Happy Eostre, Pagan Style

It’s Easter Sunday … the highest of high holy days for Christians.

But hold on a sec.  What about those of us who claim to be devout pagans?

Not the virginal sacrificing, body painting, blood curdling yellers who rush headlong into battle pagans.  Not them.  I’m talking about the fully clothed, rather quiet, and mostly normal nature worshipping pagans.

Just like every other warm blooded human, we live to celebrate spring.  We want to throw off our ancestral, horridly odiferous animal furs and stick our heads out of tents, caves, or mud-hut hovels.

We want to get up close and personal with the new moist dirt, romp screaming, yelling through the meadows … and whip up some homebrew for bad-assed parties.

That’s what we pagans do.  We celebrate.  Loud, full of piss and vinegar, and beverages that are mind altering.

All the “fun stuff of spring” comes from us pagans.


Take the Easter Bunny.

Straight from pagan lineage … good old Eostre, the northern goddess whose symbol was the hare.  Yep, that litter after litter bastion of fertility.  You know the old saying, “The rabbit habit.”

Now-a-days, I can’t go out and kill a rabbit without irate PETA people attacking me.  But I can sure as hell bite the head off a scrumptious chocolate bunny as a sign of mockery.

And speaking of scrumptious … those good old hot cross buns?  Religious leaders tried to stop the wild pagan women from sexing up their hubbies with those fantastic hot sticky buns.  Musta been the honey!

But the women, as women are wont to do, said, “Screw you,” to the religious leaders.  “We ain’t following.’  And we’re gonna forever bake our buns.”

So the clever religious leaders decided that if they can’t stop ‘em, they’ll “bless ‘em.”  And hot cross buns are now sacred … with a Christian symbol on each and every one to prove it.

And what about Easter eggs?

Hello … the exchange of eggs is as old as the Seven Hills of Rome.  Think fertility.  Rebirth.  New life.  The Easter egg is a celebration of life and prosperity.

Yep, it’s Easter … time to drink to the gods of your choice in the celebration of life.  So loosen up, yell and scream a bit, and go dye an egg or three.

Happy Easter to all, and to all … a good night!

Just sayin.’

When is a Foot not a Foot?

Americans love a good fight.  We fight each other and other countries.  We fight at beer parties, Palin family parties and in political parties.  We’ll fight over infinitesimal issues, world-wide issues, or no issues.

The sad “Trumpian” fact is … we love to brawl.

You might think our best fighters are the MMA guys and gals, pro-boxers or even the entertainment kings and queens of the WWE.

If you thought that, you’d be so wrong.

No one compares to those rabid Jack Russells of infighting … our Warriors of the Law.  Lawyers are voracious.  They latch onto unsuspecting victims and shake the bejesus out of them until their brains and  money crash to the ground.

And thanks to our “crack” lawyers, we now know that a foot is not a foot if it’s …


… a Subway sandwich.

OMG … not Subway again.  As if they didn’t have enough problems with Jared, their ex-spokesperson, in the lockup for a long-long time.

Yep, that Subway and leave it to our kings and queens of legal sparring to settle the existential question of the “not-12-inch Footlong.”

What?  The Footlongs I’ve been buying aren’t an effing foot long?  They’re not 12 inches long?

Isn’t a foot supposed to be 12 inches unless it’s attached to an ankle?

In a smashing legal victory, 10 men received the princely sum of $500 each as settlement for subpar Subways sold to them under the guise of being foot long Footlongs.

If my 4th grade arithmetic holds up, that’s a lousy $5000 in damages!

It was a tough case whined one of the attorneys … tough because the guys “ate all our evidence.” (In addition to being throat rippers, US attorneys are Oscar winning whiners.)

But wait a minute.  Someone – sure as my Subway ass is fat – collected on this landmark case because Subway had to pony up $520,000 in legal fees.  I’ll bet “dollars to foot long donuts” there’s a new partner in that law firm!

Okay … so Subway got caught shorting our bread.  Their defense?  It’s pulled by hand and that “accounts for the variability.”

And true to our harsh justice system, especially when dealing with multibillion dollar international corporations with mega-political clout, Subway has four effing years to comply.

What?  Four years to train people to measure 12 inches accurately and consistently!

I don’t know about you, but next time I order my foot long Footlong, I’m carrying a damn ruler!

Just sayin’.

“Wild Things” Ride Forever

In a nanosecond of self-reflection – rare for me – I ask, “What the bejesus have I learned in my many orbits around this wobbly earth?”

