felt a sort of mental and emotional "click", like my awareness was opened up. Probably just me, but it seems like the sort of thing Loki would be into if for some reason Loki took up a hobby of watching surrealist art films.  You can watch the full movie on Youtube Here. Or find it On Netflix DVD HERE.

And the demons in "Lo" seem sort of Loki-esque in their interactions/style of communication/humor. This is a great indie comedy/romance. Trailer. Netflix Instant

Summoning The Demon Bechamel

THE RITE:

Let it be known on this day, that there exists no more fearsome spirit than the Demon Bechamel. For this Demon does not enter your domain in the usual fashion, such as rock and roll music, short skirts, or people you disagree with. Rather, he sneaks in at your most vulnerable moment, that moment where the core of your being is demanding nourishment. He slips between your lips, glides over your tongue and ensconces his infernal presence not only in your entrails, but in your arteries, his fatty leavings slowly choking your blood within it's vessels. Hear me now, dear reader, and hear me clearly. The Demon Bechamel, if over-summoned, WILL lead to your earthly demise. He will force his way into every life giving vessel and chamber and seize your heart for his own. Be warned!

To summon the Demon Bechamel, you must first gather about yourself the tools of the Art.

- The churned cream of a bovine beast

- Grains of wheat, ground into a fine powder

- The milk of a bovine beast, or, if you dare, a mixture of bovine milk and cream of equal proportion

- A stainless steel saucepan, suitably consecrated in your preferred manner

- A Wand of Incorporation, common name :Whisk

  There are three different levels of summoning for this Demon, though in each, the fatty churned cream and wheat powder must be in equal proportions. One tablespoon of each  shall result in a lighter summoning. In truth this is Bechamel's most insidious form, as He feels so light one may over-invoke him into one's being without giving it a second thought. Two tablespoon of each and Bechamel's infernal presence becomes more apparent. With simple disguises like browned pig flesh or perhaps an aged bovine product such as cheddar, He insinuates himself in every home. A common sign of his presence is the low hum of "mmmm" and satisfied grunts of digestive pleasure. And for those times when you need to have a definitive sign of the unholy, three tablespoons of each should produce such rich and sinful effects that you may indeed need a triple bypass just for gazing upon his deliciously evil visage.

The summoning of Bechamel is, in fact, a rather simplistic ritual, easily done by even the most novice of magicians. Allow me to list for you the processes and incantations

- Place your Saucepan of Summoning upon the burner, and light the eternal flames of torment on medium-low.

- Within the pan, show your dominance over the churned bovine cream by forcing it into a liquid state.

  "Hail Bechamel, Giver of the Cardiologist's Salary!"

- Once a liquid state has been obtained, add in your wheat powder (equal proportions, depending on    the degree of summoning you wish), with a flourish and stir vigorously with the Wand of Incorporation.

- The churned cream and wheat powder will undergo a secret alchemical process and become as one, who is now called Roux.

"Hail Roux, Binder of Sauces!"

- Slowly add the bovine milk, continuing your vigorous application of the Wand of Incorporation. Allow for the Roux to be absorbed completely. Roux is a troublesome spirit, and the lumps of his misfortune must be beaten out with the Wand.

- When the mixture is at the desired consistency for your purposes, allow it to come to a simmer. Simmering destroys the raw flavors of wheat powder that Roux will cause if not slowly tortured with heat.

"Hail Bechamel! He who hath come forth from Roux, I command thee to do my bidding!"

- If the summoning seems too strong, your mixture may be quite thick. The judicious use of additional bovine milk shall rectify that easily.

Above all, remember that the Demon Bechamel thrives on decoration and enhancements. Popular additions to the ritual include:

- Pig flesh. When browned in a Skillet Of Art, may produce enough of it's porcine fat to replace the butter in the creation of the Roux. This is perhaps the most deadly incarnation of Bechamel to date.

- Cheese, of all sorts, can be melted into Bechamel at the end of the ritual.

- Onions, garlic, peppers- they may all be put to the flames till golden and soft  in the liquid butter prior to the addition of the wheat powder.

These are just a few changes one can make. Remember, when practicing these sacred arts, experimentation is the key to a successful summoning.

May the Darkness Of Nom fall upon thee!

Some Awesome Magick Themed Videos

Pandeism and the Left Hand Path ^

Intro to Chaos Magick ^

Awesome thing to do with sigils!^

Long, but great lecture on magick by Grant Morrison^

Below is a bit of funny. Andrew O'Neil, Occult Comedian, parts 1-7

Another Loki Mix

Some darker stuff. Some funny stuff I think fits His sense of humor. Some stuff I use for meditation and ritual. I'll leave you to figure out which is which.

^ Black Light Burns-Lie

^Oomph- Labyrinth

Zowie-Smash It

Kate Miller Heidke- The Devil Wears a Suit

Kate Miller Heidke/Fatty Gets a Stylist- Are You Ready?

The Left Rights- I'm On Crack

Mustard Pimp- Money Shot

MSI- Stupid MF

Big Bang-Fantastic Baby

Fire, Fuel, and Yellow Light.

there was something brewing
in the cupboard.
fire suspended in fuel.
you whispered softly
"it's amazing what a
substance, can actually
do to  face"
there was something brewing
in the sky.
the sweet yellow light
of your coming.
i won't drink from a snake, darling.
you must mistake me for
one of those holy roller
slain in the spirit lokeans.
i won't hold your bowl.
i don't serve that which
lies in shape, waiting.
i will gladly serve that which Is.
there was something brewing
in the cupboard.
venom of it's own, toxins
and fire.
my old familiar friend.

Insert Witty Title Here

This is a stream of consciousness sort of thing, both fictional and true. I rarely write anything other than "divine rage" type of things. it's hard to be open. it's easier to be open in the form of a story. Preceding it are two videos that sort of set the mood for what my mindset was when I wrote this.

smoke swirls upward from the clove cigarette. thin, delicate fingers don't so much grasp the vintage cigarette holder, as they simply balance it between themselves. he's in full rococo tonight....or is it regency? i can never tell them apart, though i'm sure if i asked, i could arouse in him a two hour lecture on the finer points of eighteenth century human fashion. the lace edging of his cuff bounces as he neatly flicks ashes into an open mouth. apparently, some dwarf or another has gotten on his bad side tonight, and was serving as an ash tray. He glances at me, as if aware I might judge him as cruel for it. "He owed me, darling. Anyway, he's a masochist. If you don't like it, you're free to remove yourself". The sparkle in his eyes dared me to complain further.

I look around his hall tonight. "GILD ALL THE THINGS" seems to be the theme. Tiny cherubs peep out from every conceivable place one could imagine placing a chubby, winged infant. Gold, of course, some with gemstone eyes, the overall effect being demonic-eyed gold babies staring at you everywhere you turn. Rococo then, Definitely Rococo. The walls were draped in pastel fabrics, pink and lavender, baby blue and a foamy green so light as to be nearly white. A riotous peal of giggles erupt from the chaise he's ensconced in. "I decorated just for you dear." The cherubs echoed his giggles. "Brandy, then?". He rose and glided elegantly towards the end table, where a intricately carved glass bottle of brandy and two crystal snifters were displayed.

i took the time now to drink in his appearance. deep red hair, streaked with blond and golden highlights, tied back in a ivory lace ribbon. his face was lightly made up, porcelain skin, eyes lined in smudgy black, a light glittery sheen on his lips. Our sigil, done now in rose gold, hung on a thin chain around his neck. He must have long since discarded his cravat, judging by the pool of pale green silk crumpled on the floor by the chair. His jacket was some sort of pastel brocade. If you looked closely, you could see the design was a skillfully woven map of the nine worlds. It hung loosely, unbuttoned, and the ivory lace-edged shirt beneath was open, allowing a peek at his lithe body. His cream suede breeches left little to the imagination. All in all, he resembled a overly sexed parody of a dilettante lord of the manor. But I like that sort of thing.

He filled the snifters to the brim, and handed me one, a playful grin on his face. "All this, just to wet a pair of mortal panties. Such trouble you lot are." He scanned my face again, squinting his eyes this time. "But...no.
No, you are indeed not here for a game of slap 'n tickle, are you? You never are. So, what now? Still afraid of dying and afraid of living at the same time? Mommy-ruined-my-life again? Oh, or maybe more " save me from killing myself or i'll turn atheist? No? Hmmm?" More giggles. More puffs of clove, More ashing in the dwarf.

