Once a legitimate journalist and now a desperate attention-seeker, radio’s Bud Buck is more than willing to purposely misunderstand the details of an assignment if he thinks it leads to a more controversial story. There is almost always less to a breathless Bud Buck expose’ than meets the eye. Here’s the latest atrocity from his growing collection:
Strange Rituals Gain Foothold
In this week leading up to an annual sacred observance for a large section of the populace, I set out to find strange superstitions that represent the worrisome downside of our celebrated freedoms. In short, I was looking for weird religion – alarming rituals happening right under our noses.
The Faithful Form a Line
I didn’t have to look too far to discover what appears to be pagan worship of a mechanical God, the extremely loud and surprisingly portable deity “Shre-Dit”. Just this past Saturday, an impromptu ceremony sprang up in a local parking lot with loyal adherents lining up for the chance to make a sacrificial offering.
Legend has it that Shre-Dit has an insatiable hunger for human secrets.
The God must be fed large amounts of confidential information on a daily basis to maintain his strength.
Sacrificial Offerings
The ritual requires that the secrets be written on paper. During the ceremony the faithful form a line and bring their treasures to the high priest, who is literally above the masses – standing on a wheeled platform to receive offerings from the supplicants. This platform is entirely covered by a metal enclosure, which also hides the deity from direct public view.
The Incarnate Deity
But oh, can you hear him! A whirring, rumbling sound slowly rises as Shre-Dit prepares to accept tributes from his people. The offerings are made in boxes and bags. These sacrifices are flung into the open maw of Shre-Dit and when the secrets are accepted, a sharp, brittle buzz cuts through the air, like the sound of a million locusts leveling an acre of corn in an instant.
Joy is obvious on faces of the supplicants as their classified documents are transformed into sacred confetti.
Why do they do it? I asked some of the faithful to describe their motivation for participating in this bizarre ceremony.
Secret Keepers About to Become Unburdened Through Ritual Sacrifice
“I pray that I can keep my identity intact,” said one adherent who asked that her name not be used.
“I don’t want anyone else to try to become me,” added another who insisted his photographic image be distorted to prevent loss of privacy.
“I’m here to prevent the total theft of everything that makes me who I am, or who I ever hope be,” shouted a third, who tried to wrestle my camera away from me and kicked me in the shins several times.
Apparently Shre-Dit is seen as a protector against complete loss of one’s essential self. If he is even marginally successful at this, that would make Shre-Dit a very potent God indeed.
Re-constituted Sacred Confetti About to Return to Shre-Dit With More Secrets
But there’s more! After the consumption ceremony, the secrets are said to undergo another phase of transformation, eventually being re-incarnated as more pieces of paper that will someday be able to hold new secrets that may eventually be tossed once again into the open metallic jaws of the ravenous Shre-Dit!
I was deeply impressed by the faith of those who brought offerings to the parking lot shrine this past Saturday. They stood in the wind and withstood unseasonably cold temperatures to nourish their mysterious mechanical protector, and to keep their very selves from being lost – forever. But will they reap real rewards for their efforts, or is this just another Strange Superstition?
Time will tell! This is Bud Buck!
Like I say, I think Bud misinterpreted what he saw. But who wants to hear a story about an ordinary shred-a-thon for people’s ordinary financial records? Especially when it’s so easy to think outrageous, surreal things about other people!
Have you participated in, or observed, puzzling rituals?
Morning all. I’m sure from Bud Buck’s point of view, I’ve probably been involved in lots of strange rituals. From my own point of view, sleeping out all night on the hard concrete outside the Southdale Daytons to purchase Bon Jovi tickets is right up there. (My then 14-year-old sister was coming to visit and I thought she would enjoy the concert.) Can’t wait to hear everybody’s else’s stories today!
I just witnessed such a ritual last night–wallet molting. Is this a strange wallet mating ritual? Spring changing of a coat? My husband sits at his computer desk, gazing at his monitor screen, swearing. A pile of paper receipts grows and grows at the side of his desk chair. Then he says:
“I haven’t done this since January. It got away from me.” Then another bout of swearing, invoking the money god’s name.
Then I mock him, saying, “You know if you look at it everyday, and check off your checks and charges, you don’t have to go through this. The bank posts these everyday.”
Then he stands over the shredder destroying the wallet detritis.
