Fucking Day: How to Become a Sensuous Witch

Fucking Day: How to Become a Sensuous Witch

I Made Drinks!

By Dennard Dayle

Are hungry and horny the same thing? Obviously not, but you can swing a B asking. Or B+ with a backup gimmick.

Respect.

Why not add magick to food play? It doesn’t have to exist to change the world. Adding magick to shame sinks empires. Imagine tying it to affairs or pancakes. You’d be a god.

Well, I assume—I’m not a magick expert. For one, I have the spiritual life of a gerbil. I took my wedding vows from Van Halen. I searched the temples of Bali for Wi-Fi. In pre-K, I had a choice between some dead monk’s toys and some candy. Those toys were delicious.

Worse yet, I keep reading magick books–the best way to never learn it. After my longform spellbook reviews, I’m closer to forgiving Eric Adams than learning Magic Missile. I’m failing out of Unseen University without one decent explosion.

Since my grades suck, I’m pivoting to getting laid. Abragail and Valaria–two elite pen names–say it’ll be easy.

Anti-cheating magic? If that works, Abragail’s stronger than heaven. God watched the fun angels run off with his secretary, and Vulcan forged tiny chairs in motel room corners ages before Elon. Wikipedia, the last search engine, has nothing on astral colors, but Valaria promises this book’s friendly to new deities.

We’ll pick up the details as we chant. The magi and target have implied demos, but who cares? We’ve torched enough amendments over that. And I’m already bottom of my class. Failing 35 chambers of Shaolin and 36 feels the same.

Promising: American motives cluster around overeating or racism. Samhain Soup implies I don’t have to look out for Voodoo Veal or Cornerstone Chowder. Probably. Either way, this might be my chance to reroll. While bard’s fun, I’d like to burn my enemies more literally.

I won’t get my hopes up, but I’ll show up for the date. There are countless easy jokes about a man’s heart, but you really can do worse than free food and warping reality.

Our preface is followed by a preface. Roll with it, self-help books are duels against word counts.

At first, this reads like hot magick requires you to already be hot. Like wealth magick with a credit check, or a micropenis that needs a Tesla. But if you read closely, hot magick just demands constant anxiety. Arcana can bend minds, but can’t unbend your nose. I’ve never seen a spellbook open with “Baddies Only,” but I’ve also never seen a spellbook with spells. Hopefully today has two surprises.

You might question Morgan LeFay as a historical figure, rather than an Avengers midcarder. Let it go. Set your spirit free. There’s a buy-in for laughing at a spellbook, and that’s treating The Once and Future King as a documentary. Yes, even when the thriving kingdom elevates the lunatic with a daddy complex. You’ll manage.

Resumes? This must be Abragail’s first grift. Old copywriting tip: don’t answer questions you don’t want asked. Camel didn’t mention lungs until Congress got moody. Few spots started with “Does our flavor justify dying before your first grey hair? You bet! You’ll love it even more than your kids.”

The same goes for “I’m a real witch. Here’s my real witch portfolio of orgies I’ve summoned with myrrh and Cialis. I can’t name people or places but they’re real and I can’t stop talking and I need this book to sell or I have to run self-checkout at Magick Costco again and I think this is a panic attack of shadows–do you want a Cialis Cupcake?” But I’m fifty years in poison sale research ahead.

Case in point: as a what? I started with zero questions about Valaria’s psychic infancy, and now they’re endless. What? Is psychic baby separate from witchcraft, or a subclass? Is she an X-Man? What? Did her powers help with math tests? Are psychic babysitters expensive? Does Abragail wear a big red helmet to shield her thoughts? What? Can Valaria even teach flatscans? Why is Abragail stuck writing the intro? Do dual-class psion-wizards take an XP penalty? What? The clown mind boggles.

No unsuccessful witches seems strong. I saw the index–the revenge chapter implies Hecatecells exist. If you spend the weekend hexing your ex’s lunch, you aren’t thriving. Especially if hexes work. There are bigger targets.

Still, this cookbook promises we’ll sweat through the weekend. Stock up on wine and trauma dump fodder now, the spring harvest comes. In theory. I’ve burned enough table books to know I’m learning jack and shit. The cobbler to ritual ratio will be 666 to 1, at best. What non-magic’s up first?

Weird. This looks like a spell.

Is this a fucking spell?

A spell. In a spellbook. I don’t know what to type. I planned for lazy horseshit, not insane horseshit. Where do I even find incense? The only candles I own kill mosquitos. And probably me, if I remember Silent Spring. Is bang magick even consensual? Would using this make me Archmage Combs? I’m not moving to DC.

Alright, I’m not getting screwed over again. Let’s take this slow. What federal holiday or nursery rhyme is next?

Mind control slam poetry, exploiting bleak loneliness. An impossible ask wrapped in complicated ritual, and whatever language “Mine he‘ll be in total control” is.

