by: Rick Johnson 
PO Box 40451
Tucson, Az.
85717
RikJohnson@juno.com
These are, without a doubt, my favorite series. I must warn you though, some are biographical, some auto-biographical and some pure fantasy. I leave it to the reader to decide which is which.
CONTENTS- For reasons known to myself only, I gave these
stories numbers instead of names. There are almost 2 dozen so far.
Return to Part 1-5
Story VI
Story VII
Story VIII
Story IX
Go on to Part 10-13
Return to the Home Page.
Return to the Humor Page.
VI
My student and I were practicing Sex Magick one night when it happened. At the
time I was busy berating her because she was the one who insisted that she learn this
technique. After all, the primary goal of all magickal and psychic work is to raise, tune
and direct energy. And, as sex is the second most powerful method of raising energy, she
insisted on studying the methods to add to her store of knowledge. Dancing, being the
third most powerful method was easy for her and the others simply fell in place as well.
However, the problem with sex-magick was that you MUST be physically and
sexually turned on BUT you must keep your mind on the goal and not what is happening
to your body.
With her, we had spent weeks on the meditations, being aware of our bodies,
focus and techniques and the last couple of days finally getting into practical workings.
Unfortunately, halfway through the act/spell, she began to moan and all the other
stuff some women do and she completely lost control, stopped chanting the spell and lost
her focus. When I commented on this, she simply smiled and said,
"Well, I guess that means that we have to try again."
At that time, the roof began to leak right on us.
What else could go wrong. Since I had a lot of books and sensitive materials
there we had to fix it now. And one of the nice things about having a dedicated
student/apprentice, is that you teach them whatever they want to know and they, in turn,
work for you.
So we went onto the roof and began to patch the hole in an Arizona thunderstorm.
For you people in the east, an Arizona Thunderstorm is nothing to ignore. The happen in
July and August, are accompanied by lightening that starts forest fires and they generally
drop inches of ice-cold water and hail stones the size of marbles...all in the Summer
when it is 106 Degrees. So repairing a roof in one of these was a test of your skill in
channeling fire for warmth while you are soaked to the skin by a rain that hits so hard it
destroys trees and umbrellas.
I sent her down to get materials while I searched for the hole and we worked well
together until I dropped my hammer. I tossed a nail to her to get her attention and in the
darkness asked for my tool but the thunder and rain were so loud that I couldn't make
myself heard. Thus I was forced to use construction-type sign language. I touched my
eye (I), my knee (need) and then made a motion like I was driving a nail.
She nodded understanding and touched her eye, jiggled her left breast then spread
her legs and pointed to her vagina and started to walk away. I didn't know what she
meant so I tossed another nail at her and repeated my "eye knee a hammer." to which she
responded with her genital fondling and pointing.
Finally, in desperation, I climbed down off the roof and confronted her.
"Do you know what I said?" I asked.
"Of course," she replied. "You said that you needed a hammer."
"What did you say," I asked.
"I replied that 'I (eye) left it (left tit) in the box.'"
Return to the Contents
VII
As a non-commissioned officer in the Air Force, I am often called upon to
perform unpleasant tasks such as being nice to people that I may personally dislike and
protecting the person of a president for whom I would never vote.
One day I was called in and instructed to report to the Club for urinalysis.
"Why?" I asked, "I donated last month."
I knew that I, being violently anti-drug was clean; so much so that I may be the
only person in the Air Force who was not a borderline alcoholic.
"Just go." was the reply.
So I went, reported to the woman in charge, fairly nice looking in a way that one
learns to appreciate. After all, the military, unlike the movies rarely attracts good looking
women so one makes do with what one has.
I repeated that I had donated last month and I KNOW that I passed, even without
last minute studying. She gave me a strange look, laughed and agreed that according to
her records, I had submitted a urine sample, had passed and was not on her list for today's
donation. She checked with the doctor, a Major who looked into his records, consulted
with his non-coms who probably knew the job better than he did (I have no respect for
military doctors ... after all, if they were any good why were they not in private practice
making three times the money?) and they finally came to a conclusion.
"Sergeant, you are not here to donate but to observe. We need a person of good quality of character and honesty to make certain that those who are chosen to submit for urinalysis do, in fact, not attempt to cheat. And since you are a well trained Technical Sergeant with the Air Force of impeachable reputation and well known honesty, you were selected out of the hundreds of candidates to proctor this important position."
"In other words," I replied, "They needed a body and I wasn't looking busy enough."
"Exactly."