He folds himself back into his chair, and I perch on the cherub-covered couch across from him. We sip our brandy in silence for a bit, while I try and gather my words. I try and force them out of my mouth, but all that emerges is short grunts, single consonants....no words. Tears, however, I have in spades. I weep, harder and harder, while he stares at me, much like a child entranced by the television. He knocks back his brandy in one fell gulp, and suddenly rises, throwing the snifter down. It explodes in a shower of glittering glass bits.

"ENOUGH!" He bellows. "Enough of your weakness! You can't trust anybody, not even ME. Not even the person who has stood by you all your life. You stupid woman, you will be your own undoing! I know what's wrong with you, even if you can't balls up and say it. You're unhappy and you have no right to be. You know you have no right to be. Simply put, you choose to be ungrateful for what was given to you.  You can ostensibly look at your life, and see that it is good. You not only have a loyal, beautiful, mortal man who practically treats you like his goddess, but you also have ME, and do you have any idea how blasphemous and insulting it is when you sit there and say "I hate myself"? You may as well piss on an artists painting! You are my great work of art. All of you are. You are all my beautiful paintings, restored and glorious, from the shit heap that was your fate before me. We won't even get into how Deus must feel about your blasphemous little emo bullshit. You are a fucking god and it's about time I teach you how to act like it." He rips off his jacket, hurling it a corner. He picks up his cigarette and again and inhales deeply. "Drink your fucking brandy!" I take a sip. "LIKE YOU FUCKING MEAN IT". I knock back the rest of the glass, glaring at him with an almost teenage level of defiance. The cherubs laugh sinisterly, their high voices echoing through the hall.

He fills my glass again. "Once more. Drink. But this time, you drink to your own divinity. " I do as I am told, this time it burns less, instead forming a nice warmth that spreads, and flushes my cheeks. Again my glass if filled. " This one you drink to your own memory. Others may remember you fondly when you pass. But you must remember yourself as the glorious creature you are". The warmth becomes a glow, the flush becomes deeper. I am calm.

He sits beside me then. The anger that flowed so fiercely had died down, evolved to whatever resembles sympathy for someone like him.
"Listen, I could have done that without the screaming. I have a lot of far greater problems right now. That's not a put down, it's just fact. I'm sorry. I'm still right though. You have no reason to be unhappy. Your misery is self created." I nod. I know. I created it. He patted my tears away with his handkerchief, my eyeliner leaving black streaks on the pink fabric."Come here" he said, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. He tugged me over to stand in front of the grand mirror hanging on the wall.

The mirror was possibly the most beautiful mirror in all existence. The top was crowned with a yellow, rose, and white gold sculpture of Yggdrasil. The trees roots cascaded down the huge mirror, ending in a an complex knot of roots at the bottom, entwined with a serpent. A tiny squirrel of gold set with topaz and jet scurried up and down the mirror, around and around the frame. He grabbed my shoulders and lined me up so my reflection was centered.

"What do you see?" He asked.I replied,  "A short, fat girl-cripple with a back curve. Who's trying too hard to be fashionable. Like when a crippled or retarded lady tries to dress up cute, and everyone around her tells her she looks great, in that sing-song voice liberal women use when they encounter the handicapped. The implication being, you look great, for what you are. "

"Well, aren't we a superficial little cunt today?" He murmured. "Go deeper. What do you see?"

"Me. Just me. As I am. Not perfect. Not fucked up enough to elicit true sympathy from anyone, but too fucked up to ever fit in to normal society. Someone who tries to make the best of what they have, as much as they can.
A collection of damages, traumas and personality conflicts shoved inside a dysfunctional body, and ran by a dysfunctional mind".

"Accurate, but quite negative. This is what you feel like inside, isn't it". He waved his hand in front of the mirror. My reflection changed. I stood about 5'6". My breasts were perky, and round, My stomach gently curved, but lean. My back straight and healthy. Full, lush, feminine hips. Strong thighs and sculpted calves. Feet in fashionable heels. My skin was smooth and pale and perfect.  He waved again, and the image faded. "You feel like a normal girl, who is somehow trapped in this prison of a body." I nod. I do a lot of nodding with him. "This is what you're stuck with". He gestured towards my normal reflection.

"This is what could have been". Again with the waving. The mirror showed a woman, not standing, but in a motorized chair, strapped in at the waist. No makeup. Hair short, but unfashionably so, and greasy. Instead of dark jeans and a cute tank top, my reflection was wearing grubby sweats. Beneath the sweat pants, my legs were shriveled and useless, never able to walk. "And that's just what the outside of her looks like....the inside is worse. So much worse. She can't read. She was locked up in a place for the lame and crippled. No one. She literally had no one. No friends. No love . Nothing. Ever. She never touched a pencil. She never put paint to canvas. She never even thought to question God or reality or try magick. She was born "wrong" and locked away by the same parents you had. This would have been you without me, and my work. This was your fate. This is why I call you ungrateful."

He waved again and images flashed. There was my grandmother, at my age, deciding to pick out a new lipstick at the store. As her hand lingers on the orange-red so popular with her generation, I see a man in the background. Auburn hair, short and slicked with pomade. Black suit. Reading a newspaper and staring hard at her while she tried on the shade, purchased it, and left. Flash. I am three. My grandmother is sitting on the couch, holding a lipstick of the same shade out at me and I teeter on my two recently healed legs. I stumble a bit. One foot goes forward. Then the other. I walk. I see her putting the lipstick on me, holding me up to the mirror as she told me what a good girl I was. Flash. Scene after scene, of Himself in the background. Influencing my choices, my past, going back decades to make one tiny change that would lead to my inevitable current state of being. Ensuring that each opportunity for beauty, for knowledge, for perseverance, for survival, was met to the fullest possible influence. I see abuses, that though they seemed horrific, were so much less than what could have been. I see him making chances for me to thrive, to be more than a result of what was done to me. I am speechless.

He turns and smiles at me then. "You are the best possible outcome of your genetics. I will do all I can to turn the chances in your favor. But you have to work towards your own evolution . You cannot stagnate. You cannot drag yourself down. Do you hear me?'

"Yes," I said, looking him in the eyes. "Yes, I do".

"We need to make a contract. A binding contract." I nod.

"Rule one: You will not hit yourself. You will not bite yourself. You will not cut yourself. Period. It is blasphemy of the worst kind. A rejection of creation. You will call to me. You will ask me for help. You will talk to your husband before your issues build to that point. You will ask him for help. You can do this. You've went years without self harm. It is possible".

"Agreed. I will call to you. I will ask for help. I can and have done this before."


"Rule two: You will stop referring to me in terms of mental heath crap. I am not "an alter persona of your idealized self". I am not " some dissociative hallucination". I am not " that crazy Loki stuff you ramble about". That shit drives me mad, woman. It stops now. I am Loki. or Loke. Or Loptr. Even Lodur, should you interpret it that way. But I am not something that rose from your abusive childhood. I am what saved you from it".


" I agree. Even my husband has corrected me on this. I'm sorry. I let one arrogant chaos magician convince me I'm crazy, and allowed one man's opinion to dictate what I think of a lifelong friend. That is wrong of me. And Dustin was wrong for assuming you were part of my other mental health issues."

He smiled, and did the sign of benediction. "I forgive you, my child".


"And the last rule. You will create for me. You will paint and cook and make music for me. You will keep yourself in good enough health to continue to do this for a long time. Everything that comes from those hands should be for me, for my amusement or pleasure, or for your own. They are one and the same"

I laugh, then. "What do you think I do? I agree, easily".


Everything fades then. The mirror. The gilded palace of opulent tackyness. The psychotic cherubs. His legs. His dick. His torso. His face. Fading. I am sitting in my bed, at a loss for words. I sleep, healed.

Lots of Rambling Loki Stuff.

 I will lay in my sorrow, covered in the heavy blanket of memory.
He comes softly then, a slight psychic breeze like the swooshing of a long jacket.
Closer and closer He will come, till we are nose to nose, face to face.
He seeps inside my skin, through my bones, and into my heart. His ethereal  form seeks out all the broken places.....
 All the dirty little fuck-holes of reality hidden inside of me.
The leaden pieces of my soul are made golden in His gnostic illumination of my Form and Function.
He transforms that which I feel into that which I understand.

The above rambling is something I wrote several days ago. It's hard to open up about spiritual things for me. I can channel "divine rage" all day long, but when it comes to feeling other feelings.....it's not my forte. I've gotten along pretty well in life by being a quick witted cunt. It's a wonderful survival skill, up to a point.

But sometimes you just feel like a Negative Nancy. Everything looks super-bullshitty all the time. I mean, ALL THE TIME. I can list the things I hate easily....society, politics, religious fervor, Hiddleson and Co., irrational people and their irrational belief structures, the healthcare system, the new healthcare system, the concept of having a president in the first place, the way money is used to exploit damn near everything....I could go on for hours.