That’s magic. Earnest, full-throated, wax-wasting, unmedicated magic. For fucking.

…And food. Focus on the mind control.

I’m not sure I’m ready, I’ve been through a lot. Finding the right spellbook means I can lose it. Or self-sabotage for a non-witch that treats me like trash. I don’t want the past to ruin the best clown-to-tome bond I’ve had.

Don’t get me wrong. Half the book’s standard recipes pitched as spiritual Viagra.

As symbols of passion go, I think of apples long after wine and broom closets. But again: spiritual gerbil. Though it does explain why doomed couples love picking apples. Each trip sounds like a family court transcript. Except yours. That’s gonna be great. You’re meant to be together.

Sometimes, Abragail and Valeria skip horny branding altogether:

You don’t need two Latverian tutors to make herb cheese. Just herbs and cheese. It’s impossibly stupid, and I’m still here for the rest. You overlook details like mental or spiritual compatibility when you’ve found someone beautiful. A moment you might want to last forever.

Or at least more than two pumps. How to Become a Sensuous Witch is big on “starve a cold, feed a boner.” We’ve discussed quickees recently, which are ideally intentional. If your hypnotized fuck-golem fires early, I’m not sure the cure’s food or arcana. Unless they subsist on cursed pork rinds or Burger King.

But that’s a quibble. Here’s another. I don’t know the sex gods’ will, beyond the basic agenda. But I’m certain it doesn’t involve “tummy.” That word eats sex. It’s like “vivisection,” “new rash,” or “Bannon.” Mormons say it to punish thoughts of love.

After endurance, you can chant for mass. Science might serve you better here, but that talk’s awkward. If he sees the ritual, he’ll get the message:

Look out for side effects. If the priapism lasts longer than two full moons, their dick’s haunted. Ares lives there now. The war god likes seizing territory, and dislikes others smiling. You might imagine a porny solution, but it’s more of a wooden stake and fire situation.

As for the less beautiful, the tone changes. Not everyone gets herb cheese:

Nice worldbuilding: if these rituals work, some brainwashed dicks should be below par. Classic hot witch problem. You need four copies of Wrath of God to clear the board. Or an adult conversation. I prefer Wrath of God, adult conversations take entire minutes. How do I send Freddy back to Match Group?

“So then Abby pissed in the bottle, mumbling about someone named Freddy. I pretended to sleep, because what else do you fucking do? Disarm a piss-bomb? I’d prefer a grenade. Next, she dug a hole in my yard, and tossed in the piss. Nothing grows there now, so that Charmed shit might work.

“Abby did make great drinks. Like this one called Hecate’s Bile, where she left with a glass and a nail file. She came back with a Manhattan plus…something. I couldn’t tell. Probably piss. But hey, when in Rome. Not everyone’s brave enough to share piss. It’s intimate. I had three, though I felt bad. I think she cut her hand. All her fingers were red. Anyway, Feeld’s great.”

I could feign disgust. But these are the crimes I wanted. Spellbooks without piss mines insult both letters and aspiring genies. Publishers should never get away with it. I hope the parks near Penguin reek of piss.

If you’re less hydrated, there’s two anti-Freddy plays left. Wasting your time, or social suicide.

Whether you believe in magick or self-respect, we’re not here long. Who do you want to be: the witch performing passive-aggressive art to no one, or the witch clearing rooms with her entrance? One has two kids with Freddie. The other turns rotten garlic into freedom. Give me the bulb. I’ll be the ex they talk about for the rest of time.

Today’s twist? Valaria and Abragail are delightful lunatics. No one you’d hang with to enrich your mind, criminal record,or piss-free property. But their stories would be worth the smell. And what’s some poison between friends? Or something more, if you’re ready to unearth piss capsules.

And they don’t just play defense. Abragail’s Archmage Steal-Your-Man. And that’s just the present. Valaria’s already fucking your next partner. You’re the homewrecker.

They get wild with it.

No, not that bullshit. We’re two biohazards past burning looseleaf. They get wild with it.

Finally, a Necronomicon delivers. See why I was excited?

Against my best efforts, I’m starting to get magick. Intellectually, I knew it was half affirmations, half vapor. Seeing the gears spin is different. On the surface, this wastes priceless time, trust, and dignity. Underneath, it’s also a wonderful psych-up for all kinds of moral crime.

Like that one. We’ve crossed over from toenails as a magick thing, to toenails as a Valaria and/or Abragail thing. Likely Abragail. Valaria’s future sight would see the cell in her future. And yes, I see the Africa angle. But that’s missing the forest for the menstrual blood.

The difference between laughing at and with something? I laughed at Every Day Magic and with How to Become a Sensuous WItch. Because Abragail and Valaria are fucking in it to win it, piss and all. This is a sex witch manual by sex witches, and I want a weirder planet. It makes aliens pick softer targets.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Elliot Watson, who never let a little graveyard of buried piss jars stand in the way of true love.

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