Shhhh! The New World Order Wants You (Dead)!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we offer the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help us Thunderbirds.

Thunderbirds? What about God?

Sorry. Here at "The Gods Are Bored," it's "one nation, under the Thunderbirds, indivisible, with liberty and justice for the New World Order."

Ever heard that old slogan, "The rich are different from you and me?"

And "me" is correct grammar. We goat judges know our grammar.

Well, it's true. The rich are different. They are toddlers who never grew up from the "if I can grab it, it's mine" phase of life. They are Ebenezer Scrooge before the conversion. Their favorite slogan about proles like us is, "If they are going to die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."

Enter the New World Order. Yep. They're all about decreasing the surplus population. They want just enough people to do their bidding, not one soul more.

Contrary to the popular opinion in America for more than one hundred years, these secretive grabbers aren't all Jewish. They aren't all American. In fact, a disconcerting number of them are Chinese. And frankly, the Chinese know how to decrease surplus population. While we bemoan Hitler and Stalin, the head count laid low by Mao absolutely dwarfs them both.

Lay off unionized American workers in favor of child labor in Vietnam?
New World Order.

Force profitable companies to generate more profit by laying off workers?
New World Order

Generate phony reasons to go to war in search of oil and rebuilding profits?
New World Order

Sponsor terrorism to keep the proles scared?
New World Order

Generate unreasonable demands for useless consumer products, big t.v.s, violent video games, paid for with high-interest credit cards?
New World Order

What can we do to keep these Masters of the Universe from knocking us off, draining our jobs and resources, anesthetizing us with useless gadgets and mindless entertainment?

Not one damn thing.

One caveat: The Illuminati are often credited with the schemes created by the New World Order. Not true. The Illuminati exist merely to expedite communication between humankind and extraterrestrial intelligent life forces. And the Illuminati are smart enough to know that our species is not ready for that moment (hence the Men in Black - they're Illuminati). However, the Illuminati try to bump evolution forward any way they can. Hence, Timothy Leary.

So, my solution to the New World Order is to give buzzards their due. Who are we to think we're at the top of the food chain? Even if we global warm this planet out the wazoo, the last large creature left will be a vulture.

We'll leave it to the Thunderbirds to settle with the New World Order.

ANNE
GLOOMY ON A MONDAY

A Quickie

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your mini-mart for god-shopping and essential information on the grooming and breeding of show goats.

What fun to watch the National Dog Show yesterday! Made me wonder if I picked the right animal to judge. Those dog judges look like they're rolling in it (and I don't meen dog doody).

Bless my soul, the infamous Monkey Man was at the Wombats game! We are now friends. I am assured by other fans at the game that he's a lovable eccentric, a good Catholic (fine with me, we all need a god), and - get this - an extremely able poet!

I asked him what year he graduated from high school. Turns out he's quite a bit older than me - old enough not to have been able to miss Vietnam unless he was as eccentric then as he is now.

He gave me something to read, and I can vouch for it. You'd never believe this guy's a super writer, but there you go.

I was wrong about how much of the Lions game I'd get to see. I watched two whole downs.

Now it's Black Friday. My mother-in-law is walking a groove in the floor downstairs, itching to shop (at the thrift store), and I have to edit a goat protocol.

Gonna be a long day. Back to real topics soon!

ANNE
SHOULDA GONE TO THE DOGS

Mystery of the Monkey Man Solved

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We think touting polytheism and other dangerous heresies is far more interesting than folding laundry.

If you're just joining this post, we have been talking about a mysterious Monkey Man who rides through our town on his bike, entertaining kids with his monkey puppet. He's a gray-bearded gent whose age could range from old enough to be a Vietnam vet to young enough to be Anne's contemporary (Just shy of Vietnam, Anne isn't sensitive about it.)

Yesterday the Monkey Man arrived on our doorstep. Story below. He was wearing pajama pants and a jester hat, and of course had his monkey with him. He was happy as always.

After much thought, and many dollars spent taking Heir and Spare (daughters) to the newest Harry Potter movie, it dawned on me just who this guy is.

He's a wizard. He fits the entire profile.

One pictures him playing Quiddich in his youth. Of course as soon as he goes to the Wizard Sidhe, his monkey becomes a real monkey. It's only here in the Muggle world that the monkey is a toy.

Further proof: Once, at a Halloween parade, Anne and Spare saw the Monkey Man dressed like a wizard.

Case closed. Mystery solved. I hope no other wizard comes and washes his memory from my brain.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Points Deducted for Lateness

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," located in spirit (if not in flesh) in the great state of West (By Gawdess) Virginia!

Guess that's the last place you'd expect to find a bunch of fairy-lovin' pagans, but they're more than welcome to come as tourists, or to live there, so long as they do their part and park a gutted car in the front yard.

So, I've been dealing with a bad wicked goat today, and I'm more put-upon than the Intelligent Designer at the end of a long Day Six.

I'm not sure I have the spelling of this guy's name right. Is it Murtha? We'll accept that spelling and move on.

This Murtha, a Democratic congressman, says it's time to cut bait in Iraq. We've got Saddam, there's no evidence of WMD, why send any more hard-working and good-looking young men and women into harm's way?

A fine sentiment. We here at "The Gods Are Bored" soundly applaud the brave congressman.