 But to talk about what I love, that is like trying to speak with a ball gag in my mouth. I know for sure there are three things, in this order, that matter to me in life. My husband. Loki. My cats. And most all things and activities associated with them.

I love Loki. I want to be clear about that. I am not his wife, nor would I care to be. I need human contact in a relationship. I am not chosen or special or anything other than Myself. Gods do not battle for my soul, they tend not to rape me, and they rarely ask me for anything other than a few acts of goodwill to my fellow man, a few sips of booze, and a good conversation. I am not your super duper class A spirit worker. What I am is a damn fine occultist. I am a person who prides herself on a neatly crafted blend of logic and mysticism. I can divine like a mother-fucker, because I rarely let my own beliefs and opinions color a reading. I can sigilize a sentence like nobody's business.

I accept that it may well be all in my head, and I just don't give a crap if it is. Because it works. It happens. He talks and sashays and pouts around my house quite frequently. If it's a hallucination, then oh the fuck well. If I experience it, then it is real is some sense, and how the hell do you tell if gods are "real" in the first place? If I ask Loki "how do I know you're real" all I'll get is "how do you know you're real?". How DO I know I'm real? Sigh.......He loves nothing more than to make me question ALL THE THINGS.

The Hey Nonny Nonny Song

Have you seen the sheep,
Looking so sweet,
Dressed in the Wolf-Sire's clothing?
I saw the sheep,
Mild and meek,
Full up with fear and self loathing.

Every good sheep, will long for his shepherd
Someone to guide him, to keep him tethered
Tied to the dualistic, masochistic, atavistic
Hey nonny nonny nonny hey, oh
Hey nonny nonny nonny hey, oh.

Have you seen the sheep,
Oh, how they creep,
Down on their knees for their Master. 
I saw the sheep,
Blind and asleep,
Deaf to My voice and My laughter

Every good sheep will long for his shepherd,
Some one to guide him, to keep him tethered
Tied to the catechistic, formalistic, egotistic,
Hey nonny nonny nonny, hey, oh
Hey nonny nonny nonny hey, oh


Have you seen the sheep,
Out in the pasture.
Have you seen them weep,
Crying for their Master.
I have seen the sheep,
Grazing in the pasture.
I have seen the sheep, my dear,
But I am not their Master.
Hey nonny nonny nonny hey, oh.
Hey, nonny nonny, nonny hey, oh.

Ah, the month of Loki blogging. Oh, how deeply meaningful and spiritual and great and all that jazz. I do say, ladies, down on those knees and adore me with thy lips. And throat. Maybe a little hand action. I'll even pull your hair and call you my dirty little cum puppet, should that be your fancy. But dear sweet baby Jesus, DO NOT FUCKING WORSHIP ME. Remember Fimafeng? He was soooo quick to serve, and what was his fate then? Fucking servile sheep. Hang out with me, talk to me, get to know me a little. Get me drunk, get me stoned, get me off. Cram your minds with factual knowledge about your reality in my name and honor. And most of all, dear "ladies", GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THE KITCHEN. Yeah, I went there. Make me a sandwich while you're at it. Stop sanitizing me. Stop making me a saint, a savior, some remote object you mutter praise for but refuse to look at clearly.  Accept all of me, as I accept all of you. 

Eine Kleine Rokk Musik

Well, I am oddly pleased with the title of this post, I'll be honest. I feel really fucking witty right now. Anyway, I am bored and taking a rest after doing a load of dishes, so I thought I'd compile a short list of music I'd associate with Angrboda .  There's only three so far, but that's just all I can think of at the moment.

First up, Roisin Murphy's Ramalama. It is a my go-to "song about taking hearts out of people".
It's got a great beat, of course.

The next video is Paloma Faith's Do You Want The Truth or Something Beautiful? Reminds me of Her and Loki. Also, I think this is the closest to what Angrboda looks like to me.

Gotye "Hearts a Mess". I am going to post the lyrics under the video. To me, it could be a song from Loki to Gullveig.

Pick apart
The pieces of your heart
And let me peer inside
Let me in
Where only your thoughts have been
Let me occupy your mind
As you do mine

You have lost
Too much love
To fear, doubt and distrust
Its not enough
You just threw away the key
To your heart

You don't get burned
Cause nothing gets through
It makes it easier
Easier on you
But that much more difficult for me
To make you see

Love ain't fair
So there you are
My love

Your heart's a mess
You won't admit to it
It makes no sense
But I'm desperate to connect
And you, you can't live like this

Your heart's a mess
You won't admit to it
It makes no sense
But I'm desperate to connect
And you, you cant't live like this

Your heart's a mess
You won't admit to it
It makes no sense
But I'm desperate to connect
And you cant't live like this

Love ain't safe
You won't get hurt if you stay chaste
So you can wait
But I don't wanna waste my love
__________________________

You don't have to own the pain

You don't have to live this life in shame

You don't have to mend your heart

You never really broke it, you just took it apart.

You don't have to say my name

You don't have to tell anyone I came

But, you really shouldn't  dim your light

It's your only weapon in this war that you fight,

Inside your head.

 Well, I can make you golden

As the world turns slowly

to lead.

Somewhere in the Interwebs:

CaviezelBride: OMG ya'all. I went to Passion of the Christ yesterday! IT WAS AWESOME. I could really feel the spirit of my Liege and Savior there. THEY WERE SO ACCURATE. I <3 Jim Caviezel. Mmmm...what a hottie!

JesusHChrist4Life: Just glued a picture of Him (Jim) on the face of my crucifix. NOW it REALLY looks just like Jesus!!!!! Yay!!!!

(Is this terrifying you yet?)

What if the god in question was a god you actually liked? And what if the movie in question wasn't a Christian snuff film, but instead a hugely popular comic franchise? I "marvel" at the newest trends in paganism these days.

Remember that bumper sticker "Dear God, save me from your followers." ? I can relate. >_< This post would be a lot more ranting, but I'm feeling nice and will leave it at that.

Three Awesome "Diet" Recipes

Cheesecake replacement therapy:

one cup Fage 2% greek yogurt or any other brand of
Greek yogurt that is all natural, very thick, and free of added thickening agents
honey, preferably local

pure vanilla extract

small lemon wedge

whole grain cereal, I use Uncle Sam cereal.






Stir honey into yogurt, to taste. Add a squirt of lemon and a dash of vanilla. Swirl a bit more honey on top. Top with cereal. Eat. Should have only 4 grams of fat. You can use non fat yogurt as well, it just won't be quite as creamy in mouthfeel.


No Guilt Enchiladas:

Sauce:

3/4 lb. tomatillos - peeled, rinsed and diced
one can green chiles
4 cloves garlic
1 hot pepper of your choice
large handful of chopped fresh cilantro
juice of about half a lime
salt to taste

Process for sauce: Put in bowl and puree with immersion blender or put in normal blender and puree till smooth

Enchilada Filling:

One large sweet potato, peeled and diced
One small onion, diced
Four to five cloves garlic, roughly chopped
one ear of fresh corn, corn removed from cob
once can drained and rinsed black beans
one can of tomatoes with green chiles (i use Kroger's
roasted tomatoes, salsa-style)

Red Powder:
Toast one dried red chile of you choice, seeds included, plus cumin seeds in a skillet. Grind in a coffee or herb grinder. Add smoked paprika or regular paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne to taste. Alternatively, you can buy powdered ancho chile and cumin, however they will not taste as fresh as toasting and grinding it at home.

Start everything but the beans and tomatoes in a large skillet with just enough vegetable oil so they don't stick. Season with red powder. Cook on medium heat till onions soften and caramelize and potatoes are mostly cooked through. Add the can of tomatoes, simmer until liquid evaporates. Taste and add more red powder if needed.  Add a pinch of salt as well. Maybe some ghost chile sauce if you are brave. Gently stir in rinsed beans.

To assemble enchiladas:

I make them more like a lasagna then traditional rolled enchiladas, because they just end up falling apart when you serve them rolled.

In a good sized casserole pan, put down a layer of corn tortillas. Then spread some sauce to cover. Add potato and bean filling. Measure out 4 servings of Mexican blend cheese. Add one serving to this layer. Continue to layer this way, using your last serving of cheese to top the casserole. Bake at 400 till top is lightly browned and melty. Serve with a dollop of nonfat yogurt, fresh cilantro, a wedge of lime and some chopped avocado. Should feed about 4 people. We got 5 servings out of it. Even better the next day, when sauce has absorbed into the tortilla. DO NOT USE FLOUR TORTILLAS. THEY ARE AN ABOMINATION.


