BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

When I was in high school I was a member of the Drama Club. We studied the fine art of acting, performed skits, and even put on plays. It was fun. As I’ve aged, however, drama has morphed into something else entirely, and I don’t find it fun in the least. I think you probably know the drama to which I refer. If you don’t then I envy you, because that means you haven’t been touched by it.

Now, I will grant you, sometimes this drama is amusing, but only in a really sad sort of way. Unfortunately, there are folks in the world who are addicted to strife. And, when I say addicted I mean it. So much so that if there isn’t any drama in their lives they will manufacture some in order to feed their need. Some of the worst offenders are what the pagan community refers to as “Fluffy Bunnies”.  In short, a “Fluffy Bunny” or “Fluff Bunny” is someone who is unwilling to accept that there is anything other than goodness and light in paganism. For them, any deviation from that is inherently wrong and evil. Whenever threatened by factual information that is not contained within the three chapters of the particular book they skimmed before declaring themselves High Priest/ess Aluminum Fairy Poo, they instantly launch into their mantra, “Persecution! Help, I’m being persecuted!”

You might think I am kidding, but unfortunately I am not. Granted, there are some other nuances and complexities to the bunnies, but the above is the overall gist.

Of course, fluff bunnies, like their Hassenpfeffer bound cousins, multiply at an alarming rate. One theory is that they do this because cutting up big ol’ fat lines of drama on a mirror and sucking it up through Monopoly money isn’t any fun if you are all by yourself. Therefore, these cotton tailed drama junkies will invite their friends into the mix, and before long you have a “drama house” on your block, complete with strung out dramaheads propped up against the wall, sucking on a drama pipe. Others will be passing a blimped out drama doob around the circle, getting all excited when a drama seed pops and shoots across the room. The really hardcore “fluffy thespians” are usually in the back, cooking up drama in a spoon over a goddess candle then mainlining it.

Now, this would be just fine if the drama was contained to the drama house, but it just never seems to stay there for long. Especially with the Internet at their disposal. Add social networking to the mix and you have yourself a drama pusher’s wet dream.

Case in point:

The Lost Abbey Witch’s Wit beer controversy.

If you haven’t heard about this, good for you. Once again, I envy that. But, being a part of the Pagan community – whether I self-identify as a Pagan or not (that’s a whole ‘nother blog), I get to hear about it. I even get invited to join the crusade.

In a nutshell, this Microbrewery in California puts out a seasonal selection called Witch’s Wit – “Wit” being a style of beer, specifically a Belgian Wheat Ale with fruit zests and spices added. A mainstream beer example – as much as it pains me to mention an AB product here – would be the Bud Light Wheat. While I haven’t sampled the Port Brewing/Lost Abbey Wit, I’m sure that it is far superior to the Bud Light. Craft beers always are… But, I digress…

The label on the bottle of Witch’s Wit features a rendering of a woman being burned at the stake while the nondescript faces of the crowd watch on. The text about the beer goes on to tell the “back story” behind the beer with tongue-in-cheek dark satire., highlighting the fact that such atrocities were just that, atrocities. The artwork is purposely surreal and the verbiage purposely over the top. While I will concede that someone with a condition such as Asperger’s Syndrome may be incapable of recognizing satire right off the bat, logic dictates that a company that is selling beer is not highly likely to publicly advocate burning people at the stake.

However, leave it to the drama-seeking fluff bunnies to jump all over this.

