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.

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Actually, Just a Shower

Ah, the hazards of being pagan.

My friend is decrying overgrown vegetables. As by far the best cook in our group of guys, he's earned the right to opine.

“Best rule of thumb,” he says, “is never to eat a zucchini bigger than your own dick.” This gets him a laugh.

I ask the obvious question.

“Hard or soft?"

The two of us have known one another for years. We've been to lots of skyclad rituals together.

He grins.

“In your case, soft,” he says.

 

 

 

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Tagged in: phallus skyclad
Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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