Orange Soup:

one butternut squash, peeled and diced
one sweet potato, peeled and diced
one orange bell pepper, diced
five carrots, peeled and diced
six cloves garlic, chopped
one onion, chopped
hot pepper of your choice, diced
garam masala seasoning or your favorite indian/curry spice blend
one box of vegetable broth
salt and pepper to taste

this is easy. put all chopped vegetables into a soup pot. add seasoning to taste, and vegetable broth. simmer until everything is cooked through. reduce the liquid a tiny bit-there should still be plenty of liquid. Use an immersion blender in the pot or blend in a traditional blender. Garnish with chopped cilantro and a dab of nonfat greek yogurt if desired.

I am the arrow. A sort-of poem

I am the arrow
Hidden in shape
Far up in the tree.
I am the arrow,
stalk too weak to shape
but still.
I am so mother fucking sharp.
She never made the promise for me.
I lived where no man could go
No one thought me of any consequence.
So I waited for Him.
Waited to be shaped.
Waited for my sharpness to have a purpose.
The sharpening hurt.
Shavings of myself scattered across His workshop floor.
Oh, the glee He found in it, working on his weapons.
One day He whispered the Truth and I could not bear it.
I was eight years old and already aware of my purpose.
No one loved me, because love does not make one hard.
Not until one can be hard without it.
No one listened to me, because being heard does not breed perseverance.
At least, not until one has learned to persevere on their own.
Everyone I dared to love hurt me, because hurt was the fire of the forge
To make His arrow.
Every doubt, every question, is another stab at that which I despise---
Complacency. Perfection. That without error, that which cheats Death and Life.
I have lived and I have died and neither suits my personality.
Death is empty and Life is the knowledge of what empty means.
Because all that you have in Life will be gone and Death remains a mystery.
It is up to you to make that which you Love immortal.

I am the mother fucking arrow.
I am a weapon.
I am strong and sharp and poisonous.
He made me strong enough to stand alone
And alongside other arrows.
He showed me how weapons love.
He showed me how weapons speak.
He showed me Truth.

Film Experience of The Occult Hipster: A Pretentious Title.

These are awesome. Watch them. That's all.


First up is Hesher. This is the feel-good-reminds me of Loki movie.  Especially the snake and mouse story after about the 7 or 8 minute mark.
Hesher clip
Hesher IMDB

 The Holy Mountain. This is my absolute favorite movie. Ever. I watch it semi-weekly. It is, to me, quite similar to a tarot deck, in that each scene is so ripe with symbolism that you can interpret it differently each time you view it. This is worthy of the term "mind-blowing".
The Holy Mountain "Psychedelic Shotgun" Scene
Holy Mountain "Tarot Will Teach You...." 
The Holy Mountain IMDB

Next, The Ruling Class. This is just....absurd. And awesome.  Hard to describe without giving away too much. Just rest assured this is hilarious!
Scene From The Ruling Class
The Ruling Class IMDB

Bedazzled 1967 version. This movie is full of great wit. Classic "sell your soul to the devil to get ____" story, but told with style and a blasphemous sense of humor. The Devil makes this movie. Keeps your attention all the way through, great pacing of the laughs. 
Bedazzled "never believe a liar"
great song from the movie
I Love Lucifer
Bedazzled (1967) IMDB

Loki In Video

Here is a list of video clips that I feel embody the personality of Loki I experience. A lot of it is mood, tone of voice, body language, attitude, etc.
Enjoy! I may add more as they occur to me.


Libertine Intro

Alan Cumming "Floop" Song

Angry Crazy Loki. Comes with Free Flailing and Screaming.

Fancy Loki

Loki, when He wants to Fix your life.

Alan Rickman Loki - go to about 5 min in.

A Bit of A Story.

So a long time ago, in a land far away, I began to write a story. It's not a nice story. It is not politically correct. And that's the way it was meant to be. I have never shown this to anyone save for my old roomates, and my husband.I am by no means a writer. This is raw, unstructured, and I don't even know if it will be funny to anyone but me and my husband and Loki.....And it's not finished.

This was not written from a traditional Norse perspective. This is a story about Loki and the old gods...how once they stopped being worshiped by large numbers of people, they lost their power. Instead, humanity worships it's consumer obsessions, namely, in what I have here, fast food companies. We are living in a world where Ronald McDonald is far more recognizable to the public than any mythological god. Loki sees in this new world order, money is akin to belief and seeks to use that knowledge to overthrow the fast food industry, aka the "new gods"

Take it for what it is.....maybe you'll find some funny bits in there....

Old Gods, New Tricks

You CAN teach an old dog new Trix

It’s been said that there’s a place where old gods go to die. No one ever mentions the free basic cable. One eye stares at the screen in utter disbelief. Dead gods are still gods, you know.

“ And now, breaking news just in, regarding the recent and bizarre happenings in our local prison…”

“ This is Kate Macalister, reporting. Three hundred and thirty three convicted child molesters were found dead at approximately three thirty-three a.m. And as if that isn’t strange enough, each convict was a member of a recently formed occult group called ‘Brothers of the Blood’. Referring to themselves as an Anglo-Saxon positive nature religion, they received tax-exempt status earlier this week. What’s more is the board of corrections just yesterday approved an outlandish petition, asking the state to provide what they called ‘the fundamental objects as are appropriate to accommodate our legally recognized religious ceremonies and activities’. This list included items such as ‘one whole boar, roasted or live’, ‘one keg of fine mead, or Bud Light, at the board’s discretion’, and ‘a large replica of a 10th century war hammer, bloodstains optional, or access to the utility closet’. The state was willing to negotiate, offering pork chops, non-alcoholic beer, and a wooden mallet, which was to be confiscated immediately after the ceremony. The Brothers begrudgingly agreed, and the inmates received their ‘objects of faith’ around 2 a.m. this morning. To answer some pressing questions about this dangerous ritualistic behavior in our state’s correction facility is the head of the board of corrections, Mr. Lye-smith. Welcome.’

“Thank you Kate.”

“Mr. Lye-smith, I was hoping you could shed some light on this subject for us here. Why did the board approve this petition?”

“Well, with everything going on in the world today, the face of religion is changing. Evolving, if you will. The board felt the approval of this request was a sign of the times. Things are complicated now, and even prisoners need a faith, something to keep them going during their incarceration. Now days, the white bearded judging father in the sky doesn’t seem to inspire the sort of reform that it used to. Therefore, we are willing to accommodate requests in a manner we feel is befitting of an incarcerated individual. Naturally we keep a healthy balance between our accommodations and the allotted funding for state prisons. To sum up my point, the political correctness so prevalent in today’s society had us by the nuts.”

“Well, certainly you could have predicted these sorts of problems. Do you see the connection between the approval of this petition and over three hundred dead inmates?”

“Not particularly, Kate. The men received their supplies, consecrated the chow hall in a rather moving ritual involving the mallet, cooked and ate their pork, toasted to their gods, and retired to their respective cells.”

“Is the board treating this as ritualistic murder?”

“Suicide actually. Normally, this time of night, the prison is relatively calm. Except the occasional ‘you said I got top tonight!’ and ‘dear god, not the broom again. I have cigarettes man, brand name’, the night had passed without incident. A couple of minutes past three-thirty, the night guards heard the distinct sound of ‘I dedicate my death to the Brothers of the Blood!’ echo through the prison halls. They rushed to investigate, finding each man dead, in a pool of blood, with a poorly made shiv in his jugular. Shortly after that, here I am , on live television. Hello, America!”

“Here he is, folks! Thank you Mr. Lye-smith. Now the board has generously granted us an exclusive interview with the one surviving member of the Brothers. He was known as Trix, the alias he assumed during his membership in the group. He’s joining us live from his cell at the prison. Can you hear me?”

“Certainly, Kate. Good evening.”

“I believe it’s morning, actually…”

“Oh? Well, good morning then. I’m still struggling with the concept of measured time. My apologies.”

“Um, no problem. Now I know that you go by the alias ‘Trix’. I feel a bit silly calling a grown man that, and I bet the folks at home would love to know the real name of lucky survivor.”

“I bet they would Kate. My name, in all that it affects and implies, is Trix.”

“On to my first question then. How did you manage to avoid this whole fiasco?”

“The day before the petition was approved, I tied my testicles to a young man of Hispanic decent, while he yelled ‘I’m a baaaah-d little goat!’ In the middle of the prison yard. About the time I was getting around to introduce him to my friend Dirty Sanchez, the guards came and promptly introduced me to the kind folks in the psych wing.”

“ And was this stunt at all related to the secret occult rituals you took part in?”