Each morning I stand before the small altar to the great god Kaw-phee. The god Kaw-Phee prefers a brown ground substance for its offering. This ground offering is combined with water, the source of all life. A button is pressed to send the offering to Kaw-Phee, who in her benevolence, returns a warm caffeinated beverage that helps her adherents remain alert throughout the day (especially during long meetings). Along with my home altar, Kaw-Phee also has larger temples and public altars wherever you go. She is a loving and powerful god.
I should add, there are some adherents to the god Kaw-Phee that also worship the demi-gods Lah-Tay and Kappoo Chino. Worship of these demi-gods involves an additional ritual with milk, causing the milk to squeal with delight as it is offered up to its demi-gods.
the star of trib is a fleeting moment doomed to follow kodak in the memories of the way things were. i will miss intellegence on the planet, but it doesn’t sell. caffine and fox are the alters we gather round in sustainable numbers.
i have observed a ritual among men where they gather round a table or a fire and begin speaking in loud voices calling out to the idol mohar beeher. they have young waifs in short skirts and full cleavage bring them nectar where they pay homage to the diety. as the ritual goes on they seem to become so taken with the feeling that over comes them that they go into fits and begins speaking in tounges. the voices become louder and less understandable but the chant grows stronger and the throngs grow as the evening goes on. everyone seems to know where these meetings will take place. they are small dark rooms surrounded by glowing lights with images of sports figures and neon glowing alters spurring them to the summit and to the gods sam adams and corona. some become overtaken by the majesty of it all and need to be helped to the porcelin throne where they make a special offering that gives back to their god. as they leave at the end of the ritual they seek out the agnostic among them to get them safely back to their real lives. odd.. very odd
I have been to some of there meeting places you describe, tim. Usually there are a few people who seem to spend most of the night engaged a pull tab ceremony at these meeting places. By the end of the night the pull tab users often have a big pile of opened pull tabs lying around them. These piles of opened tabs serve to break their fall when they tumble off there stools due to consuming excessive amounts of the nectar.
Completely OT. I saw my first cardinal on my newest bird feeder this morning. Got the new feeder on Saturday, after last week’s bird stories inspired me — filled it up yesterday afternoon w/ sunflower and safflower seeds. Woo hoo!!!!!
I have a ritual I call the spilling of the red wine where I manage to spill a glass of red wine at a family gathering. I did this twice and now I am being discouraged from continuing this ritual. The marking of the white rug with the sacred wine was not appreciated. I tried to start a similar ritual at a meeting by spilling a glass of beer. Now I am getting many reminders about my beer spilling act and I am having trouble establishing a beer spilling ritual.
I had another ritual which is posting duplicate comments on this blog. I hope I haven’t done that this morning.
I discovered that I practice a weird religion in just that way. When I spilled for the third time in a couple of months at a party without knowing why or how, I did some study and found a set of rituals called fibromyalgia, which includes having required periods of dropping things, bumping into things, tripping, usually in public and embarrassing moments. So I have switched to practicing in secret and remaining as much as possible on retreat.
My wine and beer spilling activities have been accepted by some people around me as an interesting aspect of my personality. Clyde, perhaps there are people, I’m the babooners are included, that would not be too worried about your sacred spilling activities and see some humor in this ritual that you sometimes practice.
My father was also a practitioner of these sacred rituals. A sage associated with the ritual advised to add salt to the outpouring of the wine to appease the priestesses who guard the sacred tapestries. Club soda is also sometimes used I understand. We were able to limit our father’s practice of this ritual by providing his chosen beverage in a low tumbler-type glass (all stemmed glasses or tall pilsner-style glasses became off-limits) – this seemed to reduce the offerings he provided, and all were pleased.
Strange rituals abound in state government, particularly in budget time. We budget every two years, here in ND, First there is the “Let’s pretend things are bad, so make a budget for 3% less than you have now.” Then there is the “Well, we won’t need that reduced budget since revenue is up. Come up with another budget, and throw in a new building for your agency, just in case.” The new building never materializes, but the planning was fun. The legislature has many rituals that involve threatening to cut benefits of state employees and then restoring benefits, but not without dire predictions of doom and gloom for the populace because state employees, who, in my state, are paid about 20% less than comparable workers in the private sector, somehow are living on easy street. Then there are the educational bills, which were really fun this year. A group of second graders from Kenmare decided that the ladybug needed to be the state insect, and dressed up like ladybugs and sang a ladybug song for the legislature, who then declared the ladybug the state insect. A group of Latin students from Fargo also got the legislature to agree on a Latin motto for the state that had something to do with preserving what we have now for the future.