Except he's a bit late. One -- and we mean ONE -- brave legislator stood on the Senate floor and denounced this ridiculous war from its very inception. One senator stood up, in the face of ALL that HARD EVIDENCE of WMDs and ALL that HARD EVIDENCE of SADDAM COURTING AL-QAEDA. And that senator said, "This war is a sham, it's a hoax, and I will never, never never vote for it!"

That senator was Robert Byrd, senior Democrat of West Virginia.

Once again (sorry to be redundant), if you want to understand the world, take up Byrd watching.

FROM ANNE
PROUD TO BE A MERLIN
OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Eww! Icky! I'ts Wal-Mart Week!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We like to examine our culture in search of life-threatening organisms! Like this one, the infamous "strep." Why the heck did Noah take THAT one on the ark?

Anne's dear daughter, The Heir, suffers from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

You know the condition. The victim is so obsessed with germs and sickness that he or she washes compulsively, walks around with a thermometer stuck in his or her mouth, slathers everything with anti-bacterial gels, and avoids situations where sick people might be. Even fun places, like raves.

Just an aside: An uninsured OCD patient can expect to spend $319.00 a month on the medication used to treat the disorder.

But we digress.

A helpful mother is going to read up on this condition in order to understand it better. And that helpful mother is going to learn that even normal people have a bit of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

It's natural to shun anything that might make you sick. The avoidance of filth and pestilence, and the recognition thereof, is seen as a positive genetic mutation, one that enabled the human race to grow and expand.

Okay. It's normal to want to avoid strep like the plague. It's not normal to spend your entire day thinking about getting strep. Subtle difference.

Perhaps the following would never have occurred to Anne the goat judge if she didn't have a daughter with OCD. But think about it a minute.

Businesses that offer health coverage to employees and their families will be cleaner environments in which to shop.

Businesses that provide inadequate or no health coverage to employees and their families will have germy goods on the shelves. Why? Because those shelves are stocked by sick people. Their hands touch everything.

Ponder this, reader, the next time you rush into Wal-Mart for a cake mix.

Now Wal-Mart's gonna sue me, say they do offer health coverage to some of their workers. Part-timers? Naaah. And how about the families of those workers? Naaaah.

So Lisa Jones, Wal-Mart "associate," spoon-feeds her cranky, feverish, uninsured tot and then comes to work. She's assigned the task of stocking the toy section with 372 brand new "My Scene" dolls, made by generally unhealthy Asian workers in sweatshop conditions.

Who wants a "Stella Strep," the newest "My Scene" doll created just for Wal-Mart?

And I hope to kiss a duck before I'd touch their pork chops.

"So," holler you slash-domestic-spending conservatives, "where do you shop, Madame Liberal?"

I buy my groceries at Acme (union). I buy my hardware at Eastmont Hardware (mom & pop). I buy my clothing at thrift stores, bring it home and wash it first thing. For everything else, there's always a slightly more expensive store that treats its workers better.

Sadly, Anne knows that many rural communities now must depend entirely upon the local Wal-Mart for their shopping needs. Take heart, America! That which does not kill you will only make you stronger!

If you come home from Wal-Mart with germ-infested merchandise, and you get sick, well, you have two possibilities. If you live, your immune system's had its workout and is rocking on. If you die, who cares anyway? Certainly not the owners of Wal-Mart.

You know what's lying on its deathbed right now? The union movement. Let's give that essential component of free market enterprise an antibiotic drip, electrolytes, and lessons on the languages of all nations.

United we bargain.

Divided we beg.

Remember that on Black Friday, when you go to Wal-Mart for plastic Santas and tinsel, and come home with scarlet fever.

FROM ANNE

SOWING THE GERMS OF A RADICAL UNION RESURGENCE

Big Brother Blues

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We open our doors, and in rush the gods and goddesses of yesteryear, eager for praise and worship teams, drooling over the possibility of being promoted from the lowly standing of "myth."

Last week, the goddess Asherah dropped by and told of her divorce from Yahweh (a.k.a. the Intelligent Designer, he's been outed). If you're a woman who's been told you "haven't grown" with your spouse as he departs for the Trophy Wife, scroll down while there's time!

Well, you know how it is with families. Mom has her say, then the son drops by.

Kind readers, please welcome Baal, son of Yahweh and His Asherah. A big wig in ancient Israel until a little cabal of priests decided that all this polytheism stuff is for primitives.

Baal: Hey, you're only making it worse. I've been in therapy 2000 years trying to get over the loss of my familial status.

Anne: Oh my, I can imagine. Divorce is so hard on children, no matter how old they are. What happened to the big golden calf you used to ride around on?

Baal: I hocked it for tuition payments. I've got a degree in Theatre Arts from Athens University. I mean, the Athens University. Sophocles was one of my teachers.

Anne: You must be an awesome actor.

Baal: I'm always cast to type. I never get to see just what I could do with a character role.

Anne: Cast to type? What does that mean?

Baal: I always wind up playing the disenchanted brother, gnashing my teeth over the accomplishments of the better sibling. (Sigh.) Is it life, or is it art?

Anne: Sorry, I'm running through every play I can think of, and I can't come up with one drama where that's a device. Current or past.

Baal: Pardon me, but you're a goat judge, not an English professor.

Anne: So true.

