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this is from the same site http://homepage.ntlworld.com/spiritwolf/pagan_humour.htm

A Prayer For The Stressed:
Great Lord and Sacred Goddess, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change The courage to change the things I cannot accept and the wisdom to hide the bodies of those people I had to kill today because they pissed me off.
And also, help me to be careful of the toes I step on today as they may be connected to the a** that I have to kiss tomorrow.
Help me always to give 100% at work.... 12% on Monday, 23% on
Tuesday, 40% on Wednesday, 20% on Thursday, 5% on Friday.
And help me to remember....... when I'm having a really bad day and it seems that people are trying to piss me off........ it takes forty-two muscles to frown and only four to extend my middle finger and tell them to................... Bite Me !!

I have a ton of good ones. May I flood your thread with them?



Conversation between the God and Goddess

Imagine the conversation the Creators might have had about this:

"Goddess you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in the Midwest? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff we started eons ago? We had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracted butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles."

"It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great extent to kill them and replace them with grass."

"Grass? But, Lady, it's so boring. It's not colorfull. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?"

"Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn."

"The spring rains and cool weather probably make the grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy."

"Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it--sometimes twice a week."

"They cut it, Lady? Do they then bale it like hay?"

"Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags."

"They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?"

"No, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away."

"Now, let me get this straight, Lady. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?"

"Yes."

"These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work."

"You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it."

"What nonsense! At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life."

"You'd better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and have them hauled away."

"No! What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and keep the soil moist and loose?"

"After throwing away your leaves, they go out and buy something they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves."

"And where do they get this mulch?"

"They cut down trees and grind them up."

"Enough! Lady, I don't want to think about this anymore. Goddess, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

"Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about..."

"Never mind! I think I just heard the whole story."

[ Message temporarily off-line ]

lol more fun form a different site....tis name is to long to give but hey google it i did

you may be a Yuppie pagan if......

Your BMW stands out among the Toyotas and VWs at the Grand Coven.

You have a three-piece ritual robe.

Your ritual preparation includes stopping at the dry cleaner.

The Priestess sends the ritual wine back to the cellar.

You have considered calling the quarters by telephone.

You purchase astrological charts for companies listed on the NASDAQ.

You use an alphanumeric pager in circle to represent Air.

You want to use the Weber Gas Grill as the ritual bonfire.

You actually buy an Eostara bonnet each year.

You ask your bank for a VISA Gold Card with Stonehenge depicted on its face.

You try to break a $100 bill in the donation pot at a public circle.

The ritual wine is more European than your tradition.

Your ritual robe has no cord because you've gone cellular.

Ritual is postponed due to a bad hairpiece day.

You worry that you don't have a robe that goes well with bare feet.

Jet-lag is a common excuse for being late to coven.

Perrier is the only water you will tolerate in the West.

You initiate your lawyer, insurance agent, and cardiologist just to be on the safe side.

Ritual was canceled because the CD player is in the shop.

You never do a healing ritual for your car.

You have a cute little alligator sewn on the breast pocket of your ritual robe.

Perfect love and perfect trust in your coven oath are annotated with footnotes and conditions.

You have a notarized pre-handfasting agreement.

Your first degree initiation had valet parking.

Spilled wax really matters to you.

You have a Ginsu athame.

Cakes and wine for a dozen sets you back $139.

Your coven is known in the community as "The Rich Corinthians."

You view drawing-down as being the Account Executive to the Gods.

You worry that it would be inappropriate to do Yule at your summer house.

Not everyone gets to use the "good" chalice.

Your ritual bath is a Jacuzzi.

You don't do astral projection, frequent flyer miles are so much easier.

The gardener spends more time in your outdoor temple than you do.

Your familiar is leased.

You stop at the 7-11 to pick up a half cord of firewood for the bonfire.

You are offended by the "We are the old people..." chant ever since the facelift.

You shopped for a ritual staff and came back with two MBAs and an administrative assistant.

Five-fold kiss or not, the thought of lips on your Guccis turns you on.

You would invite the coven to your new house but, well, they're just so messy.

You have not read The Spiral Dance and are waiting for it to be made into a movie.

You had a pocket added to your ritual robe for your cellular phone.

You would go to Pagan festivals if they would just hold them at a nice resort.

Invoking the spirit of fire is expressly forbidden by your townhouse covenants.

You wouldn't use a script in ritual, that's what the laptop computer on the altar is for.

If "In the cool of the evening, we used to gather..." makes you think of getting in a late 18 holes.

Your ritual tools are itemized on your homeowners insurance.

Your car payment is more than your priestess' monthly take home pay.

You wear paste replicas of your ritual jewelry to rituals.

After casting the circle you feel compelled to click that alarm thing on your keychain.

You have a tattoo designed by Nybor and paid for the rights to the design.

You have both the Jerry Garcia and Tim Leary hand painted collector's edition plates on your altar.

The square footage of your ritual circle is a status thing.

Great carpeting is next to godliness.

It just doesn't seem right to call upon the spirits of water without a twist of lime.

Your covenstead has gone condo.

You seldom are asked to call North since everyone knows you just don't do dirt.

You have to hurry the Yule ritual along, the plane for Aspen leaves in an hour

A Pagan in Hell
By: Pendragon
Posted: Sept. 12th/00
Website: http://www.paganvillages.com/Goddess/pendragon/index0.html


A Pagan dies and, to his great surprise, he finds himself standing before some pearly gates. St. Peter asks him, "May I help you?"

The Pagan asks, "Where am I?"

Peter says, "You're at the gates of heaven."

The Pagan says, "But I don't believe in heaven."

Peter frowns at him. "You're one of those Pagans, aren't you?"

"Yes. I believe I'm in the wrong place; I'm supposed to go to Summerland."

Peter says, "Sorry. We took over Summerland, and it's temporarily closed for remodeling."

"What should I do now?"

Peter says, "Well, since we don't allow Pagans in heaven, you have to go to hell. Sorry. Just follow that path that leads downward and to the left."

The Pagan walks down to hell, where the gates are standing open. He walks in and finds beautiful meadows, happy animals, and clear streams of water.

He walks on in and begins exploring, and after a few minutes a courtly gentleman walks up to him and bows politely. "Hello, I'm Satan. You must be the guy that St. Peter phoned me about. Are you a Pagan?"

"Yes, I am. What's going to happen now?"

Satan says, "Well, the fishing's pretty good, if you enjoy that sort of thing. There's a little refreshment stand down the road. And I believe the Pagan meeting grounds are right over the next hill."

Suddenly, a hole opens up in the sky above, and a yawning chasm opens directly underneath it. The stench of sulphur fills the air. Hundreds of screaming, tortured souls drop down into the flaming pit, which immediately closes up with a thud.

The Pagan, hardly believing what he just saw, asks Satan, "And what was THAT ???"

Satan rolls his eyes. "Oh, just ignore them. They're Christians; they wouldn't have it any other way."

Moi aussi. 3nodding