Happy New Year!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we greet you on this Holy Evening with a portrait of Queen Brighid the Bright. Oh, let her make a comeback! Let her find the seekers of light and truth, the defenders of hearth and home, the children of Avalon!

We are here, Queen Brighid! We are your merlins. You are our magic.

This fabulous portrait of the goddess was channeled by the artist Brian Froud. We at "The Gods Are Bored" feel emboldened to attach it to important posts because we have enriched Mr. Froud by purchasing all his books, and - more importantly - by purchasing a large signed print of the work of art above (at no small expense) and making it the centerpiece of our home altar.

Tonight we welcome the presence of our departed loved ones back into our midst. The veil is thin, the sky is clear. Some choice firewood remains for a bonfire.

Samhain beckons.

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Night of a Thousand Hugs

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" When you call your god, do you get a busy signal? Or worse, one of those obnoxious recorded menus? Like helpers at some PBS fund-raiser, the bored gods are waiting for your call!

We've been talking Halloween this week. Another ancient custom is shown here. That's me on the left, in the Stepford Fighting Wombats mascot costume.

After a few years of attending Wombats High School football games, I discovered that the school had no student willing to serve as mascot. An expensive (and I might say, handsome) mascot costume was rotting in the school's attic.

Up steps my daughter, The Heir, and volunteers to be the Wombat. It's tiring work. In our climate, many fall football games are played in balmy weather.

Tonight, October 30, Stepford is having its annual Halloween Parade. This charming custom is more to keep the kids from egging store windows than to allow tots and their parents to parade in cute outfits. But at any rate, every tot in town shows up for the thing. Usually the Monkey Man does, too.

Tonight I will be the Wombat. I will lead the parade. I will stand at curbside at the end of the route and greet the wealthy, mostly left-wing residents of Stepford and their tots.

I'll get hugged a lot.

And if wearing fur is the price to pay for a thousand hugs from cute tots, that's fine with me.

Please don't hate me because you can't be a Fighting Wombat mascot. Check your local high school. They might need you. I happen to know that the nearby West Rainsburg Fighting Parrots have an opening on their mascot staff.

I'm sure glad Stepford's mascot isn't an angel. Wombats are fine and dandy.

BIG DAY TOMORROW!

ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Samhain for Dummies

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" This is the site where we ponder big questions about deities.

For instance: Do you think the people building the Parthenon thought they were constructing a pretty tourist attraction dedicated to myths? Let's put it another way. How do you think humans in 3006 will feel about Winchester Cathedral, assuming it's as solid as the Parthenon?

If this question makes you think, you've found your way to a user-friendly blog!

Samhain weekend is upon us, and this is the year my dear father went to be with Peter Pan.

Nonsense! You mega-churchers shout. Peter Pan is a fairy tale!

Lop off that "tale," and you've got it right.

Just after he was moved into the critical care ward, and strapped into a Geri-chair, my dear dad ( a druid though he didn't know it), told me the following:

Dad: Guess who I saw standing in the doorway of this room?

Anne: Who?

Dad: Peter Pan! And he had his hands on his hips, just like in the movies!

Gentle readers, can you conceive how much comfort I take from this bold assertion? Now here's the topper:

It fell to me to clean out Dad's apartment and move his clothing to his deathbed room. (It faced due west, by the way, and had a princely view of the mountains.)

I didn't want Dad to see me filling the closet of a critical care room with his clothing. What worse symbol could there be of his condition, except perhaps hanging up a sign that said ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE.

As luck would have it, Dad was sleeping when I arrived with the first bundle of his clothes. The Today Show was playing on the t.v.

Literally the first thing I heard when I walked into the room was Matt Laurer (sp?) say: "This morning we're going to talk about Peter Pan! There's a new book out, all about Peter Pan ..."

By all the fairies, I had to go out in the hall to catch my breath.

Do you believe in magic? I never watch the Today Show. Literally. By that time I'm usually immersed in the latest scholarly studies about goat milk production.

Coincidence? What do you think, Scott? You've read your Robert Anton Wilson.

In January, Dad went off to Neverland and left behind a hospital room plastered with Bible verses (sister) and one little statue of Peter Pan (me).

Will Dad visit me on Samhain? I doubt it. His life was hard, his end was hard, and my guess is he's having the time of his life being a boy again. The only part of his life that was happy was his childhood, and that was idyllic.

But as the veil thins on Samhain, I hope Dad will take a break from the mermaids and pirates to come on by, so I can thank him for sending me to Billy Bob Agricultural/Technical High School, where I've met a wonderful teacher named Mr. Boone who has helped fill the void in my life.

That's what Halloween is all about, Dobson dearie. And that's why the daft Christian missionaries who descended to conquer Avalon couldn't send this holy day to oblivion. Living people miss their departed folk more than anything.

We celebrate Samhain because the Christian missionaries made a deal with the druids: Keep your holiday, and take Jesus too.

Otherwise, poor Jesus wouldn't have gained a foothold in the British Isles.

So light a bonfire (candles will do), fire up your Jack-o-lantern (ancient custom), and just sit and wait for the Other Side to open to you. Make some New Year's resolutions. Sip a good single malt, and don't forget to leave a portion of it outside for the fairies!

Halloween literally means "Holy Evening." So might it be.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Jack-o-Lanterns for Dummies

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" You've stumbled onto a broad boulevard on the Web where we admit deities, ancient and modern. The HOV lane is reserved for the bored gods -- those poor, forgotten (or worse, mythologized) pantheons that once had respect and now have food stamps.

Gaaaack! Anne is just back from Billy Bob Agricultural/Technical School, where she makes a pittance as a substitute teacher. For those of you just joining this blog, please be advised that Anne is a goat judge of minor renown who has been downsized by a huge conglomerate called Amalgamated Goat. (It bought out Anne's former company, Goats R Us, of Saline, Michigan and laid off a ton of workers).