I should explain that when I referred to educational bills, I was referring to those bills that the Legislature uses to teach young North Dakotans how the legislative process works. Bills for the Dept of education were not much fun this year, in contrast.
One of the silliest practices that used to have near-religious significance for me was participating in The Fishing Opener. On a day in early May, usually chosen to coincide with Mother’s Day so participants knew observing The Fishing Opener was crushing the heart of the woman who brought them into this world. Which we did anyway.
One observes the Fishing Opener by traveling long distances trailering a boat, living in a motel for three or four days, spending hundreds of dollars on such things as licenses, gas and bait and then fishing in miserable weather for as many hours as one’s body will take. The dirty little secret about The Opener is that it is reliably the single worst day of fishing in the year, and yet tradition trumps common sense every year.
Just listened this morning to Kevin Kling talking about the fishing opener and sitting in the cold boat, vowing that the fish will PAY for what they’re doing to your mother!
Just a few years ago, Minnesota had no more identity than, “Minnesota? Hmmm . . . it gets kinda cold there, doesn’t it?” Now we have both Kevin Kling and Garrison to sketch out some of the subtle shades of the MN character.
Last week I gathered up a few years of secrets to be sacrificed, put them in a black plastic bag.
Before setting off to the sacrificial altar at my local Awe Ficem Ax (apparently we eschew the use of buzz saws here, being as we are surrounded by Amish, Hutterites, ans Mennonites) , I measured my contribution at about 30 pounds, measured only with a cheap–and only rarely used–bathroom scale. But when I placed it on the scale at their altar, it had shrunk to only 14 pounds. “Wow,” I thought, “a warp in the space/weight continuum.”
Then I thought perhaps they were using a heathen unit of measure practiced across the sea and then reluctantly north of Renee. But they assured my otherwise, despite the more than obvious numerical coincidence and the heft of the offering (for there is a god in Mankato after all). So I made no further theological debate and placed the lower monetary tithe in their collection plate.
I regularly participate in one of the strangest, most addictive rituals of all–smashing a little white ball around a green space with a collection of lethal-looking tools in an attempt to propel said ball into eighteen widely-spaced small holes in the fewest number of smashes.
Nirvana is reached if less than seventy-two hits are needed. Peace comes with less than eighty smashes being used. Ninety swings or less yields a mix of unworthiness and frustration at not being able to reasonably master the mantra ‘mind over matter’. If more than one hundred flailings are needed, this disciple goes over to the dark side.
I’ve been involved in this ritual and I think you describe it accurately, but I’ve never seen anyone achieve anything that could be called “peace”. Ever.
i was told that the origin of that ritual when formed in scotland was to partake in the native scotch whiskey at a rate of 1 jigger ( 1 1/2 oz) per hole. the decision to make 18 the correct number of holes was arrived at by the hole that you ran out of whiskey in a quart bottle. ah those hearty scotsmen. ill bet the scores were a little higher then as were the golfers
You are correct, Tim, although the measurement was based on a fifth of scotch whiskey (minor point). That’s the legend. All I can say is thank goodness the 1.75 liter bottle hadn’t been invented back then, or a round of golf would be about 40 holes!
The snow gods are continuing their Spring ritual of lulling us into a false sense of complacency and then tricking us. We are to have up to four inches tomorrow, after the three we had yesterday. Sigh! I am ready for this ritual to end, but I probably have to wait until the middle of May to really know that Spring has come.
we Goat Ladies were just talking about whether Spring would ever get here, Renee – but in terms of how much hay we’ve purchased recently. an optimist in the group brought in 4 bales, thinking there would be green browse by the time those bales were gone. i brought in 30 bales last thursday – sounds very pessimistic but i do feed some hay in summer also. my ritual is to always do more to prepare and not under do because that will jinx the outcome. so get out your snowboots, shovels, ice picks, and fill your propane tank. then maybe you won’t need any of that soon!
I’m not feeling very clever this morning. In fact woke up with a headache and feeling like I would be playing ‘Grumpy’ all day.
But things are looking up. Made a new friend at Menards this morning, spent some year end money (that might be a ritual I suppose) and now home to see if I can get some farming done before the next snowstorm. And I suppose that’s a ritual too-
“… to see if I can get some farming done before the next snowstorm” when said by a woman who woke up with a headache pretty much perfectly describes what is special about the upper midwest.
Have a great day, Barb!
Ha! I got my agriculturalists crossed. Speed reading without comprehension again. Sorry. Ben and Barb!