“Don’t you find the combination of ‘secret’ and ‘occult’ an error on the side of redundancy? The occult, by it’s very definition and nature is secretive, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it is, Trix. Would you care to share with us your role in petitioning the board to supply this ‘ritual’?”

“ My pen was firmly set in the direction of authorship.”

“And what exactly was the religious significance of this particular ceremony?

“Sacrifice, naturally.”

“You mean the eating of the boar? Or should I say, pork chops?”

“No, I am certain I am making reference to the child-diddling pederasts bleeding to death from severe puncture wounds.”

“So you’re saying this was pre-meditated?”

“Wiccans meditate, Kate. We prefer a more hands-on approach.”

“Whose hand exactly WAS on this, Trix?”

“Mine, of course.”

“And it doesn’t phase you that you’ve all but confessed to murder on live TV?”

“You call it murder, I call it state-funded creative problem solving.”

“So what did you hope to achieve with all this?”

“Other than a nice bloodstain on the system of corrections?”

“Yes?”

“They worshiped the old gods like blind sheep. The nice thing about blind sheep is that they have no idea where they’re going, and they’re too stupid to care. I was hoping to use that to my advantage and harness the power implicit in a mass sacrifice to restore myself and a few old friends, buying the opportunity to crush the new gods of the American consumer by beating them at their own game, all while simultaneously ridding our great nation of over three hundred racist perverts. All in all, a good day’s work. The results, however, are too fresh as to be evident.”

“And who exactly ARE these ‘old gods’ they worship?”

“Myself, among others.”

“And you are?”

“Loki Laufeyson, also knows as Loptr , the sky traveler, and my friends are known to call me Lodur as well. A now-defunct deity of mischief, chaos, and anything I damn well please.”

The eye blinked for a moment. When the screen appeared again before it, the god-cum-inmate was gone from sight, leaving a bewildered news anchor behind. The body attached to the eye felt a pleasant, surging tingle, and the mouth of that body slowly formed a wry grin. “Too fresh to be evident, hmm? What have you done now, brother….”

Low Key Plans

I’ve always loved my brother’s house. So big, so manly, so full of beer. Not to mention well-muscled warriors and buxom wenches. Everyone waxes poetic about the Valkyries, but they weird me out. Never trust a woman in metal underwear, that’s what I say.

I had already helped myself to a good portion of mead, and it only fueled the power slowly gathering over the old homestead.

In about thirty seconds, over three hundred souls, rich with blind belief and useless to the world would be arriving to unknowingly fund my first endeavor in the world of business. All in all, I think so far it’s worked out for everyone. These guys had shitty lives they were about to return to upon parole. Certainly an afterlife of fighting and drinking can’t be all that bad, and there are no children at risk here in Asgard. The folks of one of those square states are free from a large group of predators who were sooner or later going to be released once again into society. And myself, my brother, and our friends would gain enough energy to allow us to oppose those forces responsible for our waning.

Unfortunately my brother would be arriving right about NOW.

“Well, hello…’Trix’, is it? Don’t you know tricks are for kids, brother?”

“Well then put me in short pants and send me to the toy store, you old fart! Well, what do you think….”

“I think you don’t just go around gathering power for no reason other than to be a nice guy. So go ahead and tell me your off the wall idea that will seem to do us harm, but then end up being something much greater than we expected, so that we can once again scold and punish you.”

“Funny. Really, I’m about to wet myself. Anyways, you know how you always ramble on in a drunken stupor about the good old days and how those cursed humans, the new bane of your eye, are killing us with the free will we were so kind to grant them?”

“And your point?”

“I know how to get rid of the new gods. Without expending much of our newly gained power. We could at least be marginally influential, at worst. The best-case scenario? We beat them at their own game and come back into our full power.”

“How do you propose we go about beating them at a game we know nothing about?”

“A game we know nothing about? The game is blackmail, and we are veritable experts at that! We can get THEM to come to US. We get them to willingly invite us into THEIR jurisdiction. And then we pull the proverbial rug from beneath their feet.”

“I’m listening….”

“What gives a god their power? Belief, sure. Belief works. We’ve tried that before. But let’s try something NEW. Let’s not view it as the mortals work for us. Let’s view it as WE work for THEM. For cold, hard cash, no less. Enough cash, in fact, to buy out their temples from under them. I’ve already posted fliers. It’s called Rent-A-God. ”

He nodded, but it was at that point the angry mob of dead prisoners gathered outside began to get a bit obvious.

“I’ll leave you to attend to their afterlife, brother. We’ll discuss your plans when that’s settled.”

Even the pederast experiences disillusionment.

“Oy, where’s the beer?”

“Where’s the Valkyries?”

“Where’s their newly expanded day care?”

“Cheat!” “Liar!” “Rogue!”

“Why thank you. Welcome to Asgard, home to the Aesir. My name is Loki, and I’ll be your deity this evening. Please allow me to create a pleasing illusion while you await rebirth as befits your previous incarnation. I’m welcome to suggestions, what would you like in your life after life?”

“I’d like a lynch mob. With real niggers and everything!”

“I’d like to experience a true spiritual enlightenment while receiving fellatio from a young Japanese boy.”

“I just want my mommy”

Heads swiveled. The young girl stood at the back of the crowd, her red pigtails and sweet, virginal appeal drawing quick reactions from the inmates.

I snapped my fingers, and they were gone into oblivion, undoubtedly having the time of their lives without realizing they were to shortly start at the bottom of the chain. Pity.

“Hello, there, Mister Loki, sir!” She giggled. She fucking GIGGLED. Sickening.

“Wendy, I want to go home. It’s disgusting here, no offense.”

“Did I tell you to speak, bitch? Who’s your goddess?”

This was barked at Dave Tomas, the founder of the tiny hamburger stand that grew more than he’d ever dreamed. They always marketed themselves as father and daughter, but everyone knew that wasn’t the whole story. The WHOLE story was probably best left untold, in fact.

“Oh you are, Wendy, you. I apologize for my eagerness.”

“That’s better. Now run along and let mummy tend to business.”

“Yes mistress.”

I can’t help but smile. The kid has spunk. In both senses of the word, apparently.

“I see you’re still trying to whip him into shape.”

“Try being the operative word. He was so manageable when he was a mortal, but here, in death. What an IDIOT. I’m surprised he had the wherewithal to start that damn hamburger stand in the first place! Now getting down to business, I have a problem…”

“And you’d like my help. But, of course, I’m expensive, let’s get that straight. I have a bit of power right now, and have no interest in using more than absolutely necessary. So what’s wrong, and what do you need?”

“I’m just going to have to show you. You won’t believe me otherwise. Turn to channel five. The news is about to come on.”

I push the button, and there’s good old Kate, smiling vapidly into the camera.

“More strange news just in this afternoon. Don’t panic folks, but it seems cows the world over have began to turn a bit…well…square. Even stranger, it seem their milk is somehow freezing and it appears to be…am I reading this right…chocolate milk shake? Authorities say….”

I turn it off. I’d seen enough.

“So someone’s gone and turned herself into the goddess of cattle, hmm? Nice. Where were you when it happened?”

“India, of all places. Checking on the newest international location. Beef-free, of course. People started cheering me. I crowd-surfed. They built a shrine.”

“And what would you like me to do about it?”

“Well, I checked the stock market about five minutes ago. Two other companies are right behind me. Mickey-D and Star’s Bucks. To the best of my calculations, they’re going to achieve god-hood in less than a month. Mickey-D is a direct competitor. In fact, the only reason I’m above him right now is that the economy is failing and my dollar menu is better. And Star is just...a nutcase, not to mention dabbling in YOUR territory. Hell, she’s all but called herself the new Trickster, and a good portion, if not all of the barristas are practicing chaos magicians she’s managed to convert to her way of thinking. Now she is powered by Wi-Phi. If technology advances any further there, she could become almost unstoppable. In fact, that artificial omnipotence is how I found out about Rent-A-God. She found your application for a business loan. It was denied, you know.”

“I know, but I’ve found some independent funding who’s agreed to help out with the wet work as well.”

“Oh, who?”

“Jesus.”

“He’s just not the same since he got possessed by Satan. He has such a big heart though. When Mickey bought out hell, it was the all he could do. I hear they actually both enjoy the company. I also heard he’s a crackpot. I’m reserving judgement. What happened anyways? I can’t believe he’s lost enough power to actually agree to help you.”

“Well, once people started worshiping Christianity instead of him, it was only a matter of time. The damn burnout lived like a fucking monk. Only thing he spent money on was getting stoned, and the bible belt alone supplies enough for that. He may be crazy, but he’s rich crazy, and I’ll trade sanity for money any day.”

