Nerding Day: Workplace Spells

What? I don’t need parking. I’m over driving myself, forever. And all other mortal labor. With Fucking Month complete, I can ascend.

Helping Yourself with White Magic offered godhood at a discount: constant, focused masturbation. A rematch with puberty. Deal.

I edged for peace. I edged for the future. I edged for sanity, a demon army, and a throne of senators' bones. Fun work, for the first hour. Followed by dull work, exhausting work, sore work, bloody work, tearful work, and traumatizing work. All for this moment, when I never work again.

RISE, MY CUMFORMS!

Odd. That sounds like labor. Adjunct labor, for the first school to kiss boot.That can't be right. I edged for a month. A month. There's barely anything left down there. The eraser's worn to the nub. That deserves some kind of power. Mjolnir. Excalibur. Conan's triceps. The magick shoppe must have something.

Heaven's septic tank leaks on me again.

Oh well, I guess rituals are like centuries. You win some, you lose some. Let's make shitade, and learn to wield this...what the fuck is this?

Now we're talking. Office magick's our best shot at filling the sky with imps yet.

No, really. The logic's simple:

Careerism builds demon armies. For the Blacker Legion to rise, I must manifest our most soulless construct yet: the toolform. A revenant that sprints from Ivies to Madison Ave. and back. It takes imagination, but we'll get there. Under new federal "No Darkies" guidelines, I'll need magick to survive.

As for our author, Marla Brooks has a witch podcast and this picture on the inside cover:

Sold. Aesthetic buried resumes a while ago, making that hat worth ten years making Elminster’s coffee. Her bio opens with “Marla Brooks lives a magickal life,” which sounds like a PhD to me. What's Marla got?

No. I refuse. Writing the spellbook's Marla’s fucking job. Creative thinkers don't need cubicle spells. They write the New Age fortune cookies we search for hope. I only pirate Nazi screenplays: I expect fifteen dollars of wytch value from this tome. Hold my hand through the astral plane.

Diving classes don't give you goggles and a handshake. Game Design courses don't make you fire yourself. Capoeira classes don't ask you to kick your own ass. Marla owes me God's cheat codes, in exacting detail. The last time a spellbook said "wing it," I edged myself into a pretzel. I bought Workplace Spells, now teach me Tool Magick.

Right, believe in myself. I like that aspect of the IncenseVerse. Much less stressful than the competition's theme of "Sew Your Sin Holes Shut." Let's give Create-A-Chant a whirl.

Yeah yeah, breathe deep, eat healthy, hail Hecate. I get it, moodiness summons mind flayers. Let's jump ahead, I'm short on time. Admin’s on me for "shitting on the dean in multiple outlets." Classic micromanagement.

For all we've seen this phrase, this is the first explanation. I thought it was just cultural habit. Rote filler like "bless you" or "liberty and justice." Good to know. Still odd to chant during meetings, but good to know.

Soothing, reflective body horror. While Marla shoots for zen, I've lost at least a layer of skin and muscle in my mind's eye, if not the whole foot. That's a limb's worth of negative energy.

All this foreplay and aftercare, and still no copier spells. Bad form: in the toolverse, word counts count. You're lucky if your masters/underlings/blood rivals read an email’s sender, let alone subject. Luckily, Marla shapes up.

First, you need some juice.

Not ideal for workplace spells. Or anywhere in public spells. I've dodged Bellevue for decades, and plan to keep the streak going.

"We'll start the meeting in a few minutes. Will's thwacking some luck into a tambourine before his review, where they'll yell at him for the tambourine. It's a vicious cycle. I might give him my old Donkey Konga bongos, they're quieter."

Marla wants me fired. She wants me drumming at my desk, appropriating polyrhythms from World Music playlists, to cast a "Fire Me" spell.

Static electricity, the thunder of heaven. Soon, the break room clique will trade gossip in hell. Once we can, you know, cast spells.

