“Your ass is toast!” She hissed, slamming the charred-remains of the door behind her as she stormed out of the now-roofless shed. I turned back to the pile of rubber still smouldering on the bare-earth floor behind me. What had once been a $300 pair of thigh-high, fuck-me boots was now no more than, well… a thigh-high, utterly-fucked, smouldering pile of rubber. The firedrake in the corner tried to hide its grin. I guess I fucked up. But look … it’s so easy in the books. It’s so easy on tv. It’s so easy in comics and video-games. Just like making apple-pie, eh? Actually, No. It’s all lies. It’s not fucking easy; Casting spells is hard! Take the current mess as an example. It’s a simple as it gets:
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking-powder
4 grains gun-powder
1 drop essence of mystic mushroom
1 Galaxy-wolf testicle
1/2 cup finely chopped oregano
Mix the dry ingredients in an earthenware bowl whilst sautéing the testicle in a cast-iron skillet over hot-coals. Once the testicle is done, add the drop of mushroom essence. The testicle should appear to melt away and the remaining mixture will be glowing a very faint purple. Pour this mixture all at once into the bowl ft of dry ingredients and stir until it has the consistency of cream. By this stage it should be a neon-pink colour. (If it is too thick, you should be able to thin it with a little cream, but it will lose some power. Never, ever pee in it). Recite the following prayer to your preferred fertility diety:
I offer you this glorious slop.
The face I bear could stop a clock.
I tire of wanking into a sock.
Please send a whore to ride my cock.
Now, pour the whole lot down the barrel of a baritone-saxophone and shake. Aim the horn at the pair of thigh-highs and blow that mother-fucker for all it’s worth. (You can play some blues or Jazz in this step if you wish. Whether this improves the efficacy of the spell is still a matter of considerable debate, though some swear by it.) As you blow you will see a pink mist emanating from the horn. To complete the spell you need an ignition source, but it must be magical, which is why the firedrake was in the shed with me. Igniting the mist transforms it into magical rainbow-smoke that dances and swirls around the room in a dazzling kaleidoscope. (I fail to perceive the necessity of the light-show, but I didn’t invent the spell). When the smoke clears, the thigh-highs will have been replaced by a latex-adorned, elf-like horny virgin nymph.
As you will have surmised by now, that’s not what happened.
When I blew the horn, the firedrake leapt into the air and coughed a little spark into the mist. Instead of magical smoke, a 3-foot flame shot out of the saxophone. The thigh-highs went up in smoke and what could best be described as a magical-explosion of pink and green flames vapourised the thatch-roof. The thunderous roar of mis-firing magic shook the walls. And the missus came running from the main house wondering what the fuck was happening
“You’ve been playing with magic again, haven’t you?” she snapped. The firedrake and I looked at each other and then looked at our feet.
“How many times have I told you not to fuck with that shit?.” She yelled “You have no training in the arcane. And look what you’ve done to the shed, you half-baked fuck-knuckle”
I thought it best not to answer.
“I don’t think I even want to know what you were trying. I’ll see you inside the house. You’ve got 30 minutes. And leave that infernal firedrake outside.”
“Come on” I said to the firedrake “I need to get this mess cleaned up and you would be best served by not showing at the house for a day or two”
As I pulled the door, it came off the hinges.
“And you can wipe that fucking smirk off your face” I snapped.
We looked at each other and both burst out laughing.
© Grumpy Axolotl