It is their contention that Port Brewing/Lost Abbey is advocating just that – witch burning. (BTW – in the interest of historical accuracy, during the inquisition burning was reserved for heretics and martyrs. NOT witches. The fluffies don’t believe that, but then, if it isn’t contained in the three chapters of that one book, yadda yadda…)

In addition to advocating witch burning, apparently they are also advocating violence against women – due to the fact that it is a woman in the artwork who is tied to the stake. Just ask the fluff bunnies. They have some amazing insight when it comes to surreal artwork and satire. They can see things the rest of us cannot. Hell, they have amazing insight about everything. It may come as a surprise to you, but per a swarming mass of “fluffies” out there, I am evil. Why? Because the main character in my novels, Rowan Gant, is a Witch. Well, that doesn’t make sense, does it? After all, aren’t they Witches too? Well yes, but the thing is, you have to think like a fluffy bunny. You see, even though I portray Witchcraft and Paganism in an accurate and positive light in my novels,  I write murder mystery/suspense thrillers. Operative word there, murder.  Dying. Blood. Horribleness and stuff. Eww…

I have been informed – and continue to be informed on some bizarre, random schedule – that having a Witch associated with murder (even though he is solving the murder, NOT committing it) is wrong, wrong, WRONG! I am supposed to be writing novels about healing the earth, goodness, light, and fairy dust.

Who knew?

And, I hate to say it, but the above is not an exaggeration. Yeah. Scary, eh?

But, back to the beer…

The Fluff Bunnies have gone so far overboard this time that the whole controversy made it to the New York Times. Can you imagine that? The NYT did a feature story on a Microbrewed Beer all because of a bunch of drama junkies who were having a slow day.

So, here’s my take on it: Normally I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just sit by and ignore you cotton-tails while you suck down your your dime bag of drama, then wander off in search of more. However, since you have elected to get all ridiculous and bring a jaundiced eye to bear upon ALL Pagans with your lunacy,  you have effectively managed to contaminate the rest of us with your stupid. Therefore, I’m going to chime in out of self-preservation. Quit whining. Seriously. Quit friggin’ whining and and pull up your big kid undies. If you don’t like the label on the beer, then don’t buy it. Grow the f*ck up. There’s a movement among some folks right now to boycott Port Brewing/Lost Abbey. Well, if that’s your thing, go for it. There’s your course of action. Boycott. If it bothers you that much, don’t buy it. More power to you. Join the Boycott Lost Abbey group on Facebook. Invite your friends. Invite me if you want, although I will obviously decline. Suffice it to say, a rational reaction to your dislike doesn’t bother me in the least, and I say go for it.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any choice in the matter as far as the  actual, physical boycotting goes since they don’t sell their beer anywhere close to me. But trust me, if they did I’d go buy one. And after drinking it, if I liked it I’d go back and buy more. I happen to like Wit Ales, and I am also rational enough to get the joke – as well as the underlying dig at the religious body responsible for the atrocity.

My real problem with all of this comes from the bunnies who are demanding that they change the label and keep spouting rhetoric like “I can’t believe they are being allowed to persecute Pagans like this!”

Give me a break…

And stop lumping all Pagans into your hutch. Some of us have a clue, and you need to get one.

Get over yourselves. It’s a bottle of beer. I haven’t seen any of you protesting Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale. It’s been around for years, and it boasts right there on the label that it is “Tempered over burning witches.” Are THEY persecuting you too?

What about the “Flat Witch On The Door” Halloween decoration? What about MacBeth? Maybe we ought to dig up Shakespeare and give him a good talking to, ya’think? What about The Wizard Of Oz? Can’t have any green faced witches being melted by girls in gingham dresses – that’s just unacceptable!

Here’s a dose of reality: The only person(s) persecuting you is you and your ilk, because the more you run off at the mouth the more people are going to look at you like you’ve lost your ever loving mind. Fact is, you probably have, but that’s not something you want to go around broadcasting. Suck it up, don’t buy the beer, and get on with your life. Quit slandering the people, quit sending them emails calling them names, and quit demanding that they change something just because it doesn’t fit your myopic vision of the world – Gee… Sounds to me a lot like you’re the ones doing the persecuting.