Animal Husbandry was not available today, so Anne got stuck teaching the Book of Genesis to a bunch of students. Feature that, if you will. Although it was healthy and refreshing to teach Genesis as a work of literature, i.e., just as pretty a myth as any other, no better, no worse.

Well, I mean, you have to give God some credit. At least he said, "Let there be light," so he could see what he was doing.

Intelligent Design? Well, perhaps Marginally Proficient Design. Giving God all the breaks on this one.

Finally: today's topic. Why do we carve faces in pumpkins on Halloween? Where did this jolly little tradition come from?

It is ancient and holy, my friends.

In the better days, Halloween (i.e. Samhain) was recognized as the day of the year when the veil between living and dead was the thinnest. Therefore one could communicate with the dead, if one practiced the proper respect. Like, don't ask if they have Barry Manilow pumped into their cubicles, okay?

One problem. Some dead people are nasty, ugly, vicious, kitten-killing monsters. And you don't want them roaming around your house, sniffing out your cats.

So the ancient ones carved scary faces into turnips and hung these around the doors of their cozy homes. The turnips would frighten away the bad spirits while allowing the friendly ones to enter and have a spot of single malt.

Wait a minute. Turnips, you say? TURNIPS? Those purple things that taste like Lysol?

Recall, gentle readers, that pumpkins are a New World product and thus were not available in Europe until after 1492. Ditto tomatoes, tobacco, coffee, corn (maize), potatoes, certain potent hallucinogens, and ... that gift that proves the Americas produced better gods ... COCOA.

So the ancients carved faces on turnips until pumpkins started showing up in gardens in the 1500s, and then some retro witch said, "Hey, these would be righteous for keeping away bad spirits."

A tradition morphed.

Anne just wishes it wasn't such a gooey, icky, yucky process. One that significantly highlights her complete lack of artistic aptitude.

Now, reader, you're no dummy if you didn't know this about Jack-o-Lanterns. Just be sure to tell all your Christian friends that the things they're shoving into the lawn and lighting up with candles are PAGAN PAGAN PAGAN.

If they argue, ask them to show you the chapter and verse in the Bible where it says, "And God said, 'Thou shalt pluck a ripe pumpkin and therein carve a likeness of thy ugliest enemy. Thou shalt provide light for the pumpkin on the falling of darkness on the Day of the Dead.'"

Nope. Not in there. Not written down anywhere. That's druids for you. Tell the kids and the grandkids, don't write it down.

GOD WAS WORN OUT BY THE WEEKEND, AND SO AM I
ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Witches for Dummies - Sex with Demons?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your portal to polytheism! I'm your host, Anne Johnson. That's my real name. Not very inventive, but oh well.

This week, with Samhain on the horizon, we're talking witches. Look here for the scoop on humankind's Second Oldest Profession!

Today I'm joined by my old ancestor, Satan. He's not wearing his formal attire today because he's trying to buy my soul and wants to look (and smell) cute. Hey there, Satan! Ooops, I mean, "Mr. Applegate."

Applegate: First of all, don't call me "my old ancestor." You're not Mark Twain. You're so very much more attractive than Mark Twain.

Anne: Flattery from you is faint praise indeed.

Applegate: About your soul. Imagine for a moment that daughter of yours, rendered forever sweet and compliant, instead of the vain, selfish, nasty, temper-throwing creature she is .....

Anne: Sorry, no deal. She is who she is ...

Applegate: And you're going gray.

Anne: Cheap shot. My soul belongs to the Ancient Ones, and you can't do a thing about it.

Applegate: I'll try again the first time your kid's arrested.

Anne: CAN WE GET ON TOPIC, ALREADY? You are here to talk about Malleus Maleficorum, "The Hammer of Witches," a little treatise published in 1489 that led to wholesale slaughter of men, women, and children as witches. But mostly women.

Applegate: I've never read it. But its author is with me these days, and he's totally unrepentant, no matter what badness I throw on him. Some of my customers are like that. I imagine Charles Manson will be one of them too.

Anne: It says in "Hammer of Witches" that women have sexual congress with demons. Men too. And the most suspect are the ones who keep pets like cats.

Applegate: I hate cats.

Anne: Cats hate you too. Mine are hiding under the oil tank. Back to topic, please. In your experience as the Director of Hell, have you ever ordered demons to do it with mortal women? Or men?

Applegate: Nope. As God is my witness.

Anne: Where did that whole concept come from?

Applegate: There's some interesting research being done on that, as a matter of fact. It has to do with the Renaissance, with scientists questioning everything and requiring empirical data to prove the existence of phenomena. The priests figured if they could prove there were demons, that would de facto prove that God existed too. So they just tortured people until the poor souls "confessed" to doing it with demons.

Anne: So there's no truth to demonic sexual congress at all.

Applegate: Not a shred. There's been only one case in my current praise and worship conglomerate where a celestial being has done it with a mortal. That is well documented, and there's been no other instance. Nary a one.

Anne: So thousands and thousands of people were tortured and killed, and untold thousands more lived in fear of being named as witches.

Applegate: Hey, it's your species, not mine. But it is an egregious case of genocide. Not as bad as the Holocaust, or Stalin at his worst, but there weren't as many people in Europe in 1500 as there were in the 1940s.

Anne: Were any of the people tortured really witches of any sort?

Applegate: Oh yes, they caught a few practicing ancient pagan religions. Those folks have gone off to their heaven, happily released from the travails of this world. But most of the victims were just herbal healers, or old women who nobody wanted around anymore. Pretty girls caught the heat too. Priests will be priests, if you know what I mean.