Great! For the next six months I could look forward to watching grown men go pee-
pee into little bottles. Just what I signed up to do.
But, One thing the Craft taught me is to always find joy and pleasure in any task
and job. So I began my job by first of all, developing a fool-proof method of beating the
test. Well, five minutes killed, what now.
Ah Ha! My first victim... ah, subject, er patient, ..just what do you call these
donators?
"Good afternoon, I am Tech-sergeant Johnson and I will be your proctor in this unpleasant duty. Thank you for volunteering your time and bodily fluids that we may consistently improve the quality of the personnel of the Armed Forces.
"Please confirm that the name and SSAN number on this bottle is the same as that on your military ID. "No, I'd rather not touch the bottle though I will examine your ID. Thank you, now if you will now accompany me into the facilities you can make your donation and return to duty. Please ignore the cameras, they are simply there to insure that what goes into the bottle actually comes out of your physical being. And don't mind the laughter, I've seen better .... though never one that unusual. Were you in some kind of accident in the war? Well, maybe you will luck out and marry a virgin who will never know.
"Please seal the bottle, dry it off with these paper towels and I will take it. Thank you for your patronage and try not to think that some over-the-counter medications will give a positive reaction to certain illegal narcotics. After all, this is just your military career and any hope of a future life in the civilian world. "Come again. Bye."
I got strange looks from the clinic people but they rapidly broke down and began to
look forward to my 'duty' since most people detest the idea of drug testing and, by
projection, those who do the testing. Also, I had nothing to loose and could say and do
what the clinic people couldn't. What can they do? Fire me from urinalysis duty? I'm a
lousy welder in Civil Engineering. Fire me and I go back to my torch making this, that
and the other thing.
One day, the woman with whom I had been flirting said,
"I like you, you're funny and make this job fun."
I took it as a compliment, though she still wouldn't take me out for ice cream.
Sgt ***** showed up. She was the First Shirt in Honduras. Ordinarily I wouldn't mind her in a position of authority, after all, I am a Gardnerian Witch and my religion has a Woman as the High priestess. But she had gotten a hair up her **** and locked the showers in Honduras, thus forcing us to ask her personally for the key so we could clean up. The first day she did that, I sat in her office in a towel waiting and glaring until I realized that with my legs crossed (I sit taylor fashion) she could see right up my you- know-what and she probably enjoyed the show and power. Revenge is sweet.
"Lets go Sgt. Please check your name and SSAN on the bottle and I'll accompany you into the latrine. What's the trouble? Don't worry, I have daughters and do this all the time at home, you don't have anything I havn't seen before and I know how to hold the bottle, just try to aim good. Can I have a rubber glove for this one? Women just don't seem to have the talent that men do for hitting an opening this small."
She balked, refused, argued, and all the time the clinic people just sat there watching the
show. Live theater, I love it.
In the end I relented, returned to her the bottle and when she entered the latrine,
we all fell on the floor in laughter.
Now if I could only find the officer I angered, I'd be more than happy to apologize
to get off this duty.
Captain ***** is here. He also was in Honduras with me and now is donating for the Golden Flow. We had some time so we began to talk about Central America. Somehow the discussion came around to war with Nicaragua.
"We can't possibly win a war with Nicaragua," I argued. We have no political support, the country is a jungle and they are preparing for us to invade."
"Of course we can," says the Captain. "Look at how easy it was to take Grenada."
"Grenada was a small island with no place to hide, a military so small the Tucson Police Department could have taken it. The Cubans there were exactly like us, they were Civil Engineering troops with no combat training, obsolete weapons and no way to prepare for an attack. Even then it took us two weeks to take a country that you can drive across in an hour."
The argument raged back and forth with the clinic people wisely staying out of it. The
Captain insisted that we could win because we were the mightiest military force in the
world.
I argued that we had the 4th largest army, China, Russia and Vietnam having
military machines larger than the US. Besides, I submitted, Nicaragua was a lot like
Vietnam. They are dedicated, prepared, armed and have miles of jungle to hide in or
they can simply go across the border to another country to hide and return later in force.
Finally, it was time and I escorted him into the facilities for his donation. I was
angry at the mentality that would condone and encourage the invasion of another country
for no real reason, and the bull-headed belief that we could actually win despite the
political opposition in America to any military intervention.
But then ... what is the good of being a Witch if I don't use the powers I had spent
years learning? Let's see now... the muscles that close the urethra are small but spasm
easily .... I placed a thought in his head that he was under pressure to perform. I made
comments about being watched and knowing how embarrassed he was. I also activated
the nerves that closed those muscles and began to stress him out to prevent relaxation.
