[  Mood: Angelic ]
[  Currently: Listening to Suzanne Vega ]
Fat women are sensitive beings, not because they are weak, but because they are slaves to their own body chemistry. Estrogen, a hormone shared between sexes but more prominant in the effiminate, encourages many slothful behaviors and an increased pheremone count. An excess of fat can produce more estrogen than a human being normally would, causing a serious imbalance in body chemistry, which effects people both physically and emotionally. In men, an excess of estrogen in one’s system can cause them to develop breasts, which is a great reason to get fat. In women, they may experience a longer, more intense menstrual cycle, and more dramatic mood swings than usual as a result. This kind of behavior is not conducive to attracting a mate, and yet, an increase of this hormone also speeds up a person’s sex drive. And what is the best way for a horde of emotionally unstable, sexually frustrated fat chicks to satisfy their own vanity?

Start a religion around their emotions.

The wicca community is a very odd niche, and while you won’t be hardpressed to find open minded, wonderful individuals among its practicioners, its always been a splintered group. While the word and many of the traditions of its followers finds it roots in ancient paganism, the practice of it is rightly described as "neopagan." The religion was given its name in 1954 by Gerald Gardner, who claimed its tenants and practice had survived underground throughout the expansion of Christianity and Islam since the fourth century A.D. In reality, the religion was political in nature, and stemmed from a rejection of the Catholic and Church of England by deists and existentialists in the 1920s.

Immediately after the movement started, it shattered. While many self described "witches" believe there is no wrong way to practice their religion, many more are absolutely certain that their way is the only way. Considering that covens are typically made up of very local practicioners and have less than ten members, this provides for a multitude of ways to practice Wicca.

It did not surprise me that the ceremony I was privy to last night involved baking lust cookies.

I was sat at a table for what I was told would be a Valentine’s day feast. Sixteen hundred pounds in the form of eight women, ranging in age from sixteen to forty, gathered around the table I was sitting at, along with a few other male acquaintances. They held hands around us, and started chanting a celtic hymn. Through the candle light, it slowly became obvious that they were wearing robes decorated with rosewood knots, honeycombs and various herbs, and they smelled lovely – like a gelatenous rosegarden had just walked into the room.

They started twirling around, and I noticed a cavernous black slit roughly a foot in length behind each one of them. Slowly, I denied reality until I could no longer. I was horrified into a stupor at my seat, the realization: The robes were shear, and they were naked underneath them. Their wrinkled, lumpy asses scared me. My eyes squinted, but they would not shut.

As their song progressed, they’d leave and come back four at a time, each one bringing a different dish to the table. It was all vegetarian, but if you can smell salad dressing from across a room over the scent of sweaty fat girls wearing decaying herbs, that’s a good salad dressing.

I admit I was intrigued by what was going on, until the song ended, and we all applauded, and realized there were two empty seats to each side of us. Suddenly, I felt like I had gotten the middle seat on a Delta flight, and was surrounded on each side by two tourists from Detroit. This was weird. I stared straight ahead and ate my food, only to see two large, full, round faces smiling at me from across the table, along with my frail, small friend, Deek, who was looking back at me with fear in his eyes and heart, just as I was looking at him. I turned down at my plate and played with the salad, which was incredibly delicious, as the women to each side did everything they could to engage in friendly conversation.

"So, tell me about the Lord and Lady," I said, nodding into a mysteriously large bite of boiled eggwhite. The Lord and Lady are a constant that most covens share, as the romantic ideal of God and creator being two supreme beings working in harmony with one another seems like a sharp contrast to typical monotheistic religions, that are more patriarchal in nature. As they spoke and we shared trivial knowledge about their religion and traditions, it turned out that this particular coven celebrated only The Lady, whose purpose was sex in order to let the lands flourish with the life given from her womb.

This was literally a fertility cult.

"I have to leave, I’m afraid," I announced at an opportune time, but was quickly shouted down by the entire table with promises of baked goods and a cackle enducing "main course." I said a silent prayer that they were cannibals as I was held in my seat by the shoulders by each of the women to my sides and I silently shoveled more food and wine into my mouth. The discussions continued all around us, and to a passerby, it would seem as if the entire table was merry and happy.

Indeed, they were lovely people and I wished there were more women in the world like them, only not morbidly obese. We discussed conservation theories, the benefits of modern technology versus the simplicity and character shaping enterprises of old fashioned hard work, and I even played the piano for them. The only song we shared a common appreciation for was Loreena McKennitt’s "Mummer’s Dance," but one of them put words to "The Entertainer," which was actually impressive.

I could sense the crowd growing more amorous as time went on, and my ear had been licked by at least three different people that night. The wine was catching up to me, so I asked for a bathroom. I was escorted upstairs by an eight year old girl who appeared out of thin air and brought to the bathroom. Just out of curiousity, I tried to see if the window was unlocked. It was, but it was a two story drop and I’m a total wuss. I watch Mythbusters, I’ve seen what happens to Buster. After I finished my business in the bathroom, I zipped up and looked to the door, which was wide open. It could have been that the old 19th century wooden door had floated open with a light breeze. Or it could have been that someone was watching me pee.

Either way, I was just freaked out enough to try to sneak out of the house. There was not a light on except for a few candles, so as I made my way down the stairs, I started blowing and waving each one out, one by one. No easy task, as there were easily a hundred between the dining room and the entrance alone. After about a half an hour of inconspicuously dowsing candle stubs, I decided it was time to make my move for the door.

I engaged one in conversation, who had beautiful rosey cheeks, a double chin, and eyebrows made up with wax pencil. After a sufficient amount of flirting, I told her I would like to kiss her lips. She did a fat girl laugh, pursing her mouth and humming a "myuhhummhmmmhm!" I told her I would like it to be a surprise, and placed her hands over her eyeballs. I blew a breath across her cheek, crouched down and disappeared into the shadows I had created. I did not escape as smoothly as originally planned unfortunately, as one of the ladies had noticed many of the candles had gone out, and was taking a long one to search for extinguished candles to be relit. I mirrored the movements of her wide girth and held my breath for a good forty seconds, until I came to the door. I played with the locks for what felt like forever, and was finally free to escape. Behind me, I could hear the girls sensing my absence and beginning the search for me, thinking I was hiding from them to be coy.

I was the cheuffer for the evening, and my comrades were trapped without an escape vehicle when I left. I do not know what happened to them, something horrible, but in a way I envy them for being in such good company. Except for the extremely unwanted sexual advances, I enjoyed the evening, ladies.