“So you really think the only partner you’ll need is a slowly fading stoner who randomly bleeds from his stigmata? I can offer you an inside guy. THE inside guy. Terrorism. He’s going through some issues, but according to the news, HE’S the reason the economy is in ruins. All the blame is starting to get to him. Last night he was curled up in a corner, his rag askew, rocking back and forth muttering ‘but I’m just a noun. I don’t wanna be a god.’.”

“Sounds…useful. Geez, Wendy, you have to offer me a bit more than a schizophrenic part of speech…come on…”

“ I can have jobs lined up for you in seconds. The money Mickey and Star would be willing to pay would more than cover the buy-out. Mickey is furious that he dropped below me just moments before becoming a god. Now he has to build up the power again, though not much. Star is a direct threat to how you do your job. The entire nature of chaos will be changed. You’ll be obsolete. Everyone knows that once a new god has assumed god status any and all duties of the archetype belong to them, and do you know where you get to work then? Do you? The Shades! You become part of the afterlife illusion the new god creates for the poor souls who die still believing in you! You and your whole pantheon are days away from that fate! Send Jesus to Mickey’s tomorrow if you don’t believe me about the money.”

With that, she was gone, leaving behind grill marks on the floor. It looked like Jesus was about to have his second coming.

May I take your order? * loki comments *

“Like, reach out and touch faith, man. Your Personal Jesus has like, arrived, man. So you’re Mickey. Far out.

“Jesus Christ, come inside before someone smells you.”

“Hey, man. This is pretty groovy. I dig the golden arches. Reminds me of a calf my pops used to know. Wicked.”

*Dear me, the Son of God is fucking baked. Ha, Mickey, enjoy that one! *

“Are you Jesus Christ, part of the holy trinity?”

“Reporting for duty, man. Let’s like, bake the doughnuts.”

“Burgers, Jesus, we make burgers here.”

“Right on. What should I do, bro?”

“See this? This is a fillet of fish sandwich. That is a large hill covered by a crowd of eager, hungry people. Now repeat after me…’Mickey-D tastes so good’

“Mickey-D tastes so good”

“You love Mickey-D and Mickey-D loves you.”

“You like, love and stuff, bro. And you get love back. Trippy.”

“You love Mickey-D so much. You should spend more money buying their fine products.”

“IDOL WORSHIPERS! MONEY-HUNGRY SWINE! BRINGER OF FAMINE AND BANE OF THE CARDIOLOGIST, BE GONE!”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, man, that’s Satan. Sometimes he totally shits on my sunshine, yah know? But he’s my bro. Bro’s are for life, man. Yeah, dude, I’m allergic to like, fish, man.”

“It’s not real fish. A combination of synthetic proteins and solidified cholesterol flavored with artificial ‘tastes so real you can hear the ocean’ seasoning. Now go sell some fucking sandwiches.”

Praise the Lord

“ On a positive note this evening, Mickey-D launched a new campaign to promote the new and improved taste of their now famous fish sandwich. The unusual thing is that it seems Jesus H. Christ, formerly known as the Lord of Hosts, is serving as the new mascot for the restaurant chain. The crowd cheered as he tossed bread and fish to the masses, brining to mind his famous Sermon on the Mount. Religious authorities are saying this could very well be his second coming, and while it seemed Jesus was a bit worse for the wear, the events foretold in the book of Revelations may not be far off. Oddly enough, Christians barely noticed the event, as Mel Nibson’s latest movie, “ Jesus, Mary, and Me” broke box office records today, and the theaters were flooded with devout fans. One critic has said this poignant film is proof that Mel is indeed the last scion.”

I turned off the news. If gods could throw up, I would have. That is, if I wasn’t knee deep in the 2 million Mickey-D forked over for that publicity stunt. He may have been stoned, but then, so was most of the audience. His speech “like, you give love, and then you get it, man. And that’s just far out” seemed to really strike a chord. Thank god the crowd had dissipated for the most part before he got to the “die you infectious boil on the ass of creation” bit.

“Oh, brother dear. You’ve been leaving your toys in the office again. If you MUST run “Rent-a-God” out of Valhalla, please at least pick up your mess…”

My brother deposited what appeared to be a quivering bundle of dirty rags at my feet, turned his back, and disappeared down the hallway.

“I…I….who am I? Why am I here? Praise Allah! Who is Allah? MECCA! JIHAD! What? But I’m just a noun…..noun….no…ou…n…”

Terrorism. Nice. Thanks for the gift Wendy. The rags unfolded a bit, leaving piles of sand on the polished wood floor.

“Hello. Wendy told me about you. I believe your name is Terrorism?”

“I….well…that’s what THEY call me.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The people on the magic light box.”

“You mean the news. On the television.”

“I….I’m….Wendy said I’m a god now.”

“In a sense, yes, you just may be. But I’m going to call you Sandy, ok?”

“Oh…ah…ok.”

He slowly rose to his full height, still rocking slightly. Every so often, the rocking was interrupted by a twitch or jerk, and a new pile of sand would drop.

Now to truly appreciate this next bit, you must understand the way Sandy’s perception was currently operating. In my experience, I am simply enjoying my pipe and teaching my newfound friend a bit about the nature of his current state of reality. And giving him a brief lesson about why I no longer associate with dictators. But to the point, what SANDY was seeing was quite different. As a concept, he was rather malformed. Gods brought about from misconceptions or senseless violence tend to be fucking nutjobs..

Right now what Sandy sees is a seven foot tall man. With black hair tipped in flames. Dead pale skin. (thanks to last week’s trip to Not Gothic) And a rather sardonic grin currently being held together with black leather cord, blood just now forming scabs. Sandy’s visual world is pulsing in pink and green and he sees and hears this entire monologue told in one breath, exhaled out in a long stream of pungent smoke.

“Sandy, you are what is known as a concept. I think you may be a bit disillusioned at the moment. Mad, even. No, you are very definitely mad, mad, mad. As a hatter, in fact. But no matter, I am on a first name basis with madness and I’m going to cure you. Not because I like you, or even care about you in the least. No, I am going to help you because I need you. And I’ve always found that my best work springs from my most selfish motivations, hmm? Now, you were living in a country called America. America used to be a great nation of freedom, but, as with all things, it is variable. Take Hitler, for example. All I did was suggest that maybe art wasn’t his forte, and that perhaps he should look into a nice desk job. Next thing you know, the Jews are all dead and I can’t find a decent kosher deli for the life of me. Why? Because he had free will. He could have given everyone ice cream and kittens, but nope. He decided to burn people in giant ovens. You win some, you lose some. Back to my point. So let me start off with a few facts. First, yes, you were a noun. Now, you’re a god. Why? Because Americans are pussies. There has been terrorism since the beginning of time. It’s all subjective. The “terrorist” is simply someone who happens to disagree with you. Let’s say you tell me ‘Loki, you have a giant pink rabbit on your head.’ And providing I haven’t hit the booze too hard, I most likely won’t be wearing such a thing. I would say to you ‘Sandy, I beg to differ. I am most certainly not wearing a giant pink rabbit on my head.’. Now, according to the Americans, you have every right to destroy me, my family, and in fact, anyone who happens to be on my side of the disagreement. That, my dear little loon, is terrorism. A disagreement. You don’t look like a disagreement to me. A bit of an internal struggle with your sudden incarnation, granted. But, like it or not, the current American culture has glorified you to the point, that you as YOU, not a noun, has popped into existence. Glory in it. Thousands of people every day are late for their flights, subjected to full body cavity searches, deprived of their nail clippers, all in your name. Dark skinned folk the world over are detained in tiny rooms or looked at with faces of mistrust and outright hate, all in your honor. Wars are fought, the price of oil skyrockets, and the entire system of American economics crumbles, all because of you. Do you have any IDEA how much power you have right now?”

I get a glazed stare and trembling lip.

“Well, you know, I…I… never really th..th…thought of it that way.”

“Repeat after me, Sandy…’I am not a noun.’

“I…I am not a noun.”

“I am more than what the white devil pigs have made me.”

“I am more than what the white…white devil pigs have made me.”

“I am a powerful and important cog in the puzzle of the universe.”

“I AM a powerful and important cog in the puzzle of the universe.”

“I AM A GOD”

“I’m pretty sure I’m still a noun.”

“SAY IT! I AM A GOD!”

“I’m a god.”

“Once more, with feeling!”

“ I AM A FUCKING GOD!”

“Now, let’s get down to business. Currently there is a Kentucky Colonel trapped inside his new production plant. It seems there’s been a problem with the…well, for lack of a better word, let’s call them chickens. Can you go through small passages without being seen or heard?”