Anne: And you say the twisted, psychotic beast who set this all in motion with his demented "Hammer of Witches" is not penitent at all?

Applegate: I just told him the other day (while offering a swift kick) that he burned at the stake the ancestor of a scientist who would have found the antidote to bird flu. Bastard didn't even flinch. As I say, some of them just will not bend.

Anne: Thank you, Mr. Applegate, for helping to shed some light on the truth about humans and demons.

Applegate: My demons are on a short leash. They know if they mess around with humans that way, I'll send them to live on earth -- as gay African Americans in Idaho.

Anne: You have a vibrant imagination.

Applegate: Thank you. And you have a winning smile. Beautiful eyes. Sweet dimples...

Anne: MY SOUL IS NOT FOR SALE!

Applegate: I'll never stop trying.

Will someone muzzle this varmint and send him back to his subdivision?

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Witches for Dummies

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" on this special week leading up to Samhain! If you're just joining us, we are an Equal Opportunity Praise and Worship site, open to any god or goddess and their supporters. We even admit the big ones sometimes, because we like Bob Marley and the Dalai Lama.

What better week than this to discuss witches?

If you are a witch, or you know one, you can go to the next blog. But you might miss some little tidbits that would enhance your education!

If you're thinking of becoming a witch, or you want to know more about witchcraft, read on!

WITCHES FOR DUMMIES
By Anne Johnson
Author of Goats I Have Known and Loved

1. Sorry, Sabrina. Witches are mortal. They are human beings. They begin as babies, grow up, ask a bunch of questions, get wise, get wiser, get wiser still, pass along some wisdom, and die. (This is also true of druids.) Sorry, Philip Pullman. Witches don't live any longer than anyone else, unless they exercise, eat right, and avoid tobacco and alcohol.

2. Before they became ugly crones with no teeth and green skin, riding in the sky on broomsticks or snuggling up for sex with demons, witches were DOCTORS. Yes, doctors. Witches (male and female) were healers with extensive knowledge of herbal remedies who were called upon to fix whatever was broken in the human body. And to birth babies, of course. Other cultures called them shamans. (I like that word almost as much as druid.)

3. The establishment of the medical profession as a highly-paid, highly-specialized employment opportunity for males only depended upon discrediting witches (male and female). Doctors with fancy degrees couldn't earn big money if the local lady down the lane knew how to ease a headache. Burn the local lady at the stake, and you've got a clear road to wealth.

4. Now it gets tricky, folks. And sticky. And real.

5. With knowledge of herbal remedies comes knowledge of how to make and use poisons. Medieval healers knew all about arsenic, ergot, and opium. In Medieval Venice, arsenic was called "the widowmaker," because so many wealthy women slipped it into their husbands' tiramisu. So it is not entirely accurate to say that NO witch EVER poisoned anyone. It IS accurate to say that no witch ever turned anyone into a newt.

6. Here's the Big One. The one that's been lost to history, now brought back to life by Anne, who knows her tryptamines.

7. As far back as the Dark Ages, some women knew how to distill hallucinogenic substances from mushrooms available throughout Europe......

..... Stop reading if you're squeamish ......


These women delivered the hallucinogenic substances by placing them on a broomstick and slipping the broomstick between .... emmmm .....

8. Now you know why they always show witches flying with a broomstick between their legs!!! THEY REALLY FLEW! At least in the Timothy Leary sense of flying! Out they went on the astral plane, for a trip around the Bay! (Thanks to the Moody Blues for zippy lyrics!)

If you don't believe this last bit of info, look it up:
Gahlinger, Paul M. Illegal Drugs: A Complete Guide to Their History, Chemistry, Use and Abuse. Las Vegas, NV: Sagebrush Publications, 2001, pp. 44-46.

Is that enough education for today? Good! See you tomorrow!

ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Church Supper Surprise

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We hope you enjoy your stay. Remember, soil that is used over and over again to plant eventually loses all its nutrients. You need to move on and find a whole new patch. So it is with gods. Is yours old and tired? Overworked? Low on nutrients, or worse -- over-fertilized by ignorant, chemical-dependent dunderheads? The bored gods are veritable compost piles of richness! Try one today!

Today's suggestion comes from Raevyn, and I wish I had the computer savvy to link her blog to mine. One of these days I'm going to get over my fixation with goats and learn how to use this machine.

Raevyn suggests we go to our 23rd blog and choose the 5th line and republish it. HEAVY HEAVY magic, there! The number 23 is the most powerful of all (its digits add up to 5). If you haven't noticed how often that number comes up in your life, you will now!

Michael Jordan noticed.

Anyway, the 5th line of my 23rd blog was:

"In her first address, Altheia XVI noted that she is conservative on issues of faith."

The blog is about the new Pagan popess, elected by a conclave of women in cloaks from thrift stores.

So you see, if you're just joining us, the tone of this blog is well established and will not change.

Anne's whole philosophy is just this: Life sucks, so laugh about it. Be a fairy while you're alive, so you'll be a better one when you get to Avalon!

By the way, my daughter The Heir loves thrift shops. Today she added to her collection of gross cookbooks of the past with nauseating recipes and scary pictures.

We have been laughing for hours over this new cookbook. One of the pictured recipes is Hot Dog Loaf. Literally what looks like a pound cake with whole hot dogs buried in it.

Try that one out for your next Methodist Church potluck supper! You're sure to win friends and influence people!

PS - If anyone wants the recipe for Hot Dog Loaf, leave a comment. And then go get some professional help with your eating issues.

FROM ANNE
AMONG THE GOATS AND THE GREATS

Do You Know the Monkey Man?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where every day is a holy day! If you wake up in the morning, and you're breathing, then rock on! You're alive! If you wake up and there's a bunch of fairies flitting around, then you've Gone West. Please pay my respects to Queen Brighid the Bright!

