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.
The Realest Magic
You laugh. Go ahead. It doesn't change the truth of what I say.
Among the most potent of all magical tools is the clipboard.
Believe me when I tell you that with this clipboard in hand, I, middle-aged white guy, can go anywhere.
Anywhere.
With this in my hand, I could walk into the room where they keep all the money, and no one would stop me.
Not only would no one stop me, but they would avert their eyes as I did it.
You don't want to make eye contact with Clipboard Guy. You do not.
Invisibility, impunity, ability to instill fear: these are the powers bestowed by the magic clipboard.
Who needs a Hand of Glory?
You've got your pentacles, you're got your magic wands. For real power, give me a clipboard, any day of the moon.
As always, the realest magic is where you find it.
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There was a guy in the warehouse today. Vaguely familiar, I think I've seen him before, wearing a yellow safety vest and holding a clipboard. I don't know who he was or why he was there, but he was taking notes on his clipboard and everyone left him alone.