“Well, yes. Yes I can!”

“Can you build a bomb or other projectile with common household supplies?”

“YES! I think that I can do VERY well!”

“Can you single-mindedly adhere to the belief in one goal, to overthrow the evil Western capitalist pigs?”

“JIHAD! THAT’S what a jihad is! Yes! Yes! I’m your man! I am YOUR man! Hooo-ah!”

“There’s a good god. Go over to the Colonel’s plant and see about some chickens. Get the money in cash and bring it back directly to me. In MY hands. All of it. Now get the fuck out.”

He practically overflows with enthusiasm as he heads out on the job, cries of “Burqa, Burqa, Muhamed Hijab!” echoed for minutes after.

The Funky Chicken.

“I will defend your life with mine, for if I die, Allah will bless me with many virgins!”

*Let’s set the scene. A old man in a white suit sits in the middle of a warehouse in a newly built food production plant. His hair is white, his thin bow tie is black, and behind his thick-framed glasses were eyes that were so wide with fear, one would think his eyelids would tear at any second. Surrounding him were four cages filled with chickens. Over 100 chickens per six foot by six foot cage, to be exact. In fact the cages had been packed for so long that they’d ceased to be chickens. Rather, they had become a conglomeration of chickens. And they were looking for revenge.” *

“You from the rental agency, boy?”

“I am here to fight the capitalist white devil!”

“You one’a dem sand niggers, I reckon. Don’t make me no never-mind. Git on in here and help me, boy!”

“At your service, praise Allah.”

“Now I gar-run-tee dem chicken’s done gone and got themselves some kind’a group mind. If I was you, I’d roast’em damn foul creatures. Did yah bring yer pistol, son?”

“Allah has blessed me with all that I need.”

Apparently, all Allah thought Sandy needed was a dog-eared copy of the Koran and a bomb strapped to his chest. Bye-bye mutant chicken plant.

Try, try again.

Thankfully I at least managed to arrange for the local news media to be on the scene…

“An explosion today, taking place in the new Kentucky’s Famous Chicken plant. Investigators found bits of paper they believe to be from the terrorist propaganda knows as the Koran. The president has issued a red alert, and all food and beverage plants are to be shut down until further notice. Expect food prices to soar in the next sixth months, and there’s talk of a nationwide rationing program…”

Well, that news blurb alone should give Sandy enough power to get back up there. He thought inside the box, and he knew the inside of his own box very well. I respect that.

“In further news, Mickey-D is already talking numbers with Kentucky’s Famous Chicken franchises. Word is, they’re planning a buyout as early as next week.”

Every silver cloud is lined in shit Even so, the blow to the economy may very well be enough to stop Mickey in his tracks.

“Star’s Bucks seems to be doing well despite the recent economic setbacks. The company has just started an intensive employee training program and has outfitted every one of it’s stores, worldwide, with hi-speed wireless internet access. Our local Star’s Bucks will be hosting a celebration for the winner of the National Spelling Bee. The winner and twenty of his classmates will get to participate in a live version of hangman, thanks to the fledgling company Rent-a-God, who will be donating the services of the mythological figure Odin, the once-heralded All Father. It’s said that Odin hung himself from the World Tree for nine days without food or water, in order to obtain some shiny stones. Star has agreed to donate all proceeds from that day to the School of the Blind….”

Oh, brother.

“Loki, have you seen my eye? I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“Nope. Haven’t seen it. Busy.”

“Busy doing what, pray tell?”

“Oh, all sorts of things…”

“What sort of things?”

“The sort of things like where you just walked into a trap.”

“What trap?”

I hand my brother a snifter of whiskey.

“This one.”

He drinks it down.

“I’m not the one falling for traps. Good night, Loki. When I pass out, please at least have the courtesy to get someone to carry me to my rooms.”

“Certainly.”

I pour myself a shot of untainted whiskey and down it, slamming the glass on the table.

“Let no glass be raised to you without one for me as well! Wish me luck, brother.”

Mocha-Choca-latte

I always feel on edge in my brothers skin. He’s always keeping an eye out for me, always watching over my shoulder. So when I’m him, I feel like I’m constantly watching myself. It’s like trying to act in a play during an existential crisis. Like I said, on edge.

Worse yet, I hate coffee shops. Lots of wanna-be artsy people chugging down cups of bitter brown liquid. They KNOW coffee is disgusting, that’s why they add syrup and cream and ‘whip’. Anything to make it not taste like coffee. They sit in front of their imacs, listening to their ipods , lost inside of their ‘i’ world. It disgusts me. But, first hand experience in enemy territory is worth it. I see Star, perched on top of the steamer, watching them hang me from a plastic gallows. The brats were terrible spellers, and though I have no nerves, my neck was killing me after the first hour. Thank god one of them pissed themselves right when one of the supervisors produced the Bucket’o’Runes. I finally released myself from the noose, and went to find Star. I approached the counter near where she was perched.

“I’ll have a low fat-soy-mocha-latte with a swirl of caramel and extra whip. And don’t forget the sprinkles.”

My voice drops to a whisper “I invoke the chaos star.”

“Odin, long time, no see. Even less see for you.”

“Star, a pleasure, I’m sure.”

She had assumed the look of your typical indie art chick. Her ash blond hair fell across her eyes, in a haircut that brought to mind the mom from the Brady Bunch. Her black plastic glasses had false lenses, and her ‘thrift store chic’ had obviously came from one of those mall-ish fashion stores.

“Hey, Magie…put that latte down for a second. Check Wiccapedia for ‘pleasure’.”

“ Pleasure: it is defined as the emerging new force of discord, currently named Star.”

“Impressive, Star. I am sure you’re eagerly awaiting your godhood.”

“Yeah. Too bad you’re going to die though. You made a good story.”

“So, what are you going to be ruling over? Goddess of the beans ? Communication?”

“Duh. Isn’t it obvious? “

“Not really, no.”

“I’m your brother’s replacement. Chaos. The Trickster. I think I’m going to start spelling it K-OZ though. That way they can still read it once the population’s intelligence plummets.”

“What on Gaia’s green titty do you think qualifies you as a trickster deity?”

“Who else would charge five dollars for what is essentially strawberry milk with ice in it?”

“Point taken.”

“Mickey came by. He made me an offer. He could franchise me. Or….Or he will shut down the Wi-Phi. Can I have your eye?”

“Pardon?”

“Your eye. All seeing. All knowing. Why-Phi. I want it. I can make you the one true god. Wiccapedia. I’ll edit.”

“Um. No, thank you. I can do without being the one true anything. Let me buy you a coffee.”

“Decaf.”

I lead her to an empty table. Remember what I said about the taste of coffee? Decaf is even worse. Luckily, bitter is just the right taste to hide the flavor of the binding potion I was about to slip her. With her powers bound, she’d get put on the back burner while I deal with Mickey.

I return to her with her coffee, and mine. I was braving the hideous decaf crap in a show of solidarity. I had popped the potion into her cup, and marked a line on the side with my thumbnail. Isa. Ice.

I made sure it was obvious, I wanted her to see me.

She blows across the top of the cup and pretended to take a sip. I feign interest in a twenty-something couple making out in the back corner. She thinks she’s in my blind spot. She switches cups.

She doesn’t realize my vision is crystal clear. Maybe she thinks my visible eye is a fake. Maybe she thinks I can see through the eyepatch. Maybe she has no clue that what she sees before her is a façade and she really thinks she’s pulling one over on the All Father.

I reach in my pocket and pull out my pair of crystal balls. I know my own kind. Never underestimate the power of “oooh shiny”. I twirl them back and forth through my fingers, and appear to take an idle sip of my coffee.

Once her eyes are fixed on the crystals, I returned the drinks to their rightful position. I slammed down the rest of mine, and rose from my chair.

Our eyes met with understanding. She knew what I had done. Nothing needed to be said. She understood why I had to bind her. She knew me like the back of her hand, and that’s what made it all so easy. Or maybe I just wanted her to understand. Perhaps she really didn’t see me switch them back. Maybe this entire interaction was in my head. Either way, she drank the rest of her cup in two smooth gulps. I needed to get out of this skin. I could feel my grip on reality slipping, and I didn’t want to blow my cover. I turn and walk towards the door. When I pause to look back, she’s just sitting there, a wan smile on her face, staring off at something no one else can see.

After leaving the store, I find the nearest alley to relieve myself of my illusions. There’s a nice, big, stinky dumpster to hide me from public view, and I duck behind it. Unfortunately, it was already occupied.

“Spare change?”