Needless to say, he stood there for five minutes with a jar in one hand and his
rapidly shrinking genitalia in the other, grunting and groaning and trying to empty his
bladder.
"Don't worry Captain. If you can't perform, we will have to stay here until you do. Though no one has EVER had this trouble. I hope that the clinic people don't wonder what is happening here. You know how rumors fly around this base. Do you have this kind of trouble at home? You know, I had a couple of army people working for me in Honduras and one of them had Syphilis so bad that he couldn't urinate either ... they had to ream out the inside of his penis with a file just to get the catheter in. It came back three times. Well, perhaps we should go and get you a drink of water."
So for the next two hours I had him drink water, coffee, tea and he got more and
more distended and his face became more and more pained. I took him into the
bathroom every half-hour and kept it up.
The clinic people knew that I was somehow doing this as it was no secret that I
was a Witch. Though a lot of good it did me when I applied for a commission as an
officer. I guess that I am not as politically correct as I should be. Or perhaps I need a bit
of motivation. Regardless, the clinic people finally took me aside and said,
"You know we can't release him until he fills the bottle."
"Yes." I replied.
"Do you also know that we, and this means you, have to stay with him all night if
necessary?"
"Oops. I'll take care of it. If I hurry we may still make evening roll call."
I may be weird and warped and a little bit crazy, but I did want to go home.
So, as much fun as it was, I took him back, relaxed the muscles and after filling
the bottle, he proceeded to over-flow the urinal. His relief was ... shall we leave it at that.
A couple of months later I was relieved from the duty and upon seeing the clinic
female, she said to me,
"I miss you, you were fun to be with. This new guy- they gave us is a bore.
"Would you like to come back and help again?"
I thought about it for a full five seconds. Considered the responsibilities of the
position and the joys of entertainment then added to it the ditch I was currently digging,
then said,
"**** this!"
Return to the Contents
VIII
I never expected to be invited back to my ex's catholic church again. After all, the
divorce was nasty and then she tried to get it annulled so she could marry her boyfriend
in the church, a situation I fought. After all, we were married and even though it didn't
work out, to just say that it didn't and never existed was insulting to me, our relationship
and also made our children illegitimate.
But, their CCD class started a thing where each week they would invite some
minister from another 'religion', christian of course, to speak on their beliefs then the
CCD people would use the bible and history to prove that the catholics were right and
tear the guest to ribbons.
Unfortunately, my youngest daughter who was named after a Wiccan Goddess
and lived to argue asked the CCD people one day, "My daddy is a priest, why not ask him
to talk?" The fools thought that it would be a good idea to destroy a Witch and support
my ex, one of their own at the same time.
However, they couldn't handle the idea that I and my student would arrive and we
never even mentioned the christian bible except to point out a few mistranslations when
we were specifically asked. No, exodus says that 'thou shalt not suffer a kaskagh to live.'
Kaskagh, in this connotation, means poisoner, not Witch." etc.
The local priest got upset when we refused to call him 'father' and I replied, "In
my religion I hold the title 'Lord', will you grant me the same courtesy that you ask?"
Of course, he wouldn't so I wouldn't.
Then he couldn't understand the idea that we believed that God was a woman and
that people had the right to choose whatever religion they wanted, so we felt that
converting someone was evil. The people themselves began to, at first, oppose our
heretical ideas that sex was fun, nature was divine and then began to support us with our
ideas of sexual equality and the requirement among Witches that women were not only
Priests, but essential to the rituals.
The final straw came when one person who I knew from before my divorce asked,
"What would you do if one of your Coveners lost his job and their roof fell down?"
An interesting question and true as the exact thing had happened to one of these
catholics three years ago. They went to their priest who said that he would say a mass for
them. Spiritually pleasing but it wouldn't put food in the mouths of the kids.
My reply....
First of all, it is my duty to know what are the assets of the Coven. If one of our members owned a business, I would talk him into finding a place for that one Person, that way he would have a job, even if only at minimum wage so h could have some money and self-respect. Then I would open an account at the local lumber yard in his name and ask each Witch I know to donate money or a box of nails or some such thing to that fund. And I would advertise that on such a date, we would have a roofing party for them. And on that date I would get as many Witches as I could together with families and we would repair the roof. Those who were in construction would be in charge, those who would work would hammer shingles, those who couldn't would carry nails, make sandwiches and so on. We would all get together and prove that our religion is more than something we do one day a week and that we actually live by our beliefs.
