A Rant About a Lifestyle

World's Sexiest Wiccans Doing Stupid Wiccan Shit

I think that today I will do some lifestyle writing. There is a lifestyle that annoys the everliving fuck out of me. I mean it annoys me like one of those sneezes that won't quite manifest itself, or an itch under the thickest callous of my foot. A lifestyle so sanctimoniously pretentious that it claims heritage in ancient secret societies and cabals. I am talking of course about the lifestyle known as Wicca.

At the dawn of the twentieth century, a sexually repressed and repulsively ugly dyke named Margaret Alice Murray decided to ride the coat-tails of her superior male predecessors and stole their Witch-Cult Hypothesis. She then proceeded to scour records of European witch trials and compiled lists of 'covens', conveniently laying to one side numbers greater than 13 so she could add those extras to other 'covens' that had less than her favorite number. Using crotch cheese made from cultivating the yeasts from her unploughed twat, she glued this obvious fabrication to the 'horned god' that existed only in her imagination, doubtless inspired by double penetration fantasies since the cave art and drawings the skanky fraud cited did not contain horns.