Does your town have a Monkey Man?

I don't mean one of those creepy sorts that dresses up in a gorilla suit, or a Missing Link, or Rush Limbaugh coming down off an OxyContin high. I mean a real, bona fide, cheerfully wackadoo Monkey Man.

Our town has a Monkey Man. He is about my age, I'd say (in other words, no one knows). He rides around town on a bike, with his beloved and ancient stuffed monkey in the old-fashioned bike basket. When he sees kids, he waves the monkey's paw and says, "Hello, kids! Ooooo oooo ooo AHH AHHH AHHH!"

My most faithful readers will have heard of this delightful human being before. The Focus on the Family crowd is shivering in their shoes.

Sounds like a pedophile, eh? Someone who lures innocent kids with a toy monkey and then ...

Sorry. We leave that to certain religious clerics.

Our Monkey Man has an email address, lets you take his picture, and is a life-long resident of the town. Everyone knows him. Everyone loves him. Best of all, he loves himself and his monkey, Bongo.

Gee, I wonder if the Monkey Man takes Bongo to bed? Then it would be "Bedtime for Bongo," and the Monkey Man should run for president!

Last week, a teenager running cross country found Bongo in the woods. She knew right away that Bongo belonged to the Monkey Man, so she took Bongo to the police station. Word spread through town, and before Anne could even bail Bongo out, the Monkey Man had been there, paid the loitering fines, and sprung his stuffed chimp from stir.

A happy ending! But stay tuned, because one of these days we'll have a photo of the Monkey Man on this site. He is a god among us, because he lives to make people smile.

Only he doesn't quite qualify for our editorial purposes. He isn't bored.

ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

The Red Cross Needs You!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!"

Another day, another god. That's the way it is around here. We don't like exclusivity. Any god you want is the god you can have!

Look at this fine fellow. He is a Knight Templar.

(The horse is a bay stallion, I think. But then goats are my specialty, not horses.)

I heard a nasty exchange on talk radio one day about the Red Cross. Some card-carrying atheist called in to one of those conservative blabbermouths and dared to say that people ought to give donations to the Red Cross rather than to Christian charities.

By the way, do you get atheists? With so many gods and goddesses to choose from, they choose none? That's like going into a gourmet bakery and asking for a cup of water.

Anyway. Back to topic. An atheist championed the Red Cross because it is non-sectarian, and the conservative blabbermouth jumped all over the guy. "WHAT IS THEIR SYMBOL?" the blabbermouth blabbed. "IT'S A CROSS! IT'S A CROSS! RIGHT? RIGHT? RIGHT?"

Hold your bay stallion, blabbermouth.

Gentle reader, please scroll up to the painting of the Templar again and make note of the cross on his tunic. It is a Celtic cross with equal sides. Those of you who go to church occasionally for doughnuts or pancake dinners will remember that the Christian cross is longer than it is wide.

When the Knights Templar were brutally and needlessly suppressed by the Kingdom of France and the Holy Catholic Church - the 700th anniversary comes up in 2006 - the Red Cross (better known as the Rosy Cross) took on a whole new meaning.

At first it became a clandestine symbol of Christians in opposition to the hegemony of the Catholic Church. (Don't you love Anne's big vocabulary? You should hear me on goats!)

Since then, the Red Cross with equal sides has stood for the following:

*Non-sectarian humanity for fellow human beings...

AND

*Freedom from tyranny, either of a secular or religious nature.

The wholesale torture and murder of the Catholic Knights Templar on order of the pope marked the beginning of the whole Secret Society movement in Europe.

It's goal? Well, that depends on who you ask.

How about if we just simplify that answer to a simple statement:

"Freedom of the mind."

Support your local Red Cross. The mind you save may be your own.

Thanks to chris-aka-god at tripod for the Templar painting. Chris, if you're a bored god, welcome, welcome, welcome!

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

The Treasure of the Templars

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're dissatisfied with the rates on your current god, check us out! You may save $500.00 next year in tithes and offerings alone, and still get the same fine service from a bored god who would be glad to have your custom! Operators are standing by to take your call!

Among my legions of readers, there may be a few who are experts on Secret Societies. If you're one of them, go directly to another pagan blog. There are many great ones, I wish I had the computer savvy to link them all. Is it "A Druid's Path" where the guy has a cougar in his backyard and only a screen door and a lapdog for protection? I guess I shouldn't find that funny, but I do.

Secret Societies. Specifically, the Knights Templar.

How many of you saw that action/adventure movie, National Treasure? You know, the one where Nicholas Cage stole the Declaration of Independence and used it to find a fantastic treasure that descended from the Knights Templar to the Masons, and hence came to America to be stored in a creepy cave under Philadelphia (or was it Boston? or was it reeeeeeeeeally Nova Scotia?).

Okay. Quick background. Knights Templar. Formed during First Crusade. Bunch of muscle-heads at first. Then they start getting big money from believers. Gotta hire bankers. Investment strategists. Archivists to store all the jewels and gold, etc. By 1300 A.D., these guys are the richest f*&%^@s in the world.

Shhhhhhhh! They've also acquired some interesting secrets that could pull down the Catholic Church. But who would know? About everything, these guys are SUPER DUPER SECRET. Da Vinci couldn't crack their codes with a dimond-tipped drill.

Up comes a pope and a king (both French), and they arrest the Knights Templars en masse, hold and torture them without charges or benefit of an attorney......

(A quick reminder that we're talking almost exactly 700 years ago, not about present presidential administrations.)

But the famed Treasure of the Templars? It was never found. Properties were confiscated, some money changed hands, but the bulk of the wealth did indeed disappear.

But that's not the best part.