In the best political tradition – “I’m sorry if you found my comments offensive, and I apologize to everyone who failed to understand what I really meant.”
yeah – i haven’t had a headache since my friend and i drank 3 bottles of wine one night about 7 years ago. 🙂 i went to work the next day and they all thought i was ill because it was so out of character for me to be hung over. but i fessed up.
Ben???
I think it’s the lack of Code Red Mt. Dew and Snickers this week that’s giving me a headache…
Good news is I did get some oats planted, ground worked up and a few more trees pushed off the edges of fields. Plus, preemptively pushed some trees over that looked like they would fall across the road with 8″ of wet snow on them…………….
I’d somehow forgotten the cooking ritual called “Sacrifice to the Floor God.” Every time I chop vegetables for cooking, I manage to drop at least one piece on the floor. If I’m very lucky, it’s not the thing I’m short of nor the most expensive ingredient (greek olives, artichoke hearts, shiitakes, etc.). If I wait until I’m finished and about to wash dishes to pick it up, all will be well; if I pick it up when it falls, inevitably I will drop several bits the second time. This is a separate sacrifice to the Fingernail Sacrifice, in which I also, inevitably, cut into or gouge a fingernail with the chopping knife. Not, fortunately, the finger itself, but at least once a week I have to retrim my nails after making a meal. Probably I should sharpen my knife, but you’ll understand why I’m a bit hesitant!
I got a new knife about a year ago – the first six months or so it seemed that the knife required blood sacrifice at each use. I think I have provided enough sacrifice now that it is appeased as it has not required new sacrifice since sometime around the winter solstice.
My sister-in-law sacrificed a finger tip to the God of Artichoke Dip. She felt it was best to share the sacrificial Artichoke Dip with the rest of the family… 😦
CG – you need some additional attendants for your ritual sacrifice. My two attendants for this sacrifice wear their traditional fur garments and ritually clean the floor long after the dropped item has been swallowed up!
Where you have mere fur coated attendents, we have a high priestess (don’t let the diminutive size deceive you), who inspects all offerings to the Kitchen Floor deity, and accepts only those which are deemed worthy.
Ha ha… our diminutive shaman doesn’t deign to grace the kitchen floor during cooking, although he is required to check out every glass and/or cup of beverage to see if it might be the holy white beverage!
the ritual between my keeper of the critters and the critters themselves is a wonder to behold. on occasion i am in the offering area prior to the offerings having been made and the keepers of the flame wait with great anticipation for the priestess of alpo and purina to grace the holy space with the sacred can opener and heal their heathen demons by assulting them with demon killers form the cann and the bag.
they see me and anticipation turns to naught for the keeper of the crittters is not one who can be easily replaced or affection transferred. i do cast flakes upon the water of the aquariums to feed the multitudes but this is a vastly different occurance than the dry land critters.
Very cleaver today, Dale and Babooners! Husband and I are about to embark on our Water Ritual, in which we load 40 plastic reusable sacred vessels (1-gallon each) into our chariot and drive to the hallowed Miller Spring (in Eden Prairie) to pay homage to that great Fresh Water god and receive the anointed beverage. The god allows us to fill as many vessels as we can carry, yea to overflowing. Other parts of the ritual include waiting in line for the supplicants before us, and participating in this conversation:
Other Homage Payer: You’ve got a lot of bottles!
We: Yes, we come from Robbhinsdale and only get here about every 6 weeks.
OHP: This is the best water I’ve ever tasted.
We: Yep, wouldn’t go this far for anything less…
…etc.
i was in sams this weekend and thye offer a 4 gallon jug with water for 4 dollars you keep the jug. may make life simpler. if so let me know and i’ll grab you a couple. you can pour the water out and just use the jugs for 4 dollars.
Nice idea, tim, but those 4- and 5-gallon vessels are just to heavy for us to easily deal with. We have some good sturdy boxes that each hold 6, so it’s not as unwieldy as it sounds…
I just completed the paying of tackses at the last minute possible. Doing it online is not as dramatic as handing the forms to the postal acolytes at midnight. I even got a refund but still had to do it on the prescribed last day.
Congratulations, Beth-Ann.
You finished with hours to spare!
I wonder if the post office folks have noticed a slacking off of traffic on the last day. Is there still a midnight crush?
