It isn’t just Justice Kavanaugh. While back, some witches put the whammy on President Trump, too. Covens gathered, swapped tips on how to keep the purple from fading from their hair, mixed up some bat goo and newt spleen, then danced around in badly sewn homemade costumes chanting Orange Man Bad, Orange Man Bad, Organ Man Bad.
How’d that work out for them?
Had about the same effect as the dancing from the priests of Baal.
Remember that? Elijah (a.k.a. Elias) had the Baalians cut up a bullock and place it on a pile of dry wood. Elijah said he’d admit Baal was God if Baal would merely light the faggots. Everybody agreed to the plan. Baal’s priest cavorted all morning. No fire.
And when it was now noon, Elias jested at them, saying: Cry with a louder voice: for he is a God, and perhaps he is talking, or is in an inn, or on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep, and must be awaked.
So they cried with a loud voice, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till they were all covered with blood.
And after midday was past, and while they were prophesying, the time was come of offering sacrifice, and there was no voice heard, nor did any one answer, nor regard them as they prayed.
Nobody answered the Trump-hating witches, either. Fair is fair, foul is foul after all, and Trump kept his office.
Not learning from experience, or perhaps taking Elijah literally and believing their gods were on vacation, the Wart-nose Brigade tried again with Justice Brett Kavanaugh. This was after he donned his black robe. That concoction about him heading a boozer teenage gang-rape party club only sounded like an evil spell meant to keep him from the bench.
This time the wine-box ladies met at—it’s almost too precious, but I swear it is true—Catland Books.
Please join us for a publich [sic] hex on Brett Kavanaugh and upon all rapists and the patriarchy which emboldens, rewards and protects them. We will be embracing witchcraft’s true roots as the magik of the poor, the downtrodden and disenfranchised and it’s history as often the only weapon, the only means of exacting justice available to those of us who have been wronged by men just like him.
He will be the focal point, but by no means the only target, so bring your rage and and all of the axes you’ve got to grind. There will also be a second ritual afterward – “The Rites of the Scorned One” which seeks to validate, affirm, uphold and support those of us who have been wronged and who refuse to be silent any longer.
…I wasn’t there, but I can imagine they shook their piercings in rage, announced their pronouns, and ended by exposing their tattoos to frighten away any benevolent spirits and lovers of beauty. And…Toil and trouble and clicking makes double.