Now, here’s my other issue with all of this – I was getting the nasty email from the bunnies long before this beer ever hit the market, so WTF?  Why am I getting left out in the cold? Apparently the bunnies have not raised a big enough stink about how evil I am, and how horrible my books are to portray a crime solving Witch, instead of a tree hugging, earth humping, crystal sucker.

So get on this stick, will ya’? I want some of that free publicity from the New York Times too…

More to come…

Murv

I am old enough to remember when “Mister President” wasn’t just an honorific from days long past for Jimmy Carter. What I mean by that is I was not only alive, but I was also functioning and capable of rational thought that went beyond strained green beans and pooping. In fact, I was in high school,  so I was more interested in irrational thought about the “little red haired girl” in the second row of my 5th hour creative writing class. Or was she a blonde? Brunette?

Well… We just won’t go there…

The thing is, I remember Jimmy Carter’s presidency, and oddly enough this blog has next to nothing to do with that. Then why mention it, you ask? Well, I said “next to nothing” not “absolutely nothing.” Confused yet?

You see, back when the smooth talking peanut farmer from Georgia was in office, lusting in his heart after beautiful women; and trying his damndest to get his brother to stop taking a leak on the tarmac at the airport in plain view of TV cameras – (after drinking two cases of his self-named signature beer, of course); and making concessions to save hostages, but that would undoubtedly guarantee him being only a 1 term president; and touring a nuclear facility that narrowly avoided a core meltdown; and having the White House mail room re-package and send back the red, white, and blue chainsaw a company had shipped to his daughter because she wanted one for Christmas…

Well, I think you get the point. As is usually the case with anyone occupying the oval office, the man couldn’t sneeze without it being on the evening news – and, on Saturday Night Live. Of course, this was back in the day when SNL was worth looking at, and Aykroyd did a great Carter.

So, where am I going with this?

Simple. Dave Barry.

Now you’re REALLY confused, right? Good…

You see, Dave Barry wrote a great column about having a colonoscopy. He took a somewhat gross topic and made it funny. I know, I know, you are still reeling and trying to figure out what this has to do with Jimmy Carter. Well, I’m not going to talk about a colonscopy. I’m still a year or so off before the insurance company will pay for my alien anal probe, so stop hurting yourself trying to make the connection. I am, however, going to talk about hemorrhoids. President Carter had himself a nasty case of them while in office and the news media jumped all over it. Of course, that simply led to SNL bending it over the desk and getting to know it in the biblical sense.

Thus far, my ‘roids have not made it to the news. Nor has any improvisational comedy troupe performed a skit around said affliction as it relates to a mid-list suspense-thriller author living in Saint Louis. I did, however, make an innocuous and roundabout comment about them on Facebook – the gist of that being that I needed something stronger than Preparation H.  No graphic details or descriptions. Not even a mention of the word “hemorrhoid”… Just, I need some Preparation I or J ’cause H ain’t cuttin’ it…

What did that get me? A whole lot of “TMI, DUDE!” comments.

Well, I’m not embarrassed to tell you that I’m a bit inflamed by this. I mean, it pretty much tells me that people don’t believe my ass is anywhere near as funny as Jimmy Carter’s, and that’s just constipated thinking. It also says that my ass isn’t as funny as Dave Barry’s, which sort of  pains me. Now, while I am willing to concede that Dave’s ass is pretty damned funny, my blog has actually been compared to his – and his column – so I would think my ass should be bleedin’ funny too. Trust me, I don’t have a swollen head about this. It just burns me a little. I know that it’s uncomfortable to sit here and talk about this, but as you can tell I’m itching to say something. Yes, I suppose a story like this is bothersome, but don’t shrink away from it and leave me dangling. That’s not soothing in the least.

You know, maybe it’s all just a matter of marketing. I think I’ll have my publicist contact the media when I schedule my hemorrhoid-ectomy. Maybe The Early Show will want to broadcast it live on TV, just like they did for Harry Smith’s colonoscopy…

I just hope the cameras don’t make my ass look too big.

More to come…

Murv