IX
I believe in omens, I just don't understand them.
Really, when that stupid bird drooped a load on my windshield, it probably meant
something ... but what? Does it refer to the plane trip we were taking that afternoon? Or
does it mean that the pigeon problem is getting out of hand? Or does it mean that I need
to put more roughage into the bird feeder? So I worried about that all the way to the
airport.
My student, a free thinking woman who lives life on the edge, complained the
entire trip about my worries. "Cheer up." she said. "We have tickets to the festival in
California and I am finally going to meet some of these people that you keep talking
about. Also, you have me for the entire week and no one to interfere."
My student, as you may have deduced, is one of those optimists who raises your
blood sugar at times with their attitude. I suspect the problem stems from her being three
years with the Up With People Tours. Fortunately, associating with me over
the years has given her a warped sense of humor.
When we arrived at the airport, I ignored the terminals because our flight was at a
smaller freight airline that took passengers only when there was room. Not too
comfortable, but cheap and the aircraft could land at smaller airports that were closed to
the larger jets.
"What the **** is that!" she screamed when she saw our plane.
"It's a DC-1, of course. What did you expect for our price range?"
"That thing flies?"
"The DC-1 was one of the finest cargo aircraft of the Second World War. One of
these babies landed in Greenland during the War, got buried in a snowstorm and was lost
for thirty years. Finally, a couple of old pilots dug her out, thawed out the engines, added
new oil and gas and flew the bird to America. They just don't make them like this
anymore." Thus endeth my lecture.
I could just hear her mutter, "good thing too."
For someone who hang glides naked to scare the police helicopter, her attitude
wasn't quite what I expected. But years of flying MAC in C-130's had probably soured
her to anything that didn't have in flight meals and a lavatory big enough for the Mile-
high Club.
Well, we met our other passengers, all people who had been bumped off their
flights or who, like us, were travelling on a shoestring. They consisted of a Frenchman,
an Englishman, a couple of xian missionaries and a few assorted Texans, mid-westerners
and so on. The missionaries immediately took offence to our wearing our Pentacles in
the open but as we didn't really care about their feelings we ignored them except where it
was profitable to tear their comments to shreds.
The flight wasn't anything to remember. It was colder and noisier than a
commercial light, but the experience of riding in a craft that was older than me was
interesting.
After a couple of hours, the pilot came back and told us some bad news...there
was a fuel clog and the aircraft needed to be lightened while they looked for a place to
set down.
Ordinarily, these craft could land on a dirt road, but we were over the Rockies and
there wasn't a road for a half hour in any direction. So the xians started to pray to their
dead god while my student and I began to toss out the luggage and freight.
It helped for awhile until the port engine stalled out and we began to go down.
The xians prayed louder and the rest of us began to look worried. The Texan even yelled
for the xians to shut up, he was tired of them and their holier than thou attitude and if he
wanted a drink when he was about to die, he'd damn well have one and to hell with their
beliefs.
All the xians did was to pray louder and make everyone more irritated in an
upsetting situation. Then the pilot came back.
He said,"I'm sorry but we have to lighten the load by another thousand pounds. I
have some parachutes so some of you will have to jump."
The Englishman immediately stood up, put one on, said, "For Queen and
country," and jumped. The Frenchie repeated the same but while calling out, "Viva la
France!" The Texan followed suit with something philosophical that I really can't
remember now while one couple in the back kissed each other passionately, put two
parachutes on and jumped in each others arms.
My student saw them, looked at me, and started to undo her pants while saying,
"I've always wanted to make it in free fall. Let's go!" I pulled her down and said, "I think
that there is something you should know before you jump."
"What's that," she asked. "That you are still a prude?"
"There aren't any more parachutes."
She sat down then said that if she was to die, she couldn't think of a better way to
go, and she began to unbutton my shirt.
The xians then changed their tactics and stopped praying so that they could accuse
us of their troubles. After all their dead god wouldn't be punishing them if we weren't
sinful devil-worshippers who couldn't resist our baser animalistic urges and repent so that
we could go to heaven...
I looked at my student, she looked at me, I said, "You know what we need to do?"
she said, "Yes, all this crap is getting to me to." so we stood up, straightened our clothes,
walked over to the door, opened it, yelled, "Remember the Salem Witch trials!" then we
grabbed the xians and tossed them out the door.
Return to the Contents
Return to Part 1-5
Go on to Part 10-13
To contact me or to request topics to be covered, send to RikJohnson@juno.com
by: Rick Johnson
PO Box 40451
Tucson, Az.
85717
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