Baal: I've made a tidy living since the 1940s playing Jamie in "Long Day's Journey into Night." That's a Eugene O'Neill play, for you goat judges who don't know great theatre.

Anne: Wait. Wait! I saw that! Wow, it's been awhile, but I saw Jason Robards and Colleen Dewhurst on Broadway in that. Back when I made good money judging goats. Were you in that production?

Baal: Who, me? On Broadway? Oh, I hope I get there some day! When you're immortal, it's nice to have ambitions. Otherwise the time passes so slowly.

Anne: So, Baal, where do you perform "Long Day's Journey into Night?"

Baal: Summer stock, mostly.

Anne: Summer stock? You're kidding me. Summer stock? Isn't that for dreck like "Annie, Get Your Gun?"

Baal: Everything is more serious in Massachusetts.

Anne: Oh, you work in Massachusetts. Say no more. So, Jamie is your defining role, eh?

Baal: Afraid so. If the shoe fits. I also do Happy in "Death of a Salesman." And there's the occasional stunt work for movies. You know, human beings can't pitch head-first off a cliff and live, but you see that a lot in films. Usually it's me. Did you see the first Rambo?

Anne: I think so.

Baal: I did too. What a good movie!

Anne: Okay, we'll let that one pass. So Jesus Christ is your brother?

Baal: Half brother. You really are a goat judge.

Anne: Stupid mistake.

Baal: I'll say. Especially since Mama was just in here last week.

Anne: Stop me if I get too personal, okay? As I said, one of the side effects of divorce is that the children rarely get to see one of the parents. Are you ever invited to family events in ... heaven?

Baal: Nope. Black sheep and all that. I think the half brother would like to have me visit, but I've been playing Jamie too long. I would try to get him liquored up, make him a failure so I'd feel better about myself.

Anne: That shows deep insight.

Baal: Ought to. Spent the last of the Golden Calf cash on psychoanalysis with Freud.

Anne: So you never see Big Daddy, eh?

Baal: I'm okay with it. I've got steady work. I can even send Mama a little dough now and then, help her with the electric bill. My brothers do even better.

Anne: Oh, I forgot you have brothers! How is it that they do better than you?

Baal: They hooked up with humans and got themselves a family tree. So, even though they're 6,004 years old, they still get invited at Thanksgiving.

Anne: What do they do to pay the bills the other 364 days of the year?

Baal: It varies. They run seasonal Halloween costume stores, they work as stewards on cruise ships, they harvest oranges in Florida. I have one brother who's never worked out his anger at being ousted. He raises snakes for the pet market. Keeps a few cobras and rattlers for his own amusement. I beg him to get help, but he says, hey. He's immortal. So if they bite him, big deal. Who am I to judge? The half brother says, "Judge not, lest ye be judged."

Anne: You're exactly the kind of god brotherhood we like to hear from at "The Gods Are Bored." One can only imagine the comedown of being a deity one day and a fruit-picker the next.

Baal: It's not all fun and games being a deity. I had to ride that damned golden calf into battles. Trust me. It was a pleasure to melt that thing down and get enough largesse for a first-class education.

Anne: You're lucky you went to school in Ancient Greece. If you tried to stretch that golden calf today, it might pay for a year or two of community college. Forget the psychiatry.

Baal: All in all I can't complain. People read the Bible, they figure I'm dead and gone. So I never get recognized in public, even when I do Jamie fifteen nights in a row in Salem.

Anne: Here's your chance to make a pitch to regain a praise and worship team, Baal.

Baal: Oh, hell no! Even from Massachusetts I can see how it's tearing my half-brother apart! Pastors calling for assassinations and natural disasters, soldiers seeking revenge, his so-called followers grubbing in the cash by the fistful. Even church suppers tick him off. Wrong use of holy buildings, you know? So I'm just as happy (pardon the pun) playing Bad Brother in serious dramas, and occasionally pitching head-first off a cliff.

Anne: Most of us ordinary Americans can understand that, Baal. We're all facing diminished expectations as the cash flows into the hands of the wealthiest, while the rest of us cringe for our jobs. Or lose them.

Baal: I'm glad I've got a skill. And thanks for your time. I've got curtain in an hour, and it takes a long time to make myself look like a worthless, drunken, womanizing, jobless twentieth-century American.

Anne: I've got you there. Except for the womanizing, I could be ready for that curtain in about five minutes.

BEST WISHES FROM THE BORED GODS! If you haven't seen or read "Long Day's Journey into Night," you're missing a classic.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Intelligent Designer Revealed!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We thought this title was kickier than "Jesus Is Embarrassed by His Followers."

The bored gods assure us that we need not worry that the Christian Heaven, and only the Christian Heaven, looks like West Virginia. In fact, I have it directly from Tiki of the Marquessa Islands (wherever they are) that even his heaven looks like West Virginia! One hundred bad songs by John Denver can never blunt the beauty of West Virginia. Case closed.

Today's Topic: God, Out of the Closet!

Some of you might have been following the court case in Dover, PA, where religious school board members were trying to have a caveat about "Intelligent Design" read before biology teachers began any unit on evolution. This innocuous little statement was supposed to encourage students to go looking for a book called Of Pandas and People that offers "scientific evidence" that the universe was created by an Intelligent Designer.

