On Being a Shaman, Part II

I was surfing YouTube Tannerite videos. (Don’t ask.) In one of them, some farmers were using Tannerite to thin the local wild boar herd. That got me thinking…

“Y’all keep laying with that Tannerite, you’re going to cause some messed up stuff! You better quit it!”

“What the hell are you talking about? We’re taking care of our hog problem in a humane, thorough manner.”

“Okay, and how many times have you heard your Mom say, ‘When pigs fly’? I’m a shaman, not a rocket scientist, but judging from the stench of burnt bacon and raining pork parts, I’m pretty you just made a whole bunch of pigs fly.”

“Okay, and?”

“The universe has a rhythm to it, you idiots. You say something will happen when pigs fly, it’s almost like you’re making a pyschic pact.”

“That’s stupid as hell.”

“Fine, fine, just remember we had this discussion later. Like when you’re bailing your mother out of jail in a week because she attempted to have conjugal relations with the happily married and very rich former captain of the chess club.”


“Come on, even your Mom admits she was a stuck up know it all in high school who liked breaking people’s hearts.”

“I’m not following how that means I’ll be bailing her out of jail.”


*shaman mimes catatonic older woman*

“I swear officer, I just don’t know what happened. One moment I was surfing classmates…next thing I know, I’ve tossed some security guy off the helipad and I’m ripping ol’ Horatio’s clothes off in front of an interview crew.”

*long pause*

“The damn hogs are getting out of control.”

“I got it, I got it. I’m just saying, put a roof on the damn drop pen before you shoot, okay? They’ll be just as dead if the blast goes _out_ rather than _up_. Slap some ball bearings around the bait drum and things will still be right as rain.”

A Little Gallows Humor

So there was a discussion of World War II on a friend’s FB page.  Specifically, we were discussing the Red Army’s rampage through Eastern Germany in mid-1945.  This, of course, got me thinking about how history has…evolved when discussing certain events.  Perhaps a sliding scale is in order:

Young’s Ascending Levels of War Crime Severity

  1. “My opponents can’t cry to the refs, so they’re crying to the Hague. Thank goodness we mailed in our funding check last week.”
  2. “Mildly uncomfortable discussing in polite company, but still good cricket, ol’ boy.”
  3. “They did it first, we’re doing it last, and by God we’re going to be running the damn tribunals when this is over…”
  4. “Okay, so one more time: Our story when the JAG interviews us is…”
  5. “Thank God for the modern chemical industry, flammable evidence, and CNN budget cuts.”
  6. “Well yeah we took scalps, but it’s not like we took their ears. Okay, fine, we didn’t take the ears of anyone under 15.”
  7. “Action Jackson?  No, I’m Andrew Jackson…”
  8. “Bad news, Honey:  Your Hague appointed attorney is not sure if they will have more luck arguing you did not receive enough mandatory training, were born 5 centuries too late, or are experiencing a persistent spiritual possession by Simon De Montfort…”
  9. “We’re going to spend the next “x” years shrugging our shoulders and going, ‘Meh, it was a different era…’ when asked about this.”
  10. *somber narrator voice* “Genghis Khan looked down upon their acts from Valhalla.  He proceeded to giggle like a blushing school girl.”

On Being A Shaman

So several of my friends accuse me regularly of writing what they call “crack fic.”  Sometimes this is an exercise to shut the muses up temporarily, as there’s a riot going on while I’m trying to edit.  Other times, someone will just throw me a prompt and it’s “Hi yo, Silver, away…”As always, all things are (C) Me.


Every Shaman Needs to Own a Unicorn.

Why? Three reasons:

1.) There’s never a chess club nearby when you need a virgin.  I mean you roll up on a place at like 4 o’clock, hit the library, and you find the janitor.  A little broom to staff combat ensues. (Seriously folks, your average janitor?  A mage in hiding, or else a monk.) As you’re putting out the encyclopedias and informing the guy you’re not really assassins sent by his long lost brother, he breaks the news to you that Our Blessed Sisters of the Light has no chess squad.

“Really?  This is a private school!”

“With a State 5A champion football team.  Principal got sick of paying the plumbing bills from all the swirlies, so the chess club got the chop…”

“Sh*t.  Back in the temporal portal I go…”

2.) Shocking no one, preachers’ daughters sometimes lie about that fornication thing. I mean, there must be some finishing school where they’re taught to look pure as the snow on Everest.  *pause*  No, I mean the part _away_ from where all the dumb mountain climbers go to die.  Next thing you know, you’re standing in some verdant valley while Mr. Reptile is carrying on like a diver with the case of the bends, and you’ve got some crazy knight threatening to be Mr. Stabby McStabby

“B-b-but they were twins!  Who never wore anything less than full length dresses!  And he was a Southern Baptist preacher!”

*assistant shows shaman a recently received text*

“And apparently are the poster children for ladies in the streets, freaks in the sheets!”


“You get cell service here?  Who’s your f__g provider?!  I can’t even get service in the 21st Century, nevermind in some Dragon’s Lair during the Dark Ages.”

3.) Side note: The only thing that pisses off a dragon more than _not_ providing a sacrifice is tossing in a pair of “maidens” with a little more mileage on the odometers than a Shaman assumed.  While seeing a dragon on a rampage is pretty awe inspiring, it leads to some awkward conversations when a King smelling of soot and roast mutton finally finds you three realms over.

“Just a reminder, Your Majesty, all transactions are final.  Oh, and due to me giving the king of this realm a little, shall we say, ‘male enhancement,’ killing me would likely lead to a war.”

“You mind addled misanthrope…”

“I really don’t know why you’re that…”

“That…that…THING torched half my kingdom, ate my son, and has apparently hung out an astral ‘Come Eat at Moe’s’ sign in every cardinal direction based on the numerous creatures now befouling my land!”

“Hey, look, I suggested you cast in the one woman whose chastity you could likely testify to, but your daught….”

“You idiot!  Why do you think I had the former captain of my Praetorian Guard in charge of my harem?!”

“Um, I’m guessing ‘because you have a stunning lack of priorities and tendency towards overreaction’ isn’t the answer you’re looking for right now?”

You know, make that four reasons… 

4.) Unicorns are FAAAAAAAASSSTTTT.  Like, faster than both your assistant’s pegasus _and_ the horses in your average king’s house guard.  Oh, and apparently are great pickpockets.

*takes out cellphone, hits play on video*

“I mean, seriously.  Those two sang in their father’s choir every Sunday after apparently contributing to their beer fund and the football team’s morale.  How the hell did they stay awake?  Amazing the dragon didn’t drop dead from over caffeination…”

*looks at cell coverage*

“I mean, five f____g bars?  I should feel sorry about what those archers did to him and his winged horse, but this bastard let me wander across half of Eurasia for the last twenty years without mentioning we could have been catching up on bad ’90s sitcoms.  I hope he paid his damn bill for the month–I’m two seasons behind on The Walking Dead.”