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.
Big Red Guy: A True Story
A Tale of Thor?
The roads were slick that night. When my friend's car spun out and landed in the ditch, he knew he was in trouble.
The blizzard was getting worse. He was miles from anywhere. (This was B.C.: Before Cell.) The temperature was dropping fast, and the snow was piling up.
Help! thought my friend.
He hears the sound of an engine. Out of the swirling snow, a big red truck drives up, spins around, and stops.
The door opens. A big, red guy with a big, red beard gets out of the big, red truck. He doesn't say anything.
My friend didn't recognize him. This was strange. When you live in the country, you mostly know people.
The big, red guy still doesn't say anything. He chains the vehicles together, and gets back in his truck. He pulls my friend's car out of the snow-filled ditch.
He gets back out, unhooks the chain, and throws it in the back of the truck. Then he drives off into the snow.
He hasn't said a word the entire time.
When my friend gets home, he pours out an entire bottle of liquor in libation.
In the old days, it is said, Old Redbeard, Friend to Man, used to drive a chariot drawn by goats.
Maybe things are different these days.
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