Nothing to mock here. Building a PC shows you the power hiding within our souls and wool socks. One bolt turns mortal science into $2000 footstools. With Marle’s help, intentionally.

After you're juiced up, you'll need a firewall. Any spirits loitering around the office can fuck with your spells. Necromancy's half of corporate espionage, and all of payroll negotiation. Luckily, Witch Defender's free and simple:

Correction: after you're juiced up, you’ll need a new resume. Half these spells are cast in-office, and you do this every time. I'd suggest a finger over the wand, but at least the wand shows you’re harmless. Office Merlin is a much lighter burden than Office Schizophrenic. As for the athame, that's your magic knife. If you don't see the problem, go ahead. We all learn differently, and sometimes that takes sirens.

I suspect a gesture at sanity backfired. "Obviously you can't haul a stone altar into the office, or carve pentacles on a shared desk. A mall wytch knife’s much more discreet, and fashionable. Mind details, apprentice. They define your mortal and magickal careers."

Again, Marla wants me back on LinkedIn.

Clearly, we’re beyond my false spellbook dichotomy. This isn't vapid nothing or arcane madness. This is vapid nothing and arcane madness. The topic and tone of a table book, with calls for Gabriel to smite office gossips. Granny Weatherwax needed cash.

Don’t sweat the details, they’re all followed by “fuck it.” Faith in tool magick's the key to tool magic. Breath is to firebending what delusion is to Excelbending. Marla explains with a personal failure:

I'm already fired. Marla’s will, as my teacher, has made it so. One: she used Skype. Two: she couldn't figure out Skype. Three: she kept this example. Along with the busted Communication spell:

Shame there’s no other way.

Use that to speed up a divorce. Marla’s magick might light my desk on fire. Which does sound amusing. Forging ahead. I’ll try the NYPD Banishment Curse:

They're still rolling around the quad, I must have dicked it up. On to the pre-fab spells.

Premium sloth. Looks like publishing magick works, because Marla's not about effort. The white space in Workplace Spells could fit two more scam grimoires.

No rap?

This spell’s first, and snugly fits Tool Magick. Late U.S. history is a gallery of similar shortcuts. Every company’s racing for a catch-all ape replacement. A bit like the gold rush, without the mines' human touch. Why not extend that spirit to magick? Laveyan Language Models could have us sprouting extra fingers by the end of the year.

Marla’s monitor definitely has a post-it with everything you need to own her house.

This works, every time. No bystander can watch you chant to your mouse without showing you the restart button.

A lifetime ago, I interned at a fashion rag.I think my old boss knew the craft. She'd cast this once a week:

Speaking of money, this looks promising:

The Secret and its consequences have been a disaster for the human race.

I'm not telling you what to do or believe, unless your reading level's way above average. Then that's a weekly feature. Today, let's buy into tool magick. For results from your greedsack boss, craft a more direct spell. Consider Compare Wages V, or Shop Jobs III. Or if your lunch coven fears nothing, Unionize Office.

More allspice. I’ve been eating my money.

Marla's big on "magic feather" spells. Magick that might do something, but doesn't, but if it happens it was magick. I get it. Some warlocks are minutes away from swerving their broom into a crowded sidewalk, and these give them a break. Maybe a waste of spice, but so are funeral candles.

I hear polite screams. Dreams with a foot in quicksand.

It gets depressing.

Jeez.

Big promise! I like the confidence, as long as this delivers. I'll be salty if my pets and relatives don't claw their way back to life. Powdered cinnamon costs money.

We've got a little more experience. Let's try another homebrew charm. Introducing A Fucking Break Spell:

That might bring world peace. It won't, but if it happens I call archmage of New Earth. Dibs.

There is, of course, pettier fare:

"Is he..."

"Let it go."

"There’s black wax all over the desk. We all share one big, shitty desk. He can't--"

"Let it go."

Ah, pasteurized hoodoo.