Ever looked at these books, gentle reader? Most of them just criticize Darwin's theory, carping on the defects thereof and completely overlooking the many cases of natural selection at work on our Intelligently Designed planet (bird flu being Exhibit #1 for the Defense).

But the big push lately has been to take the God part out of Intelligent Design and just say, "Hey, there was an Intelligent Designer. Whether or not it was God we can't say."

Because to give God the credit would be religion. Right? Right? Right?

Last week the good citizens of Dover mounted a School Board election. Nine out of ten members of the Board were deep-sixed in favor of new candidates. The winning candidates to a man and woman expressed the view that religion should not be taught in science class.

Encouraged, a female wolf spider took up residence on Of Pandas and People and laid a few eggs in its spine. The only kids taught with that daft tome are Rick Santorum's brood, and they're home-schooled. (In Virginia, not Pennsylvania).

Enter Pat Robertson, Grand Poobah of the "Jesus Is Embarrassed" Movement in America. Robertson denounced the citizens of Dover, warning that if a terrible disaster befell their city, they'd better not pray to God about it.

Um, excuse me, Mr. Robertson?

Is the "God" to which you refer the Intelligent Designer that all those Discovery Institute scholars insist isn't necessarily the Intelligent Designer?

Okay, did He ... or didn't He?

If God is NOT the Intelligent Designer of this marvelous universe, then why would the citizens of Dover need to stock quantities of dried beans, antibiotics, spring water, and sand bags? If the Intelligent Designer isn't God, why are the citizens of Dover suddenly "un-Godly?"

Mmmmm.

But if the Intelligent Designer is God, that's religion. Not science. Religion operates on faith, and you don't need Einsteins out there trying to back up your faith with empirical evidence. In fact, it's bad form. Insulting to your deity, if you get my meaning.

I think the good Pastor Robertson "outed" God as the Intelligent Designer of the universe. And not a moment too soon, because don't think for a minute that students in Shanghai are reading Of Pandas and People in science class. Even though pandas are Chinese!

Geez. Another entry on Intelligent Design. Anne is losing her originality.

Stay tuned, Dover. Tomorrow we look at what God did on Day Eight in his Intelligently Designed universe! We have a special guest arriving who will talk about 1500 years of psychotherapy and how he has learned to live with an indifferent dad and a vastly superior younger brother.

Join us, won't you?

WEST VIRGINIA IS FOR THE BYRDS
FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Seriously. Thunderbirds.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," officially sanctioned site of Partership for Polytheism, Inc. This site was born when its author heard a speech by an atheist who said, "Think how silly it sounds to say, 'In Zeus We Trust.'"

Well, yeah. Zeus got pink-slipped. So did Ishtar. They have a very difficult time getting health insurance. But that's no reason not to be reverent toward them. The folks who built Babylon and the Parthenon weren't just merry mythmakers.

Every now and then Anne has to go "take the waters" at Berkeley Springs, a very spiritual little town in West Virginia. So the gods will be bored until next Monday.

We're sure glad Sedna got in under the wire.

Time to go see those awesome Thunderbirds. Majesty in flight.

Peace to all,

ANNE
THE MERLIN OF YOU-KNOW-WHERE

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!"

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

IN THE ARCTIC NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE!

Yes, fans! Thanks to your bold petitions to the bored goddess SEDNA, the measure for drilling for black gold in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge has been STRIPPED from its hiding place in the congressional budget bill and DEEP SIXED OUT THE TEXAS WAZOO!

Accepting this reprieve on behalf of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, Sedna simply wiped away a tear and said, "You love me! You really love me!"

In gratitude for all your prayers and attention, the bored goddess Sedna invites you to join her in a 90-day period of feasting on pecan pie, onion rings, Swiss chocolates, and -- for the Wolverine fans -- CONEYS!

(I'll bet you thought she'd offer beef jerky and whale blubber. Not on this occasion!)

We here at "The Gods Are Bored" will keep you informed if any stinkin' politician tries some slick move, like shoving that bad idea back into a bill that otherwise protects homeless kittens and mandates maximum crab catches in the Chesapeake Bay.

But for now, let's celebrate! Gee! Haw! Where's my coney?

FROM ANNE and SEDNA

HUMBLE MERLIN, AWESOME GODDESS

Asherah Wednesday

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm your host, Anne Johnson. That's my real name. And don't forget the "e" on the end. Sign of class.

Today we have a real treat! A visit from a bored goddess!

Now, everybody. Get out your Bibles ...

Uhhhh. Don't have one? Weren't you ever in third grade?

Okay, then. Share with the person next to you.

Actually, we don't need the Bibles, except as evidence for the defense. So you can put that dusty thing back on the shelf, and try not to disturb the spider sleeping on it.

Today's guest is the goddess Asherah, known in some cultures as Astarte, and by dozens of other names too. She's an ancient goddess of the Middle East. Let's get the ball rolling!

Anne: Asherah, are you at all related to Queen Brighid the Bright?

Asherah: No, but I see her sometimes at the hairdresser.

Anne: I'm hardly believing these notes my producer gave me for this interview. It says here you were married to Yahweh? Wow, Asherah, that's a bold assertion!

Asherah: Archaeologists have found documents from extremely ancient Israel that leave no doubt as to our former marital status. One tablet clearly says "Yahweh and His Asherah." We had sons, too!