Only a select few Templars knew all there was to know in the way of their SUPER DUPER SECRETS. And those Templars escaped either to Scotland (where the knights were welcomed) or to Bavaria (ditto ditto).

Justifiably pissed off, these secret-bearing Templars formed the foundation of the Illuminati, which morphed into the Masons, who played a significant role in the War for Independence.

So, the curious reader asks: Are these Templars still around, hoarding secrets? Or did Dan Brown out them in The Da Vinci Code?

Sweeties, can we talk? Danny did a good job, he really did. But he just scratched the surface. It's like knowing which piece of DNA on the human genome gives you soft dental enamel.

The Illuminati has the whole doggoned Religious Genome, and It knows where all the Pagan DNA can be found.

Nor does the Illuminati have to ask for tithes, because it has ... you guessed it, all that great gold stuff that Nicholas Cage ogled.

Wanna join? Sorry, but it's one of those "don't call us, we'll call you" deals. And we've all been there, haven't we? Waiting for that phone to ring with a job offer? Heck, the bored gods are in that boat, too! They root for the Illuminati! (At least the European ones do.)

I'll end this with a promise. Mel Gibson darkly hinted that some evil Secret Society would try to kill him if he produced Passion of the Christ.

Mel was talking about the Illuminati, of course, and he got that bright idea from the Catholic Church's own secret wing, Opus Dei.

Danny Brown did a real good job of outing those dudes.

Mel, Mel. Can we talk? The way you suck on those cigarettes, do you really think some Secret Society is going to have to kill you?

Don't flatter yourself, Mad Max. The Illuminati has an agenda, and you are not on it. Relax. Have a Camel. Or a Marlborough. You he-man, you.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
NOTHING MORE, NOTHING LESS

Oh, Poor Dolly!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," and we hope you'll find us Pleasant Company! (tee hee)

This charming lil' lady is Felicity, the most popular in a long (and expensive) line of American Girl dolls.

If you're unfamiliar with high-end toys, these cute dollies have been around for quite some time and are a status item. As you can see, Felicity sports her Colonial-era attire, and she comes with a series of short novels about her brave efforts during the War for Independence. Suffice it to say that her descendants could get into the Daughters of the American Revolution by her plucky deeds alone!

Alas, Felicity and her fellow American Girl dolls are on the ropes.

It transpires that Felicity's corporation has been making donations to a nonprofit organization that supports young women's efforts to improve health, job opportunities, and education. This organization (the name escapes me, I heard this on the radio while in heavy traffic) also supports a young woman's right to choose what to do with her own body.

Uh oh. Felicity, pack your bags for the Island of Misfit Toys!

A conservative watchdog group has discovered this information and has issued an ultimatum to Felicity and her cheery-faced cohorts:

Stop supporting this "pro-abortion" organization or face a boycott!

A boycott of American Girl dolls? How pathetic.

Little Girl in Kansas: Mommy, will Santa Claus bring me a Felicity doll? I want one so bad!

Mommy (too busy listening to Rick Santorum on "Focus on the Family"):
Huhhh?

Little Girl: Mommy, I want an American Girl doll! It's so lonely out here on the prairie. She would be my best friend.

Mommy: Sorry, Buffy. Santa can't bring you an American Girl doll. Will you settle for "Grand Theft Auto III" instead?

ENJOYING THE ABSURDITIES UNTIL BIRD FLU STRIKES,
ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELY SPRINGS

Bird Flu Bonanza

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we extend Right to Life even to the bird flu virus.

We just hope it stays in the birdies and doesn't hop to us.

Much news today about how scientists have re-created the deadly 1918 influenza virus that killed 50 million people worldwide. The scientists published the virus's genome on a public forum.

Now the newspaper columnists are all crowing.

"Some terrorist is going to get hold of that information and make a flu that will cause a pandemic, possibly killing 200 million people."

Wow. Imagine having that many deaths on your conscience.

Hey, Terrorist Who Is Going To Unleash Bird Flu:

Think twice, big guy. This isn't flying a plane into a building full of Americans. This friendly little virus, killing an animal whose regular body temperature is about 102 degrees, will fry from the inside all of the following people:

1. Your mama
2. Your grandparents
3. Your nieces and nephews
4. Your comrades-in-arms
5. Eskimos
6. Argentinians
7. The Dalai Lama
8. Muslim clerics by the gross

Anyone stupid enough to unleash a pandemic deliberately ought to be drafted as the next Intelligent Designer. Except he'll be too busy trying to live through his own bout of bird flu. And he won't.

CLUCK CLUCK, WE NEED GOOD LUCK
ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELY SPRINGS

Anne on COLLEGE FOOTBALL????

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're just here for the first time, and you're a Big Ten fan, then please keep in mind that the bored gods don't play favorites where college football is concerned.

Anne, on the other hand, bleeds Blue.

As in, "Go Blue."

Handy, isn't it, when your politics matches your team colors?

Anne never attended the University of Michigan, but she did live in Ann Arbor for two years. Which meant she drank Ann Arbor water. Which meant that all memory of the Billy Bob Agricultural University Fighting Buzzards exited her mind, and she became consumed with Michigan football.

Yes, there is a druid Michigan fan who wasted good magic on a football game last Saturday afternoon. Anne could have put that magic to better use (like finding meaningful, goat-related employment), but NO-O-O. It's more fun to watch the Wolverines win on a touchdown with ONE SECOND left in the game!

This jones is as bad as horse, I swear by all the gods.

Thanks to the Associated Press for this fine shot from the game, and if they want me to pay for using it I probably don't have enough money. (So please don't turn me in.)

Seriously, Michigan is a gorgeous state with great goats and terrific college football. Last Saturday reminded Anne once again that the goddess is alive, and magick is afoot.

Hail to the Victors!

