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.
'These Are Not the Druids You're Looking For'
Seriously? Stormtroopers? At Paganicon?
I'm hanging out in the Druid hospitality suite when the masked and armed trio shoulder in through the doorway, scanning the crowd. The room falls silent, like the cantina scene in (speaking of which) Star Wars.
Thank Goddess for precedent. I step forward.
“These are not the Druids you're looking for,” I tell the leader in his white Darth Vader mask.
He turns to his comperes.
“These are not the Druids we're looking for,” he tells them. “Let's keep searching.”
They turn and go. Behind me, the room erupts in laughter and applause.
Good old Paganicon. I've been wanting to use that line for years.
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Love. It.