Trail Baboon 
Morning all. I’m sure from Bud Buck’s point of view, I’ve probably been involved in lots of strange rituals. From my own point of view, sleeping out all night on the hard concrete outside the Southdale Daytons to purchase Bon Jovi tickets is right up there. (My then 14-year-old sister was coming to visit and I thought she would enjoy the concert.) Can’t wait to hear everybody’s else’s stories today!
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Rise and Shine Baboons:
I just witnessed such a ritual last night–wallet molting. Is this a strange wallet mating ritual? Spring changing of a coat? My husband sits at his computer desk, gazing at his monitor screen, swearing. A pile of paper receipts grows and grows at the side of his desk chair. Then he says:
“I haven’t done this since January. It got away from me.” Then another bout of swearing, invoking the money god’s name.
Then I mock him, saying, “You know if you look at it everyday, and check off your checks and charges, you don’t have to go through this. The bank posts these everyday.”
Then he stands over the shredder destroying the wallet detritis.
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Each morning I stand before the small altar to the great god Kaw-phee. The god Kaw-Phee prefers a brown ground substance for its offering. This ground offering is combined with water, the source of all life. A button is pressed to send the offering to Kaw-Phee, who in her benevolence, returns a warm caffeinated beverage that helps her adherents remain alert throughout the day (especially during long meetings). Along with my home altar, Kaw-Phee also has larger temples and public altars wherever you go. She is a loving and powerful god.
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I should add, there are some adherents to the god Kaw-Phee that also worship the demi-gods Lah-Tay and Kappoo Chino. Worship of these demi-gods involves an additional ritual with milk, causing the milk to squeal with delight as it is offered up to its demi-gods.
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Ha ha ha!
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I worship the same god, Anna, but do it by making offerings of liquids. So religious am I that often I make my liquid contributions twice an hour.
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very cleaver, Anna!
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I also worship thee O’ Kappoo Chino. My ritual also includes the mighty Star of Trib.
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the star of trib is a fleeting moment doomed to follow kodak in the memories of the way things were. i will miss intellegence on the planet, but it doesn’t sell. caffine and fox are the alters we gather round in sustainable numbers.
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i have observed a ritual among men where they gather round a table or a fire and begin speaking in loud voices calling out to the idol mohar beeher. they have young waifs in short skirts and full cleavage bring them nectar where they pay homage to the diety. as the ritual goes on they seem to become so taken with the feeling that over comes them that they go into fits and begins speaking in tounges. the voices become louder and less understandable but the chant grows stronger and the throngs grow as the evening goes on. everyone seems to know where these meetings will take place. they are small dark rooms surrounded by glowing lights with images of sports figures and neon glowing alters spurring them to the summit and to the gods sam adams and corona. some become overtaken by the majesty of it all and need to be helped to the porcelin throne where they make a special offering that gives back to their god. as they leave at the end of the ritual they seek out the agnostic among them to get them safely back to their real lives. odd.. very odd
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I have been to some of there meeting places you describe, tim. Usually there are a few people who seem to spend most of the night engaged a pull tab ceremony at these meeting places. By the end of the night the pull tab users often have a big pile of opened pull tabs lying around them. These piles of opened tabs serve to break their fall when they tumble off there stools due to consuming excessive amounts of the nectar.
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i have not partaken in that one more than a time or two. but the padding sounds good.
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Completely OT. I saw my first cardinal on my newest bird feeder this morning. Got the new feeder on Saturday, after last week’s bird stories inspired me — filled it up yesterday afternoon w/ sunflower and safflower seeds. Woo hoo!!!!!
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That cardinal is engaging in a very old ritual, so you are not off topic at all.
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always on topic – beauty and joy. congrats
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Good morning ro all:
I have a ritual I call the spilling of the red wine where I manage to spill a glass of red wine at a family gathering. I did this twice and now I am being discouraged from continuing this ritual. The marking of the white rug with the sacred wine was not appreciated. I tried to start a similar ritual at a meeting by spilling a glass of beer. Now I am getting many reminders about my beer spilling act and I am having trouble establishing a beer spilling ritual.
I had another ritual which is posting duplicate comments on this blog. I hope I haven’t done that this morning.
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I discovered that I practice a weird religion in just that way. When I spilled for the third time in a couple of months at a party without knowing why or how, I did some study and found a set of rituals called fibromyalgia, which includes having required periods of dropping things, bumping into things, tripping, usually in public and embarrassing moments. So I have switched to practicing in secret and remaining as much as possible on retreat.
LikeLike
My wine and beer spilling activities have been accepted by some people around me as an interesting aspect of my personality. Clyde, perhaps there are people, I’m the babooners are included, that would not be too worried about your sacred spilling activities and see some humor in this ritual that you sometimes practice.