The bum was drunk or crazy or both. He smelled like dog shit soaked in body odor, topped off with ethanol. I liked him already.

“Spare change?”

What, can’t he come up with something better? One of his eyes seemed fixed on mine, the other sliding back and forth, tracking some invisible target.

“Spare change?”

He got closer to me when he said it, close enough for a halitosis shower when he spoke. It might be my own impending break with reality, but I could swear his tone was almost threatening. I try to give him the “I’m god and I will fucking spank you” stare, but my own desire to get out of my skin kept me from looking effectively threatening. I probably looked just as crazy as he did.

“Spare change?

Okay. I’m not hallucinating. This guy is fucking with me. His face is just inches from mine

“SP-ARE CH-AN-GE ?”

He screams it, his one bug eye boring down on my, slobber running down the side of his face.

I extend my presence to my full height, my hair in flames, and my eyes go pure white.

“GET A FUCKING JOB.”

“Spare change?” his tone becomes submissive, begging for leadership.

“I am God. You are stinking up my dumpster. Piss off.”

“Spare change.”

It was a statement, this time. He nodded his head as if to say “okay buddy, you win the crazy contest. You can have the dumpster”. Hell, maybe I just gave him a purpose in life. Maybe two years from now he’ll be on the 7000 club, telling the world how God told him to get a fucking job and instead he went to prison for public intoxication, but while incarcerated became inspired to go to law school and now is a celebrity lawyer, praising God for all his blessings. I decide to give him a $100 bill. I reach in my pocket, and pull out my wallet. There’s no cash, no credit cards, nothing. Instead, there’s a Star’s Bucks business card with “Drink Me!”

“Sorry, buddy. Looks like she got there first.”

A mask of disappointment came over him. “Spare change…” His voice drifted off as he walked away. He left the alley and stepped into the street. He stopped, and turned back to look at me. It was in that moment that someone’s brakes decided to slip just a bit, and force them to veer left onto the other side. He never saw it coming and was on the ground in the blink of an eye. The car’s brakes kicked in, and it’s screech filled the air. Spange. That was my new name for him. Spange had rolled towards the gutter. Spange had only broken his leg. The car was a Star’s Bucks company sedan. The driver was a chaos magician. If you read her diary it would have said something to the effect of “I am currently evaluating if running over the bum would be truly effective in achieving my goal.” The driver was Magie, Star’s shining comet of commerce. THE barrista to end all barristas. It was Magie who tucked an envelope in his pocket, called 911, and drove away quickly. The bum sits up, cringing as his leg crackled a bit. He opened the envelope, emblazoned with the Star’s Bucks logo. He pulls out a huge wad of cash, probably upwards of ten thousand in large bills.

“Spare Change!” His voice rings triumphant as the ambulance sirens wail in the distance. “Spare Change!”.

I think about the phrase. Spare change. Change to spare. It seemed Star certainly had some. I think of the motto I used to use when I first started. Random acts of kindness, senseless acts of beauty. Naïve, sure. But it used to feel good. As I watched the bum grin and laugh despite the bone poking through his shin, I decided this must be the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long while. “Spare Change!” I yell to him, waving my good-bye.

I walk down the alley, toss my now empty wallet on the ground, and disappear around the corner. Something’s changed. I can feel it in the air. I just wait to hear the pin drop.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?

In Valhalla, one eye slowly opens, as the body awakens from it’s drugged sleep. He adjusts his eye patch, and listens. Three raps at the door. His client comes in, his clown-face smeared and his mood sour.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Consider it a gift.”

“It’s your grave, you crazy fuck.”

“Just take the eye. Follow the plan. Simple. Neat. Clean.”

He grabs the box off of one-eye’s desk, leaving a smudge of greasepaint on the wood.

Starfuckers, Incorporated

“I’ll have a low fat-soy-mocha-latte with a swirl of caramel and extra whip. And don’t forget the sprinkles”

Magie stares at him blankly.

“I invoke the chaos star.”

Magie’s stare narrows into slits.

“I’m sure you do, bozo.”

“Now Magie, that’s no way for you to treat our guest. That’s my job. Go steam something.”

“Hello, Star, my darling.”

“Oh, hi Mickey. What do you want?”

“Geez Star. Is the madness getting to you already. Hmph. Well, remember last time.... ‘let me buy star’s bucks or I’m going to destroy you?’ Does that ring a bell?

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“Well, I’m prepared to make a deal.”

Star sings under her breath “make a deal, we’re making a deal, deal-ee, deal, deal,”

“I’ll give you Odin’s eye, you keep the Wi-Phi, but I own Star’s Bucks. You get to be a goddess. Goddess of the Net. Seems fitting.”

“I get the eye? Eye see! And Wiccapedia. Eye yi eye! Eye-Phi! “

“I see you prefer a…verbal… contract. Here’s the eye, my people will call your people, tra la la. Good-bye Star.”

“Bye-bye, burger boy!”

Eye Of The Beholder

Star cradled the eye in her palms, just looking at it. Mickey had left a while ago. She rocked back on her heels, crossed her eyes, then peered out over her glasses.

“How do you work, mister all seeing, all knowing eyeball thing?”

The eye made a low buzz, followed by some beeping, punctuated by clicks and mechanical whirring noises. Star carefully turned the eye around, looking at it on all sides. She noticed a port had emerged from the back.

“Eye drive. Nice. Let’s hook you up, then.”

She plugged the eye into the store’s main computer. It sprung to life, blinking and beeping. The screen went dark, and slowly text began to appear.

“Everything Happens For A Reason.”

The eye started beeping franticly, and the sounds of expensive electronics being fried from the inside filled the air. Star sat, the same quizzical look on her face. The text on the screen shifted.

“You Will Be Rendered Powerless In Ten”

Star sat. Stared. Reached in her pocket, and pulled out a cigarette.

“Nine”

She smoked a third of it in one hit, and exhaled in perfect smoke rings.

“Eight. Seven. Six.”

She finished it off in two hits.

“Oops, my mistake. You will be returned to full power momentarily.”

She applied a fresh coat of bubblegum lip gloss and fluffed her polka-dot skirt.

“Ha-ha. Just kidding. But the hope felt NICE, didn’t it? Five”

She grabbed her Hello Kitty backpack, that held a bottle of gin, three mint toothpicks, half a can of Pringles and the skeleton of a long-forgotten pet mouse that once dwelled there. She dumped out everything but the gin and the skeleton.

“Four. Three. Two.”

She put on the backpack, and stood, facing the eyeball and glaring at it as her glasses slipped down her nose.

“Prepare for Total Shutdown. Please kneel with your head down, and brace yourself for shutdown.”

She twirled her hair and pushed her glasses up.

“One.”

The computer sparked and popped, then grinded to a halt. Thin streams of smoke rose from the tower. The Wi-Phi was gone. So was Star’s power.

The etheric body of a powerless almost-god is dead weight, they won’t move unless you move them. However, their consciousness is retained, they still see, hear, feel and experience everything around them. They can’t interact or affect anything. They just observe. So Star observed.

The eyeball self-destructs, going up in a puff of dark smoke. Across the globe, people cried out in dismay as their high tech laptops failed to access the internet. Almost immediately, Star’s Bucks’ stock value plummeted and stores began to close down permanently.

One Down

“Shocking news in business today. Star’s Bucks is officially shut down for good. Mickey-D has already placed bids on the company as a whole, with plans to open Mickey-Beans by next spring. Mickey’s PR team is touting Mickey-Beans as “the fast food coffee house of the future” promising “gourmet coffees and blended drinks at real-world prices.” Mickey fumbled when asked at a press conference about his decision NOT to use Free Trade Coffee. He was quoted as saying “I am doing the best I can to balance my ethics and my checkbook.” Owners of several small, local coffee houses have banded together in a boycott of all Mickey chains and Mickey products. They handed out literature describing the brutal business practices supposedly employed by Mickey and his entourage of lawyers, brokers, and company executives. That got the attention of even more concerned citizens, and the boycott has spread state-wide. Mickey has lost millions just today, as people flocked to locally owned restaurants for dinner tonight. And though small businesses certainly have a chance to shine right now, the Wendy chain is managing to hold it’s own. To draw in Mickey’s once-loyal customers, Wendy has declared tomorrow an official holiday. “Let Them Eat Beef!” That’s the motto, as every Wendy store will be handing out FREE hamburgers, all day long, and at the drive-through until 2 a.m. This unheard-of event kicks off tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp. Rent-a-God is yet again pairing up with a big chain, as it will be hosting a “God 4 Sale” charity auction. All proceeds from the auction will be used to start a Wendy Small Business Grant Program. ….”

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