Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Now Where Did I Put That Woad?
As the Block Watch meeting is breaking up, one woman asks: Does anyone on this block actually own a gun?
We all stand around like a bunch of shamefaced kids caught with our hands in the cookie jar. Just as I thought: we're all a bunch of pansy-ass South Minneapolis liberal wussies.
No wonder this is such a good place to live.
We talk available weapons. The folks with kids have baseball bats, and a couple of beanbag guns. Me, I've got a sword and a spear, neither of which I've ever used in anything but ritual contexts.
We laugh and head home to supper. Curfew doesn't start for a couple of hours yet. Deescalation is mostly the way we do things around here. Real violence is for cowards.
Still, you know what they say: the most powerful weapon of all is intimidation.
Well, this come to that, I suppose a middle-aged (but still fit) white guy with a spear, wild-eyed (not enough sleep) and (in these unbarbered days) wild-haired, stark naked and screaming his lungs out, might—if you overlook the sheer absurdity of it—strike some as intimidating.
Who knows? Maybe it really would work, even today.
Everyone knows that you don't wanna mess with the crazy guy.
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