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Surely not on thy sacred tapestries. Monsanto forbid. The permanency of my one of past offerings still lives in proof.
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i am lucky i refer white wine. even when my lip leaks it doesn’t show
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My father was also a practitioner of these sacred rituals. A sage associated with the ritual advised to add salt to the outpouring of the wine to appease the priestesses who guard the sacred tapestries. Club soda is also sometimes used I understand. We were able to limit our father’s practice of this ritual by providing his chosen beverage in a low tumbler-type glass (all stemmed glasses or tall pilsner-style glasses became off-limits) – this seemed to reduce the offerings he provided, and all were pleased.
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the beer helmet offered at some sporting events where the helmet has two beers as horns and a drinking tube reduces the drippiga on the tapestries but out at the ball alter who cares
http://www.drinkingstuff.com/drinkingstuff_hats_belts_ds0392.htm
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Strange rituals abound in state government, particularly in budget time. We budget every two years, here in ND, First there is the “Let’s pretend things are bad, so make a budget for 3% less than you have now.” Then there is the “Well, we won’t need that reduced budget since revenue is up. Come up with another budget, and throw in a new building for your agency, just in case.” The new building never materializes, but the planning was fun. The legislature has many rituals that involve threatening to cut benefits of state employees and then restoring benefits, but not without dire predictions of doom and gloom for the populace because state employees, who, in my state, are paid about 20% less than comparable workers in the private sector, somehow are living on easy street. Then there are the educational bills, which were really fun this year. A group of second graders from Kenmare decided that the ladybug needed to be the state insect, and dressed up like ladybugs and sang a ladybug song for the legislature, who then declared the ladybug the state insect. A group of Latin students from Fargo also got the legislature to agree on a Latin motto for the state that had something to do with preserving what we have now for the future.
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I should explain that when I referred to educational bills, I was referring to those bills that the Legislature uses to teach young North Dakotans how the legislative process works. Bills for the Dept of education were not much fun this year, in contrast.
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I have been known to refer to my time in the darkroom as ‘photo voodoo’ and ‘making sacrifices to the Kodak gods.’
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those poor kodak gods are seeing their flocks flee to the god of edownload and picassa. the latin is gone and now the celluloid as well.
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One of the silliest practices that used to have near-religious significance for me was participating in The Fishing Opener. On a day in early May, usually chosen to coincide with Mother’s Day so participants knew observing The Fishing Opener was crushing the heart of the woman who brought them into this world. Which we did anyway.
One observes the Fishing Opener by traveling long distances trailering a boat, living in a motel for three or four days, spending hundreds of dollars on such things as licenses, gas and bait and then fishing in miserable weather for as many hours as one’s body will take. The dirty little secret about The Opener is that it is reliably the single worst day of fishing in the year, and yet tradition trumps common sense every year.
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Just listened this morning to Kevin Kling talking about the fishing opener and sitting in the cold boat, vowing that the fish will PAY for what they’re doing to your mother!
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love kevin kling
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Just a few years ago, Minnesota had no more identity than, “Minnesota? Hmmm . . . it gets kinda cold there, doesn’t it?” Now we have both Kevin Kling and Garrison to sketch out some of the subtle shades of the MN character.
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What show was he on? I’ll bet it was a story from his “The Dog Says How”… 🙂
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Barbara, you are right about that book. It is wonderful. Alas, “Tales From the Burnt Yule Log” isn’t nearly as good.
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You are correct, BiR… right in the middle of “The Dog Says How”.
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Last week I gathered up a few years of secrets to be sacrificed, put them in a black plastic bag.
Before setting off to the sacrificial altar at my local Awe Ficem Ax (apparently we eschew the use of buzz saws here, being as we are surrounded by Amish, Hutterites, ans Mennonites) , I measured my contribution at about 30 pounds, measured only with a cheap–and only rarely used–bathroom scale. But when I placed it on the scale at their altar, it had shrunk to only 14 pounds. “Wow,” I thought, “a warp in the space/weight continuum.”
Then I thought perhaps they were using a heathen unit of measure practiced across the sea and then reluctantly north of Renee. But they assured my otherwise, despite the more than obvious numerical coincidence and the heft of the offering (for there is a god in Mankato after all). So I made no further theological debate and placed the lower monetary tithe in their collection plate.
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thou should step up on that scale thyself . it would make thoust feel better abuot thy weight issues.