FROM ANNE

THE MICHIGAN FAN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

The Gods Hate Computers

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Is your god one of those way too busy deities, working 14-hour days doing the work of six or seven gods that were let go in search of increased profit margins?

Deep-six that busy god. Go find a bored god or goddess, or both, or many, and pray to them! They'll be so grateful for the attention. And you might find that they're more sympathetic, and far more attentive, and better cooks than your current god.

Think of it as bypassing the Home Depot to get your hardware at the local Mom-and-Pop store. You think Home Depot will miss your business? On the other hand, those kindly old storekeepers in the next borough are desperate for your custom. Trust me!

Can the timing be worse? Just two weeks until the holiest day on the calendar, and my computer has to go see the doctor. It's crawling like the Turtle On Whose Shell the World Rests.

Hey, when they start teaching Intelligent Design in science class, I sure hope they include that Turtle On Whose Shell the World Rests. Can't prove it wrong, eh? John Glenn might have missed the Holy Turtle when he was staring out of his spaceship. Maybe the Holy Turtle deliberately hides from all telescopes, spaceships, and probes.

It wants us to have faith.

I think next time I say the Pledge of Allegiance, I'll say, "One nation, under the Holy Turtle On Whose Shell the World Rests, indivisible..."

You know the rest.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Wipe Out!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Don't you hate it when you write an awesome entry and Blogger eats it? Poor Blogger must be hungry today. I'll try again tomorrow to muse on the coming of Samhain.

Please join me! Equal Opportunity Praise and Worship!

Shhhhhhh!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we try to breathe new life into those poor gods and goddesses sent into early retirement and now living on fixed incomes -- and nobody even sends them birthday cards.

Here's a little secret.

Mel Gibson fears for his life.

Yes, when Mel released his masterpiece, "Passion of the Christ," (which, by the way, helped Anne decide to become a pagan) he hinted darkly that "some forces" might want to kill him for putting such a truthful movie into circulation.

Mel. Mel. Can we talk?

First of all, if you were as truthful about Jesus as you were about William Wallace, then what you put on the screen was fabulous fiction. I happen to know all there is to know about William Wallace, and he neither looked like you, Mel, nor did he behave one little bit like you portrayed him. Except maybe when he was hung, drawn, and quartered. Wallace was over 6 feet tall. That made him a giant in his day. How tall are you, Mel?

That was a digression. What Mel hinted darkly was that the Illuminati has targeted him. He gets these ideas from a truly dangerous secret society called Opus Dei.

Rest in peace, not pieces, Mel.

The Illuminati only kill smart, dangerous people. Like Opus Dei operatives. And only because this little underground skirmish has been going on with no clear victor since EXACTLY 1306. Oh yes, the birth of the Illuminati is celebrating an anniversary next year!!!

Now all my faithful readers want to know ... is Anne in the Illuminati?

Be serious. Like they would recruit an unemployed hillbilly goat judge from Billy Bob Agricultural University?

That is of course assuming that I am a hillbilly goat judge from Billy Bob Agricultural University.

Oooooooo! Somebody run the Crosby, Stills, and Nash Song! Time to sow paranoia. Into your mind it will creep.

And while you're always afraid, the faeries will break your garbage disposal.

ANNE
THE GOAT JUDGE OF NO PARTICULAR IMPORTANCE TO ANY SECRET SOCIETY

Building a Better Ishtar

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" What kinds of gods do we worship? What have you got?

Today our host, Anne, was busy substitute teaching at Billy Bob Agricultural/Vocational High School.

The students were slogging through the epic of Gilgamesh, like all high school students do. One of them said, "Man, this ain't relevant. We're all, like, Catholic Christian people. We don't need this s#$#@$@."

Another one said, "I'm an atheist. God ain't done nothing for me, so why should I do for him?"

Don't you love young, philosophical minds at work?

Anne, picking one of the ancient Babylonian gods at random said to the young atheist, "Why don't you pray to Ishtar? She isn't busy. Maybe she'll listen."

(This is, of course, in keeping with the spirit of this blog.)

The youngster looked baffled, so I added that Ishtar is probably bored out of her mind, while God is way too busy, like Bill Gates on steroids.

That's when the other student said, "What kind of gods do you pray to?"

And that's when Anne said, "What have you got?"

Who says you can't teach religion in the schools? Anne and her fairies are having a splendid time spreading the news of the bored gods! How wonderful to have English texts to help!

FROM ANNE
THE SUMERIAN MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
BY WAY OF THE TALL CEDARS OF THE FERTILE CRESCENT

The Faeries vs. Descartes

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're just joining us for the first time, you'd better stop right now and go look for your car keys. We're faeries, and we're gonna hide your keys and screw up your Monday morning commute!

Oooops! Tomorrow's Columbus Day! Okay, federal workers. We'll hide your keys Monday night!

Ha ha ha! You'll never blame us, because you don't believe in faeries, now do you?

Oh ye of small mind. If your sorry ancestors could cross the waters on those little wooden ships, how much of a stretch was it for us?

We faeries enjoy puns and riddles. Today we're going to put our legerdemain up against the great French philosopher, Rene Descartes.

It was Descartes who said, "I think, therefore I am."

Wow. Heavy. Ha ha! C'mon, work with us now!

"I think, therefore I am."

"I drink, therefore I am."

"I think, therefore I drink."

"I stink, therefore I scam."

"I sink, therefore I swam."

"My sink, therefore it's jammed."

"I shrink, therefore I expand."

Puck says this is the best one....

It's inspired by Anne Johnson's rude country upbringing....

And Anne is a faery in training ... an apprentice nixie, actually ...

Ready for this?



"I'm pink therefore I'm Spam."

Surprise us! Send us your Descartes originals! Earn your way into Sidhe, where everyday's Never-Neverland!