Anne: I am flabbergasted. No one told me about that in Methodist Sunday School.

Asherah: Well, you know, once a god gets the Immaculate Conception thing ironed out, why keep a spouse around? Especially one who was as popular as I was.

Anne: You were popular in ancient Israel?

Asherah: You think that picture of me you loaded into this entry was done by Picasso? I was huge. Especially among the ordinary folk. But I also had temples and priests and the whole works. It was a rare ancient Israelite woman who didn't have a small altar to me right in her home.

Anne: And this was fine with Yahweh.

Asherah: Yes, at first.

Anne: What happened? I mean, I don't want to pry if it's personal...

Asherah: There was nothing personal about it! Politics, pure and simple, ruined my marriage.

Anne: That's novel. Never heard that one before. (Just kidding.)

Asherah: A king named Amon got snuffed in a coup d'etat. But the folk didn't like it, so the palace insiders put Amon's son on the throne. His name was Josiah. He was only eight when he got the crown. And things went along as usual for awhile. But then Josiah grew up, he got cocky. A gifted writer named Hilkiah caught his ear. Then Hilkiah invited King Josiah to a scruffy little temple for Yahweh. My time was up.

Anne: I don't get it.

Asherah: In that temple, Hilkiah showed Josiah the long-neglected, spiderweb-covered, completely overlooked Ark of the Covenant. It had been sitting ignored for so long that the priests thought it was a box of socket wrenches.

Anne: Wait a minute. The Ark of the Covenant, neglected and overlooked? How could that be? It was the most important item in the Yahweh lexicon! And it was just sitting there like a piece of Mom's ugly furniture?

Asherah: Can I speak frankly?

Anne: We here at "The Gods Are Bored" offer you and yours a forum for just this sort of thing.

Asherah: All right, then. Here's the scoop. Hilkiah wanted the inside track, the position with bennies and a seat at the head table during banquets. He "discovered" the Ark of the Covenant and conveniently found that all the sacred Torahs inside were written in his handwriting.

Anne: Are you suggesting that Hilkiah wrote the entire history of the Hebrew people off the top of his head? All that stuff about Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, and the begats?

Asherah: He was a veritable Leo Tolstoy. Yes.

Anne: And he had a political agenda.

Asherah: Yep. Deep-six the polytheism in favor of his deity, Yahweh. The rest of the story is set down in the Bible. Josiah ordered all the temples to me and Baal, and all the other gods, torn down. He ordered the priests in those temples to be burnt alive on their altars. And of course he forbade all worship of me in private homes (although it continued for awhile). Call it what you want. I got divorced. Tossed out.

Anne: At least there wasn't another woman involved.

Asherah: True. But in those times Yahweh wasn't as popular as he is now. Not by a country mile. So the terms of my settlement weren't very generous. I've had to work my keister off, cleaning Turnpike bathrooms and telemarketing and doing night shift at Wendy's. It's been tough.

Anne: I am so sorry to hear that, Asherah. You know, a great many American women share your burden. They ought to erect shrines to you in their homes.

Asherah: That would help my morale, I must admit! And you know, there's a new book out about me. Maybe it'll get picked up by Lifetime and made into a t.v. movie!

Anne: Don't hold your breath on that one. But I could see Charlize Theron playing you. Can't imagine who'd do Yahweh.

Asherah: Why, Mel Gibson, of course!

Anne: That would work. So, Asherah, as a bored goddess, you're allowed to make a bald pitch for support on this site.

Asherah: I just want to stop being seen as some second-class, harlot, evil wicked witch. It hurts my feelings. I was respectable, and I resent the revisionist history.

Anne: As well you might. I'll ask Queen Brighid the Bright to put you on her "A" list for parties.

Asherah: Oh, would you do that? She does have lively ones!

Anne: Goddess Asherah, thank you for being our guest today on "The Gods Are Bored." I wish you the best of luck regaining a praise and worship team!

Asherah: Thank you. Are you going to finish that Pop Tart?

Anne: Help yourself. There's a whole box downstairs. Take as many as you like!

Sources for Information on Asherah:

God. The Holy Bible, 2 Kings 21-23. Israel, Middle East: 1032 B.C.

Hadley, Judith M. The Cult of Asherah in Ancient Israel and Judah: Evidence for a Hebrew Goddess. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

Walker, Barbara C. The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets. New York, NY: Harper & Row, 1983.

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Family Reunion

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Ah, the abilities of humankind! Isn't this a beautiful piece of handiwork? Thank you, University of Michigan Football Web site!

Constructed in 1927, the University of Michigan football stadium is the second largest in America. It seats 102,501. (The one is reserved for the ghost of a coach from a past era.) "Standing Room Only" capacity is 106,000.

On certain Saturdays in autumn, this stadium ranks among the 200 largest cities in America.

Okay, okay, Anne! We know you love Michigan football! Get to the point.

I'm a goat judge, not a mathematician, so feel free to correct me if these calculations are bogus.

1. Given: Human beings produce a new generation every twenty years.

2. Given: The U of M stadium holds 102,500 people. (Sans ghost.)

3. Proposal: You, reader, sit down in Section 1, seat 1. Next to you sits your mother. Next to her sits her mother. Next to your grandmother sits her mother. Each successive direct generation, going back in time.