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Another ritual I have been practicing is sacred use of misspelled words and typos. I am a follower of the leader in the practice of this ritual, tim.
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whatchutalkinbout jim
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i think you kno, tim
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I regularly participate in one of the strangest, most addictive rituals of all–smashing a little white ball around a green space with a collection of lethal-looking tools in an attempt to propel said ball into eighteen widely-spaced small holes in the fewest number of smashes.
Nirvana is reached if less than seventy-two hits are needed. Peace comes with less than eighty smashes being used. Ninety swings or less yields a mix of unworthiness and frustration at not being able to reasonably master the mantra ‘mind over matter’. If more than one hundred flailings are needed, this disciple goes over to the dark side.
Chris
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That is a cult, an insidious cult. If you become the head priest of that cult, apparently have complete access to vestal non-virgins.
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I hear that as you work your way up through the priesthood, you must wear increasingly colorful garments to indicate your rank in the cult.
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I’ve been involved in this ritual and I think you describe it accurately, but I’ve never seen anyone achieve anything that could be called “peace”. Ever.
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i worshiped at that alter lo those many years ago. not since, for i was cast out for foul language – by my mother-goddess, saying “BARBARA ANN!!!!!”
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I’ve found that the best way to enjoy a round of golf is to go without my clubs (and just take the walk on the fancy grass).
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i was told that the origin of that ritual when formed in scotland was to partake in the native scotch whiskey at a rate of 1 jigger ( 1 1/2 oz) per hole. the decision to make 18 the correct number of holes was arrived at by the hole that you ran out of whiskey in a quart bottle. ah those hearty scotsmen. ill bet the scores were a little higher then as were the golfers
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now that sounds like a plan
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You are correct, Tim, although the measurement was based on a fifth of scotch whiskey (minor point). That’s the legend. All I can say is thank goodness the 1.75 liter bottle hadn’t been invented back then, or a round of golf would be about 40 holes!
Chris
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The snow gods are continuing their Spring ritual of lulling us into a false sense of complacency and then tricking us. We are to have up to four inches tomorrow, after the three we had yesterday. Sigh! I am ready for this ritual to end, but I probably have to wait until the middle of May to really know that Spring has come.
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we Goat Ladies were just talking about whether Spring would ever get here, Renee – but in terms of how much hay we’ve purchased recently. an optimist in the group brought in 4 bales, thinking there would be green browse by the time those bales were gone. i brought in 30 bales last thursday – sounds very pessimistic but i do feed some hay in summer also. my ritual is to always do more to prepare and not under do because that will jinx the outcome. so get out your snowboots, shovels, ice picks, and fill your propane tank. then maybe you won’t need any of that soon!
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Then you are the goddess of weather as well as goats?
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nah – i’m goddess of nothing. i’m a servile, superstitious twit. my animals (e.g. Freya and Terra) are the gods and goddesses.
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Morning–
I’m not feeling very clever this morning. In fact woke up with a headache and feeling like I would be playing ‘Grumpy’ all day.
But things are looking up. Made a new friend at Menards this morning, spent some year end money (that might be a ritual I suppose) and now home to see if I can get some farming done before the next snowstorm. And I suppose that’s a ritual too-
Catch up later! Enjoy the day!
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“… to see if I can get some farming done before the next snowstorm” when said by a woman who woke up with a headache pretty much perfectly describes what is special about the upper midwest.
Have a great day, Barb!
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pay attention dale. ben might get annoyed being called a woman on a day when he is having a headache. barb will forgive you but ben may not
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Yeah. What’s up with that?
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dale may have partaken in a ritual he would like to keep to himself until it passes.
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Ha! I got my agriculturalists crossed. Speed reading without comprehension again. Sorry. Ben and Barb!
In the best political tradition – “I’m sorry if you found my comments offensive, and I apologize to everyone who failed to understand what I really meant.”
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I assumed he cross-referenced two different posts.
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yeah – i haven’t had a headache since my friend and i drank 3 bottles of wine one night about 7 years ago. 🙂 i went to work the next day and they all thought i was ill because it was so out of character for me to be hung over. but i fessed up.
Ben???
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No offense taken.
I think it’s the lack of Code Red Mt. Dew and Snickers this week that’s giving me a headache…
Good news is I did get some oats planted, ground worked up and a few more trees pushed off the edges of fields. Plus, preemptively pushed some trees over that looked like they would fall across the road with 8″ of wet snow on them…………….