Troubling: commuters already drive creatively, and this spell adds magickal confidence. Granted, this safe travel talisman holds two safe travel talismans, and your personal safe travel talisman. Hopefully that car safety nesting doll beats an SUV late for nothing.

Another drama charm. Crueler clowns would call someone hexing multiple coworkers a net drama exporter, but I’m nice. The voices are right–you’re just defending yourself. The others are out to get you, and only magick can stop them. Start saving urine.

"Welcome to the team. The guy spicing a hand mirror? That's Dave. He really wanted your gig, and got close. But he does shit like point cured mirrors at people. Weird, right? Obviously we're all warded. How are your counter-curses?."

Kids love a slightly different version. It goes something like “I reign over rubber/Your spirit is glue/Call me short if you wish /It won’t bring your mom back. So Mote It Be.” Playgrounds get rough.

Oh thank fuck. Forget all the snide feather jokes, I've waited for this spell my whole life. More than a demon army. How do I finally kill the daemon Sleep, and turn it into glory? Without powder?

I'll plant a grove if this works.

Got it, Reddit lifehack. Standard hustle culture Trojan Horse. I can't shit on Marla for this one. It's like my custom Rite for Invincible Teeth:

A lie, but the kind parents tell to keep toddlers alive.

What? Go back to lifehack magick. The last spell made me wageslave of the month. Here, I give myself a merit badge for a trait I don't have. That only works for papers of record—witches have higher standards for reality. And bees don’t make the best mascot for tool magick. They evoke working yourself to death for nothing. I want to work other people to death for money.

I knew it. Marla’s in Big Sleep’s pocket.

Or not.

Some people doubt full-page rituals to fall asleep faster. Some people are very smart. Good job, some people! Apply that to health gurus.

Once she’s tapped office tropes, Marla turns to witch filler. Many spellbooks share tables of gemstones and their traits that I haven't, can't, and will never retain. They may be hilarious. They may be God's gift to letters. They may hide a contract for a free, fully-trained demon army. My spirit departs every time.

From here, it’s witch filler all the way down. Except the chapter on seeing the future. Cracking time open like an egg. At work.

I'd love to know how far back this goes. Today, sixty-dollar tarot decks look like magick for people that hate money. But imagine using a whole premodern egg on magick. You might starve asking the gods if you'll starve.

As for how to interpret food waste clouds: try Workplace Magic 2: Remote Magick. It's a lot like this, only you're not suspended for lighting playing cards on fire.

"Hey, Boss? Wanda is...I'm not sure. It looks like edging for pyros."

"Stop snitching every time Wanda sneezes, or tries to burn down the office. Focus on yourself."

"She's torching my post-its. Again."

"Yes. Because she's a go-getter. I haven't seen one Crunch Week voodoo doll from you yet. Your sales are looking pretty mortal. Ask this gum wrapper if you’re getting a raise this year.”

"Hey boss. Sorry to bother you again, at work, during work hours. I know you hate that. But Wanda's built a full-ass fire pit at her desk, and keeps asking the flames questions."

"I have ears. They're good questions. Which clients she can trust. Which coworkers she can trust. Who keeps ratting on her to HR. Be careful, she might find out."

"Wanda is a diagnosable pyromaniac. She likes fire more than people or magick. If this continues, we will die. In fire. A bottom-ten way to die."

"She's also our top seller. Stop hating and start torching. Your desk’s valuable kindling."

Aight.

Weird. I asked about my career, and got a futile loop of desire and labor. I guess this one doesn’t work for me.

Giving us nothing and blaming us for the outcome. That CEO attitude proves her powers. Thank you Marla, for showing me the road to dean. I can't wait to hand my first student to the gestapo.

Though I can't be alone. This is the era of shortcuts in the nation of shortcuts. Is everyone above Junior Keurig Operator a tool magus? That bodes poorly.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Mark Mahoney, the wizard who cursed my mouse to do that thing where it opens a new tab two or three times when I middle click.

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