In ten seats, you will already be back to 1800. In twenty seats, your maternal ancestress will talk like the St. James Bible. In forty seats, assuming your ancetress was also English, her language will be incomprehensible. Remember, we're already back to 1400, almost a century before Columbus.

A mere 100 seats away from you, your direct ancestress will have been alive at the time of Jesus Christ. And, hey. She was! None of us spring from the ground like golems.

In the next section, you'll have relatives dealing with Wooly Mammoths and the Ice Age.

Hold the Presses! Two quick questions here:

Q: Why are you using all women here, Anne?
A: Can you imagine 102,500 men in a football arena? Even if they're blood kin, they're bound to start fighting. Especially if Michigan plays poorly and the Neanderthal Man next to them is an Ohio State fan.

Q: Isn't it true that God created the world in six days, just 6,000 years ago?
A: Hey. That doesn't even produce enough ancestresses to staff the school band! And one can hardly imagine Eve in the last seat, struggling with the bass drum.

So, for the purpose of this little excursion through the University of Michigan stadium, we are ignoring the fact that an Intelligent Designer spent six days creating this planet, 6,000 years ago. We are also depending on women to fill the seats, because most of them will be damned glad to see Grandma. (Anne included!)

Let's take a walk. Go get a beer and a coney (for you non-Michiganders, that's a hot dog) at the far end of the stadium.

Whoa. We are passing a lot of dark-skinned people here! Practically the whole place! Sorry, Idaho, but Africa was the cradle of Homo sapiens, and it's hot and sunny there. You might be blonde now, but that ancestress over there, the one who had an astonishing thirteen hardy children by six different men in the days before the species knew how to make fire, she is black.

Hey, honored ancestress! Want a coney? With chili and cheese?

Now we're strolling to the opposite goal post. Anne thinks her math is sound.

Direct ancestresses going back 2 million, fifty thousand years.

That's not counting standing room. Add another 4,000 standing, and some of them might not be standing quite as upright. And not because of that Stroh's beer. We're deep into Australopithecus territory, or at least back to the dawn of the Homo genus. We've certainly left sapiens behind.

Wouldn't you love to meet that grandma sitting exactly opposite you on the far side of the stadium? And all the ones in between? Which ones started this whole praise and worship thing? Or does religion flow over into the deeply ancient ones, the ones still out in the parking lot tail-gating because they didn't have tickets?

Think about this for awhile and it boggles the mind. How many bored gods are represented? Once again, instinct says the vast majority are female. Remember, if you only go back 6,000 years to the days of Yahweh, that's 300 of the total. In a stadium that seats 102,501. (The ghost is back.)

Now Anne's gentle readers are wondering if she's been spending less time with Thunderbirds and more time with that sect in Arizona that got government approval to use ayahuasca in their religious rites.

Anne's not nuts. She's just curious. About some really weird things.

Time to go feed the goats.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
GO BLUE! (IN EVERY WAY)

Daddy Can't Have My T-Bird!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!"

When you were young, did you question all the answers?

If so, rock on!

If you're still young, it's time to start.

Seriously! Seventy-five percent of Americans think God created the universe in six days and then took a nap! The same percentage think God destroyed the world in a flood and only let one family, and assorted pestilential insects, survive.

I wonder how many of these godly Americans have ever seen a Thunderbird glide silently through the sky, guiding itself by judging the air currents through its wing-tips.

Divinity at the highest, gentle readers.

I'm a goat judge, not an Intelligent Designer, but I think someone or some thing created the earth not for people to dominate, but for Thunderbirds to enjoy. Many Native American cultures (who, by the way, knew the healing powers of vulture down) would agree with me.

Growing up in West Virginia, I had ample time to study both the ways of God and the ways of the Thunderbird. I choose Thunderbird.

Superb parents, Nature's custodians, non-aggressive, will only kill in mercy, and abide the presence of others of their kind.

An observant human will see a superior species, so superior as to be ... yes ... godly.

Later this week I journey to commune with the Thunderbirds. Yes, Carl Jung, there are indeed Varieties of Religious Experience, and this is my very favorite.

Would you like to learn more about Thunderbirds and what they can do for you? Perhaps you want to change your life. You want a fresh start. Forgiveness of all your sins, and the joy of knowing Thunderbirds!

Our operators are standing by for your call. We love you and want to help you share our joy in the sacred custodians of our sickly planet!

FUN, FUN, FUN, DADDY DOESN'T TAKE THE T-BIRD AWAY!

ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Dogging the Wrong Byrd

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We wonder if "religion is the opiate of the people." We think it more likely that opiates are the religion of the people!

Hey, you don't have to shoot up to be brain dead. If you watch Fox News, you're high on hate, stoned on the status quo.

This just in from those Pharisees of the Christian Right: A hit list of left-leaning senators who should be removed from office in the interest of expanding Jesus's mighty work in the world.

At the very top of the list: Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia. Mr. Byrd is running for re-election next year.

Now, Mr. Dobson, you take this little bit of advice from a card-carrying hillbilly like me. Take fistfuls of money, whole cartloads of cash, whole wagon trains of bullion, and shove it into West Virginia in an effort to unseat Senator Byrd in favor of some "Politician of Faith."

Please.

Because you might as well be whistling "Onward, Christian Soldiers" into a stiff wind.

Senator Byrd has been serving the people of West Virginia since Anne was a little girl.