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I’d somehow forgotten the cooking ritual called “Sacrifice to the Floor God.” Every time I chop vegetables for cooking, I manage to drop at least one piece on the floor. If I’m very lucky, it’s not the thing I’m short of nor the most expensive ingredient (greek olives, artichoke hearts, shiitakes, etc.). If I wait until I’m finished and about to wash dishes to pick it up, all will be well; if I pick it up when it falls, inevitably I will drop several bits the second time. This is a separate sacrifice to the Fingernail Sacrifice, in which I also, inevitably, cut into or gouge a fingernail with the chopping knife. Not, fortunately, the finger itself, but at least once a week I have to retrim my nails after making a meal. Probably I should sharpen my knife, but you’ll understand why I’m a bit hesitant!
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My sacrifices for the Cooking God mostly consist of burnt offerings.
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conventional wisdom has it that sharp knives are safer.
I understand that, but like you, find it counter-intuitive.
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definitely true when carving wood–sharper knife, better control, safer carving
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I got a new knife about a year ago – the first six months or so it seemed that the knife required blood sacrifice at each use. I think I have provided enough sacrifice now that it is appeased as it has not required new sacrifice since sometime around the winter solstice.
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The sylvan gods, or maybe Druidic dieties, require me to bleed on everything I carve.
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more protein
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wood, not food
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My sister-in-law sacrificed a finger tip to the God of Artichoke Dip. She felt it was best to share the sacrificial Artichoke Dip with the rest of the family… 😦
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Tell me, please, that she took the finger tip out first!
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even more protein
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I’m not allowed to tell lies.
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CG – you need some additional attendants for your ritual sacrifice. My two attendants for this sacrifice wear their traditional fur garments and ritually clean the floor long after the dropped item has been swallowed up!
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Where you have mere fur coated attendents, we have a high priestess (don’t let the diminutive size deceive you), who inspects all offerings to the Kitchen Floor deity, and accepts only those which are deemed worthy.
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Ha ha… our diminutive shaman doesn’t deign to grace the kitchen floor during cooking, although he is required to check out every glass and/or cup of beverage to see if it might be the holy white beverage!
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the ritual between my keeper of the critters and the critters themselves is a wonder to behold. on occasion i am in the offering area prior to the offerings having been made and the keepers of the flame wait with great anticipation for the priestess of alpo and purina to grace the holy space with the sacred can opener and heal their heathen demons by assulting them with demon killers form the cann and the bag.
they see me and anticipation turns to naught for the keeper of the crittters is not one who can be easily replaced or affection transferred. i do cast flakes upon the water of the aquariums to feed the multitudes but this is a vastly different occurance than the dry land critters.
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Very cleaver today, Dale and Babooners! Husband and I are about to embark on our Water Ritual, in which we load 40 plastic reusable sacred vessels (1-gallon each) into our chariot and drive to the hallowed Miller Spring (in Eden Prairie) to pay homage to that great Fresh Water god and receive the anointed beverage. The god allows us to fill as many vessels as we can carry, yea to overflowing. Other parts of the ritual include waiting in line for the supplicants before us, and participating in this conversation:
Other Homage Payer: You’ve got a lot of bottles!
We: Yes, we come from Robbhinsdale and only get here about every 6 weeks.
OHP: This is the best water I’ve ever tasted.
We: Yep, wouldn’t go this far for anything less…
…etc.
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i was in sams this weekend and thye offer a 4 gallon jug with water for 4 dollars you keep the jug. may make life simpler. if so let me know and i’ll grab you a couple. you can pour the water out and just use the jugs for 4 dollars.
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speaking for myself, and I am unamimous in this, I would rather lug 40 1 gallon jugs in and out of the chariot than 10- 4 gallon Jereboams.
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Nice idea, tim, but those 4- and 5-gallon vessels are just to heavy for us to easily deal with. We have some good sturdy boxes that each hold 6, so it’s not as unwieldy as it sounds…
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a “cliffy” for today – a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds. a gallon of goat milk weighs 8.6 pounds. you get more with goat milk.
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Good to know, barb
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I just completed the paying of tackses at the last minute possible. Doing it online is not as dramatic as handing the forms to the postal acolytes at midnight. I even got a refund but still had to do it on the prescribed last day.
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Congratulations, Beth-Ann.
You finished with hours to spare!
I wonder if the post office folks have noticed a slacking off of traffic on the last day. Is there still a midnight crush?
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that is one ritual i am glad not to be a part of this year
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