A BLESSED SAMHAIN TO YOU,
THE FAERIES OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Cowardly New World

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" This awesome tribute to polytheism has nothing to do with the picture here displayed -- we just thought it was a funny shot!

We cannot properly credit this adorable photo, it having come to us in an email from a beloved cousin, far, far away.

Well, fans, I have been so blue for a week that I didn't even feel like leaving out carcasses for the Thunderbirds. But the prayer to Queen Brighid the Bright worked for me! I'm back and rocking on.

Because this is truly a wonderful world. And its days of being a wonderful world are numbered.

Why am I happy again? Because I live in the Age of Mortality.

What's that, you say? You've never heard of the Age of Mortality?

Works like this. Anyone born before the year 1989 is sure to die some day. Anyone born thereafter might, if they have enough $$$, dough, scratch, large, beans, cash, or moolah, be able to purchase physical immortality.

Yes, faithful fans, we are soon to enter a Cowardly New World, where the rich will be able to buy drugs that will keep their cells performing like the ones in active teenagers. The Man will look 22 when he's 426! The only way he'll ever die is if he falls into a volcano and there's not enough DNA left to clone him back again.

Think how many trophy wives he'll have by age 426. And how many children he'll have to provide with the same health plan he has. The Cowardly Race of Immortals will be upon us ... or, I should say, upon our descendants.

Science fiction? You think so? My great-grandpa died of a burst appendix at age 32. Now he wouldn't even miss two weeks of work.

Physical immortality is soon to be a fact.

I'm sure you can hear "Mr. Applegate" gnashing his teeth, because he knows the ones who want to hang out on this sorry planet the longest are also the ones he'd like a clear shot at.

Still, I sit here content, because the Rich Corporate Big Shot who's trying to stick the shaft to my family was not born before 1989. He's going to have to deal with "Mr. Applegate," while I watch, from an appreciative distance, amongst the Gentry of Sidhe.

As for physical immortality, well ... I don't know about the rest of you. I think this planet is okay. But after 75 years or so of it, I'll be ready to move on. I'm glad there won't be some damned mad scientist offering me a "fountain of youth" shot.

'Twill be a very happy day
When I go West - and there I'll stay.
I am mortal. Hooray!

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
WAIT-LISTED TO BE A DIXIE NIXIE

A Prayer to Queen Brighid the Bright

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we sip polytheism at Starbucks, buy god supplies at Home Depot, and get all our materials for praise and worship at Wal-Mart!

Just kidding. We don't patronize any of those establishments.

Well, maybe Home Depot because you can't get that stuff anywhere else anymore. But if we need an extension cord or a half gallon of paint, you can best believe we use the neighborhood hardware store, the one holding on by its fingernails.

Now for a nasty little secret. We here at "The Gods Are Bored" have a favorite god!

I know, I know, it's not nice to play favorites. A Teacher's Pet god sounds like such a goody-goody. However, we have a preference, and that's that.

Her name is Queen Brighid the Bright. But you can call her the Blessed Mother if you want. Seems that's more user-friendly in these times.

Gosh, I'm starting to sound like "Mr. Applegate!"

News has come that my dear husband's plant will be subject to revised head counts. He has a great deal of seniority, and he's also getting to the age where health problems crop up, so of course they want him out. They're willing to pay him to leave, in fact. And he's probably going to do it.

There's two little problems: my daughters, the Heir and the Spare.

Goat judging does not supply health insurance, and neither does substitute teaching. If we lose the husband's union benefits, we'll be like so many other people out there right now, cut loose by The Man and left to drown.

So: To Queen Brighid the Bright, I pray:

Shelter my children, Ancient One, as you've sheltered all the many generations of my kinfolk, back through distant time to the shores of Avalon. Send your faeries to help me find meaningful paying work. I promise I'll keep this blog going in your honor!

Hail Mary,
Mother of God

Haven't you always wondered about that one?

FROM ANNE
A MERLIN IN PERIL

Applegate on Pedophile Priests

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm your host, Satan. Only please don't call me that. It has such negative connotations. I prefer "Mr. Applegate."

Today I've donned my formal attire, and it pinches in all the wrong places. Makes me irritable. Of course, I need to be irritable sometimes.

Where's Anne? Substitute teaching at the Billy Bob Agricultural/Technical School. Today she's in animal husbandry, and boy are those kids gonna learn something about goats!

On to today's topic:

Do my faithful readers know what a "Farby" is?

"Farby" is a term coined by those weird people who go out and re-enact historic battles. Most of those people - a vast majority, in fact - try to make their outfits as authentic as possible. Right down to the buttons and the grime.

"Farbies" show up in spotless polyester, with zippers. They wear Nikes and carry cold beer in their canteens. They wear their eyeglasses and occasionally a dash of Old Spice, to please the ladies.

Now, when all the re-enactors run out on the field, even the "generals" can't tell the Farbies from the authentics. And the spectators are even more clueless. To them it just looks like a lot of cool guys shooting at each other without getting wounded or killed.

Now you're saying, "Mr. Applegate, sir," (I like it when you're polite) "What does this have to do with pedophile priests?"

Pedophile priests are like Farbies. They're scattered here and there in the ranks, doing ugly, horrific things, and when they're found they're slapped on the wrist and told to get the right buttons.

Eventually those pedophile priests come to me. And I'm an angel with an iron-clad contract and an assignment to punish sinners.

In my book there's no more egregious sinner than he (or she) who does evil while hiding behind a cloak of piety. It's human evolution at its very, very worst.

Trust me. I pack those suckers tightly into a windowless room with all the Inquisitors who once tortured innocent people and all those popes who used their positions as power trips. Then I bother those suckers nonstop. I have a staff of about 450 dedicated exclusively to this set of slime buckets.