Numerous decades have passed since Anne was a little girl. Gosh. John F. Kennedy was still alive when Anne was a little girl. So was Martin Luther King. Ed Sullivan was rocking on. Had some group named The Beatles on one night. Anne remembers.

Anne has some mileage. (But she still has her girlish figure, yes indeedy!)

Senator Byrd has even more mileage than Anne. He's served in the Senate longer than any other member. Know what that means in real terms? He is POWERFUL.

The guy chairs the Appropriations Committee. And will do so as long as he sits in the Senate.

Know what that means, Mr. Dobson? It means that, for every cartload of money you send into West Virginia to defeat the senator, he will funnel an aircraft carrier full of government pork into his state to employ people and build bureaucratic projects! There's a $7.5 million federal installation going in two miles from my sister's comfy home in Falling Waters. And that's small potatoes.

Perhaps I shouldn't use Sis as an example. She'll be the one person in West Virginia who votes for Dobson's candidate. She likes those family values white men.

Far be it from me to offer advice to Dobson and his "Focus on Fatality." But there's a far more vulnerable senator who sees things just Dobson's way, but who lives in a state full of liberals, poor people, unemployed union laborers, and working mothers without health insurance.

That senator's name is Rick Santorum.

It's early to offer political endorsements, but we here at "The Gods Are Bored" have this to say:

1. Robert Byrd for Emperor.

2. Rick Santorum should stay home and raise his children. Full-time.

So might it be!

ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS (GUESS WHAT STATE?)

Missionary Position

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we cover all the hot, sexy topics!

Just kidding. But we bet that title drew you in, eh?

Okay, if it's sex you're looking for, turn on the t.v. About the only channel that doesn't offer scads of it is ESPN. Oh, yeah. I forgot about the Catholic Network. Now that is fascinating viewing!

Here at "The Gods Are Bored," we try to be reverse missionaries.

Missionaries work like this. They arrive in some fine country that has its very own religion. They offer the people of that country goods and services the citizens might not have. In return, missionaries try to win souls for the religion they represent. Sort of a financial/spiritual quid pro quo.

One need only think of those shining examples, the United Methodists, who fly sick Africans to hospitals in light planes. Who's going to turn that offer down, even if it means deep-sixing Chonganda?

We at "The Gods Are Bored" would rather it worked this way. The missionaries arrive, they dole out their goods and services, and then they say, "Hey. Tell us about Chonganda! We want to learn about your awesome god! Convert us! And the missionaries go home to America or wherever with a richer view of the human race and its many ways of approaching the divine.

Oh no. This doesn't happen. Missionaries are fired with zeal for their true religion. They would never admit it, but they think the Africans they help are stupid and backward and in need of salvation.

Spare me.

Way too many gods and goddesses (especially goddesses) have been mown over like so much dried cornstalk by this sort of missionary activity. What have we lost? Untold spiritual wealth. Respect for others.

What have we reaped? Nut cases flying planes into tall buildings in return for virgins and shade in their male-run heaven.

What have we reaped? Christian churches that look and run like arenas, where pastors tell their flocks how to vote and encourage their faithful to mess in the lives of others (who are stupid and backward and need to be saved).

We here at "The Gods Are Bored" think this world needs a Revival.

We want to revive the rich cornucopia of religious views that once animated our ancestors and the ancestors of others. One True Religion? Okay, which one is it? What if it's Chonganda, and if you don't believe in Chonganda you go to hell?

Religion should not be run like warfare, where the missionary with the most money and services advances while the natives submit. It's just wrong. It's like allowing animals and plants to go extinct.

So there's the Missionary Position of "The Gods Are Bored." Variety is the spice of life ... and the afterlife.

BLESSED BE,
ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

November Oracle

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If it's time for a change, look to us. We'll find you a god or goddess, or both, to fill your needs.

Think of us as a Celestial Geiko.

Even Michelangelo couldn't resist the Delphic Oracle. Here, thanks to Wikipedia, is the great artist's rendering of that elusive fortune-teller of old. Isn't she stunning?

Would you have the courage to march up to her? Even to ask for the winning Powerball numbers? What if she said in return, "Here they are, but you are going to get snuffed by a savage Pathfinder on your way to the convenience store."

My dear husband and I are shivering with the prospect of complete job loss. But we don't want the Oracle to tell us what's ahead. We aren't that bloody brave.

However, barring the work of a savage Pathfinder, the Delphic Oracle predicts that "The Gods Are Bored" will cover the following hot topics in the month of November:

* Ahhh. A new month, a new Supreme Court nominee. We'll look at the positive ramifications of a completely conservative court, laden to the plimsol line with Judges of Faith.

*The goddess Asherah made a good point in our last entry. We have been meaning to visit with her and ask her about her husband, and how the divorce came about.

*Shhhhhhh! More conspiracy theories! More Knights Templar! Hidden treasure, undercover manipulation, who's pulling the strings? More positive press for the Knights of the Rosy Cross and their modern counterparts, the Masons, who started a country based on some radical principles...

*Intelligent Design. A Pennsylvania trial is winding down. As always, we'll find the little flaws in the Great Intelligent Blueprint. This month: How did Jesus get a Y chromosome?

*Focus on the Family. How one discerning teenager is reacting to the mega-church movement in America.

