In the leather community, we call it kennel cough. But since I picked it up at Mystic South after Thorn Mooney allegedly put a hex on me, I’m just going to call it The Crud, which kept me out of commission most of this past Sunday.
Fortunately, Mystic South is a three-day event, so I was able to hit a ton of awesome lectures and workshops on Friday and Saturday (Frater Aaron’s paper The Ecstatic Craft Hidden Within Grimm’s Fairy Tales being my personal favorite). My own presentation on Discordian Cosmogony was well-received, and I got my laptop hooked up to the projector without outside assistance or a panic attack, which totally felt like a win.
As did baptizing John Beckett into Discordianism. He’s going to be an epic pope. I can tell.
I even managed to be productive while recovering from Thorn’s baneful sorcery (thanks, Thorn), compiling all of the random conversational snippets I’d overheard and recorded throughout the weekend. And it is that Great Work which I humbly present below.
My Loyal Clutterbuckaroos, I give you the highly anticipated, 2024 master compendium of…
Things You Hear at Mystic South
“Millennial Gaia is the queer icon we all wanted.”
“It’s not actually traditional witchcraft unless you’re publicly suffering.”
“No wonder you’re worried about the hipster infestation.”
“I am 100% convinced that if I didn’t find Wicca when I did, I would be a furry today.”
“You are not burying any of those in my yard.”
“I killed a drifter. I’m such a Virgo.”
“The first time I met him, I fangirled all over him. And now I just yell ‘HAIL SATAN’ whenever I see him.”
“I’m a sweet potato filled with razor blades and trick’r treats.”
“You can absolutely pet my cow.”
“Festive maiming.”
“I’m pretty sure the secret to witchcraft is tea lights.” [collected by Laura Tempest Zakroff]
“Imagine the 4H kids from last night, but on horses. Which… I guess would also work for 4H.”
“If you have an entourage, and they’re all wearing the same T-shirt, that’s a waste of money.”
“Did they just, like, run out of Irish names?”
“Don’t think I won’t murder you. We talked about how to do it on the way here.”
“You can open the path to spooky, if that’s your thing.”
“It’s not that I’m a liar so much as I’m a weaver of tales and teller of dreams.”
“I’m emotionally vulnerable, so I’mma go talk to my editor.”
“She opened up about dolphins. Dolphins are a problem.”
“Two glasses of water: one for me, and one for the spirit of Gary Busey.”
“They are not your crows. They are your chaos goblins.”
“I’m just going to sit here and pretend I said yes.”
“Fire marshal? Have I got a scoop for you.”
“We’re in the Llewellyn Mafia. I invented the Llewellyn Mafia.”
“Listen, we all know that my UPG is the UPG.”
“I don’t think we’re baby witches. I think we’re just remembering who we are.”
“My pants saved me.”
And finally, in response to a very nice server who found herself smiling blankly at a table of Pagan authors, one of whom (Kelden, natch) had just said something so blasphemous that I can’t repeat it on Patheos:
“Buckle up, sister. It’s gonna get worse.”
Surprising no one except the server, it did. But we tipped really well, so it all worked out in the end.
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