When I blip back to my own version of reality, I wonder if there’s anyone who gives a s**t?” … and if there is, do I dare offer what’s stuck in my deeply grooved very gray matter?

And, gods forbid (I’m an avowed Pagan and have lots of gods to mollify) will you hang-in to see if there’s any possible infinitesimal bit of relevance to your life?

Fortunately, I’ve learned very little.  So, it’s a short-short list.

And, most of life, mine in particular is … seriously absurd.


TRUTH:  The search for truth is greatly overrated … very hard work … an elusive and lonely pursuit.

I have yet to meet anyone who admits that the search for truth is their daily quest.  Nor have I met anyone who is thankful that a truth seeker has told them their “truth.”

FOOD:  If you count calories when you eat, then you’ve missed the primary purpose of food.

Food is entertainment.  Supposed to taste good.  Thrill your taste buds.  Entice you.  Sustenance is purely coincidental.

Pay no attention to the “food sufferers” lurking out there.

They manifest themselves as constant dieters and say things like, “I probably shouldn’t …” as they reach for more.  Or, “Just one more”… after they’ve eaten the “one more.”

FEAR:  If you’re not afraid, you’re a fool.  Even the coolest of the cool is afraid.

They think they’ve learned to conquer Maurice Sendak’s “Wild Things” hiding under their beds.  But, just like me, tucked somewhere beneath their super cool exterior, lies a mote of fear.

Face your fear and do it anyway … but only if it’s fun.

If it’s not fun, don’t do it … whether or not you’re afraid.

AGE:  I will always be a 10-year old boy.  I gave-up on maturity many years ago.  And that’s a good thing.

The bad news is, I no longer have a 10-year old body.  So when I get up each morning and feel like I’ve been in a car wreck, I remember:

I probably haven’t been in a car wreck …

Food will fix me up …

I should re-read my worn copy of Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are.”

And, live my life with the enthusiasm of a 10-year old, filled with fear, but still running to the fun.

Just sayin’.

GOP Faces Dump Trump D-Day Armageddon

NEWSFLASH … The GOP’s rapidly imploding soul is on life support!

Trump “sucks so much oxygen out of the room,” the GOP’s suffering from collective delusions of creating a Trump-Free Zone stretching from all 50 states to American Samoa and the great beyond.

After years of fertilizing the mutant egg that gave birth to Birther-Trump’s “Make America Great Again” campaign, they’re emitting a collective primal scream:

“The baby’s an abomination!  The baby’s the devil’s spawn!”

Now, the GOP’s facing their “Dump-Trump D-Day Armageddon.”

Get the cameras ready.  Tune into Reality TV that rivals Mad Max on steroids!


Scene 1 – Dump-Trump “STAT.”

Straight from the Grey’s Anatomy Operating Room of GOP Central, elite major donors and selected hand wringers twitch nervously with high hopes in the OR observation area.

“Here we go, 4-3-2-1 – we’re live!”

Under the glare of klieg lights they’re watching the GOP perform political abortion!

Surprise … it’s a “self-abortion” for the same group that coined the term “self-deportation” as a brain fart for solving their immigration problem.

Scene 2 – Dump-Trump “Comoediae Fatalis.”

Enter the stand-up acts to take down The Donald.

Rubio and his obviously crack-laced writers launch his post-election career in sophomoric political gutter humor.  Comedy Central’s bidding for the rights.

Not to be upstaged, The Food Network has Marco booked for a 13 week series featuring unique ways to “Carve ‘n Serve Flame Roasted Donald” … well done, of course.

NetFlix plans to launch a “Three Stooges Meets Mr. Trump” mini-series featuring Ted, Marco & John, complete with pie-in-the-face, “Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk” sound bites, nose pinches, and ear bites.

Scene 3 – Dump-Trump “Mittens Unleashed.”

The remake of Mitt 2012 stars an almost energized “Mittens” Romney eviscerating The Donald with surgical precision.

Diehard Mittenites have already named him the “Slice-n-Dice Romney-Matic.”

According to “Mittens,” The Trumpmeister is a schoolyard bully and a behaviorally arrested middle school, boy’s-bathroom-smoking-juveie-delinquent.  He’s a liar, a misogynist, a racist, a fraud, a sexual deviant, a sinner, and … would be a piss poor president.

Other than that, he’s “likeable enough.”

There’s just one problem with this Trump organ rejection. It ain’t gonna work.

Hey, Grand Old Party … get used to the mud, swamp gasses and gutters of Trumpdom.  It’s dirty.  It’s where he lives.  He loves it down there … and he’s suckin’ you down with him.

Just sayin’.