*Shop till You Drop - for heating fuel! We'll take a stroll with the Ghost of Christmas Future and see if the struggling Johnson family will have a goose for their Yuletide table ... or health insurance for Tiny Heir and Tiny Spare.

*A long-time favorite fantasy of Anne's: We'll fill the University of Michigan Stadium, capacity just about 100,000, with direct ancestors of Anne, generation by generation, in each seat. Then we'll visit various sections and chat with the ancient great-great-great-great-great to the 25th power grandmas. See what they have to say about bored gods, curing headaches, and fixing what's broken.

*READER RESPONSE TEAM: If you want us to engage our intellect on a topic, just ask! Thirty days has November, and that's a lot of time. Rock on with a comment!

FROM THE DELPHIC ORACLE

AND ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Bored Gods for Beth Stroud

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we celebrate diversity and invite people everywhere to re-connect with the gods and goddesses of their ancestors! Who knows? Maybe your ancestors had more sense than you do. Don't think knowing how to drive a car makes you smarter than the folks who built Stonehenge.

Wow! It is a veritable God-fest here today! There are so many bored gods here I can hardly move my fingers! Gods and goddesses from every culture, ancient and modern. From all parts of the world. From every conceivable deity conglomerate!

Why the sudden multiple visitation? We'll let Quetzalcoatl (shown above) explain:

Quetzalcoatl: First let me say I'm honored to be able to explain anything. I'm tired of being a pretty image on carved stone.

Anne: Take it away, honored Aztec.

Quetzalcoatl: A minister of the United Methodist Church, beloved by her congregation (and, I hear, quite adept with casseroles) was DEFROCKED because she told the truth and admitted that she was gay and in a "covenant relationship" with a woman. This dear pastor is OUT, in more ways than one. The Methodists claim their Rule Book prohibits practicing homosexuals from being ordained pastors, and changing the rule would alienate their conservative base.

Anne: Their conservative base? Oh, you mean the people who tithe big sums.

Quetzalcoatl: Exactly.

Anne: So why the big turnout of bored gods today? And excuse me, but Ixchel is supposed to bring ayahuasca when she comes. She forgot.

Ixchel: Sorry. I was in a rush, and I couldn't do a thing with my hair.

Quetzalcoatl: We bored gods are here to offer Beth Stroud alternative praise-and-worship teams that will accept her without discrimination. We hope she'll take us up on it, because how can she continue to serve a god who says in his writings that she's unfit for the task?

Anne: So we're having a Bored God Roll Call on behalf of Beth Stroud. Take it away, all you righteous deities!

Asherah (Ancient Israel): She can work for me. And by the way, Anne, when are you going to get around to my story?

Anne: Real soon, sweetie. Because your existence poses some big questions for the Judeo-Christian crowd. On with the Roll Call, please!

Rashnu (Ancient Middle East): I vote YEA.

Tiki (Marquessa Islands): Absolutely. Beth, come on down!

Chuchulainn (Ireland): Hey, what do you think? I'd like to have Christian Missionary on a Stick for breakfast every morning.

Tuatha-de-Danaan (British Isles): Beth, we offer an awesome heaven. Think about it.

Jade Emperor (China): You like the food, you like the god. Let's talk.

Ishtar (Ancient Babylon): No one has prayed to me in thousands of years. I'd welcome the attention.

Chonganda (Congo): Come along, Beth, and bring my African people with you.

Faro (Mali): Beth, you're brave. I like that in a person.

Eingana (Australia): Oy, mate. Down Under now, or Down Under later. Get my drift?

Quetzalcoatl (Mexico): I'm already on record as wanting Beth Stroud in my congregation.

Isis (Egypt): Those people who commissioned the Pyramids weren't in it for myth-making, dearie. Stop by!

Akka (Finland): There's nothing cold about my team.

Inti (Peru): Live high in the sky, look the birds in the eye. Welcome, Beth. Welcome!

Ixchel (Guatemala): Sorry I forgot the hallucinogens. But don't let that scare you away, Beth. You don't have to drink tea to see me!

Freya (Norway): All right, my pantheon argues a lot. We could use a sensitive mediator. How about it, Beth?

Sedna (Arctic): Save my Wildlife Refuge! You can do it, Beth!

Thunderbird: Sssssssssssssssssssss. Woosh!

Anne: Oh, god (pardon my phraseology). Even Zeus wants a word.

Zeus: I'll take her if she's cute.

Queen Brighid the Bright: You'd think he'd learn something in 2000 years. Beth Stroud, I have jars of jam older than Jesus. Come home to Mama, darling, and take comfort in my embrace.

Zeus: Hey, where's my hurricane? It's no fair! Alpha and Beta my ass!

Anne: Stay on topic.

Beth Stroud, the same kind of mindset that used the Bible to condone and expand the enslavement of Africans is now being used to keep you out of the pulpit. And sorry, but it's based on the scriptures in that perpetually perplexing Bible. Oh, woe to the Pharisees of the United Methodist Church! They face a reckoning.

Mr. Applegate: I'll see to that.

PEACE TO YOU ON ALL GODS DAY,

ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Thanks to mundodesconocido (a Jesus site) for the portrait of Quetzalcoatl.

Thanks to the hilarious http://www.godchecker.com for alerting the bored gods! Don't stop reading me when you see this site!

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