You know what gets them the worst? Occasionally the vice-president makes a visit to my division. And he's the kind of guy who can forgive anyone, anything. And even he can't conceal his disappointment with this group. He weeps whenever he sees them.

That would break a heart of stone, to see our vice-president weeping. So you can imagine, I hope, what a cold and sorry time my sick Farbies have when they come falling into my hands.

"Farby" is a diminutive of "Far be it from reality." And so they are, these villains. Nothing ticks me off worse than inauthenticity. I punish it severely.

(Well, I'm not too hard on those re-enactors who wear polyester. Stupidity is punishment enough.)

SEE YOU SOON,

MR. APPLEGATE

Judging a ???????

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we never fail to underestimate the stupidity of the current president!

He's nominated a person to sit as a judge on the nation's highest court who has never been a judge before.

That makes me more qualified than her. I'm a renowned goat judge. I've done a lot of judging in my day. This is my 20th anniversary, in fact. If you have a goat, I'll tell you what I think, fairly and squarely.

There's only one little tip-off as to this candidate's complete inappropriateness for the job to which she has been nominated.

Today's newspaper quotes her as calling George W. Bush "the most intelligent man I've ever met."

In the humble opinion of the entire staff of "The Gods Are Bored," that proves this judicial candidate is probably a poor judge of when it's safe to cross a street.

FROM JUDGE ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Holy Month Preview

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" New Age? What's the New Age? We're about The Old-Time Religions ... all of them.

Were your gods pushed out by well-meaning but misguided missionaries of one of these big, fancy faiths? Reclaim your gods! Reclaim your goddess! Reclaim your daemons, your Thunderbirds, your spirits of earth, air, fire, and water!

If you say, "Well, what if Jesus IS the only way to make it past the grave? Hey, he's the one who said his house has many rooms. I'll bet there's fairies in at least the attic. And wherever there are fairies, there's excitement.

And let us not forget that Jesus had a Mama, and that people pray to her all the time - especially when they're sick or have some hard job ahead. Like an algebra test or a CAT scan. Hail, Mary? What's in a name? A rose by any name smells as sweet. (Thanks, Willie.)

At the beginning of the month, we here at "The Gods Are Bored" like to preview what we're going to accomplish in the next 28 days. Sort of like a celestial trailer you have to sit through before the feature film starts.

1. We are going to celebrate this holy month and treat it with the sacred respect it deserves. Especially that day at the very end. Even the most determined Christian missionaries finally gave up trying to push that one into the dust.

2. Shhhhhhhh! We're going to have interesting discussions on Conspiracy Theories and why Mel Gibson fears for his life!

3. We're going to watch the newest Supreme Court justice nominee go through the process. No doubt we'll weigh her in the balance and find her wanting.

4. If anyone's interested, we may republish our infamous "Sex, Drugs, and Witchcraft" quiz.

5. And speaking of witches, what better time than October to discuss them? New evidence reveals many interesting tidbits on those martyrs. (Burning at the stake - now there's an innovative way to revise head counts.)

6. Let us not neglect goats. Oh, those cloven-footed wonders. Can't get enough of them.

7. Inevitably, "Mr. Applegate" will probably take every chance to whine and kvetch if we leave for a day or two.

Wow! What a lot of fascinating topics! Tell your friends, and especially all those brown-shirt dittoheads out there. We want them to hear the evidence for the defense.

TAKING THE WATERS IMPROVES YOUR KARMA
FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Can You Pass the Bill Bennett Survival Test?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're a first-timer, we are all about polytheism, politics, and ... goats.

Today it's politics. No doubt most of you faithful readers out there heard William "Drug Czar" Bennett's comment that the best way to cut down on crime would be to abort every African American baby.

He's tried to backpedal, of course. But hey, you Rastas out there, you KNOW that's the way Republicans think, dontcha, mon?

The god Haille Selassie (sp?) is so ticked off he's going to see to it that Bennett's great-grandchild marries outside the Master Race.

For the rest of us, however, I've put together this little quiz. If you answer YES to any of the following questions, grab your knitting needles, find a back alley, and abort yourself. Because you are a criminal, and you need to be dead to cut down on the crime rate.

THE BILL BENNETT SURVIVAL TEST FOR MODERN AMERICA
TEST AIM: To reduce the crime rate.

Honestly answer the following questions either "Yes" or "No."

1. Are you African American?

2. Are you a half, a quarter, an eighth, or a sixteenth African American?

3. Are you Hispanic?

4. Are you a half, a quarter, an eighth, or a sixteenth Hispanic?

5. Do you have a Hispanic surname, even though your family has been here since 1776?

6. Have you ever bought passage on a Greyhound bus?

7. Have you ever spent even one night in a mobile home? (This does not include high-end recreational RVs).

8. Do you shop at flea markets?

9. Do you have a tattoo?

10. Are you a good dancer?

12. Are you now, or have you ever been, a practicing homosexual?

13. Do you now, or have you ever, smoked marijuana?

14. Do you now, or have you ever, forgotten to pay a parking ticket?

15. Have you ever demonstrated against your government?

16. Do you strongly disagree with the 1973 Supreme Court decision, Roe v. Wade?

17. Do you live in any of the following states: New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Illinois, California, Oregon, Washington, Louisiana, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee?

18. Have you ever voted for a Democratic candidate, in any election including local mayoral or county commissioner races?

19. Is your median income less than $120,000 per annum?

20. Do you think Ronald Reagan and his Republican successors are the worst presidents since Warren G. Harding?

IF YOU ANSWERED "YES" TO ANY OF THESE QUESTIONS, PLEASE KILL YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY AND REDUCE THE CRIME RATE.

Where are my knitting needles?

FROM ANNE
THE (DECEASED) MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS