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To Be a Magetan

What does it mean to be a follower of the Magetan faith? One definition that won’t ring true among the elven covenant is, “Going to snuggle town with a dead cat.” Though dead our lord and savior may be, Mageta was certainly no ordinary cat. A domesticated beast wouldn’t have saved an entire race of people from the greedy clutches of humankind. Only a lion of blessed might could come from the Promised Land itself and annihilate racist tormentors with such ease. A Deus Ex Machina conclusion to a centuries-long story of oppression would seem ridiculous on the surface, but the key word in that old phrase is Deus. Mageta wasn’t a mere lap cat. He was a lion god.

And with this lion god’s protection, the elven race was able to rebuild their once dead society from its crumbling foundation. They made sure never to repeat the evils of their human captors. Instead of lusting for corporate gold, Magetan society became moneyless, trading services for products and fulfilling each other’s needs. They do not engage in hateful politics; this is a religion of love. Even a simple gesture such as holding hands, which would be frowned upon in far-right human society, is encouraged among followers of Mageta. Respect for the animal kingdom is a must for these zealots, whether it’s conforming to a vegetarian diet or taking in wayward pets and giving them the best years of their lives.

Why do the elves practice their religion this way aside from not wanting to repeat the bitterness of human slave masters? They don’t see it as blind zeal, but rather gratitude for a historical figure who paved the way for their culture to flourish. They have carved monuments and statues of him. They gather in church to send him their prayers every week. They encourage creativity among each other whether it’s drawing, sculpting, writing poetry, or constructing prose. Most of the Magetan lore is an anthology of creative writing exercises, all of which didn’t need the approval of human society in order to feel valid.

But sometimes contact with the outside world is necessary to sustain their own culture. Selling fruits and vegetables in the streets of Morgan Town, selling art to elitist galleries, and attending technology boarding schools are just some of the ways elves reach out to their hostile communities. Elves are still met with prejudice and shunning in these societies, whether it’s being called a slur such as “lizard” (due to their light green skin) or “cucumber penis” (due to their vegetarian diets). The beatings ramped up so much that the elves once again had to learn how to fight.

By the time they had enough, Mageta was already slain in battle, hunted for his meat and pelt. Some elves were recaptured into slavery, not just by Mageta’s killers, but also by one of their own: Mother Ruth. She had a specific role to protect Mageta’s literal children, but was secretly earning money to sell them into servitude. The term Mother Ruth had become a slur of its own for elves who turned their backs on their own kind. Because of elven betrayal and human prejudice, Magetan society began to suffer once again. But every day they look towards their savior for the strength to carry on.

Because their lion deity was powerful himself, the elves’ combat training regimen sought to mimic such strength on the battlefield. Exercises for elven soldiers were often so difficult that it wasn’t uncommon to pass out by the end of the session. Running, weight lifting, leapfrogging, and weapons training were all mixed into one session after the other. Soldiers willingly gave up their comfortable love so that they could protect their people, which meant they were mentally tormented by their instructors as well as physically. This would seem hypocritical of a race determined not to repeat their human tormentors’ mistakes, but there was no other choice.

Those who followed Magetan progressiveness and protected each other from the evils of the world were rewarded in death by having a place in the Promised Land, a cloudscape of comfort that they weren’t afforded in the living realm. Laying down in any part of the Promised Land was akin to a soft, fluffy bed that one wouldn’t mind sharing with a dog or a cat. If an elven follower was lucky, they could easily schedule a cuddle session with Mageta himself. He may have been a violent god when dealing with bigots, but only when it was warranted. The remainder of the time, he was as gentle as his booming baritone voice.

The prospect of the Promised Land sounded so appealing to the elves that for some of the more suicidal ones, it was more appealing than the living world. There was plenty for an elf to be suicidal about: trauma, war, unwanted sex, bullying, and a lifetime of negative messages from those who never cared. Whenever the mental and physical stresses of real world combat became too much for an elf, they would descend into a trance-like state known as the Death Valley March. They become so uncaring and unaware of the violence around them that they march blindly into a suicidal scenario.

Not everyone can snap out of this trance, but those who do are tasked with attending therapy sessions with a Magetan shaman. The couch will be as comfy as a Promised Land cloud, the music will be as pleasing to the ears as a tingly massage, and the therapist will be so sweet and empathetic that a traumatized elf can tell them anything they need to without fear of the details leaving the cozy cottage. Talk therapy is the method of choice for these healers. Only in extreme cases will they use herbal remedies and brain salves, but these are not replacements for a much-needed conversation about mental health.

Can Magetan values succeed in such a disgusting world where racist humans control the majority of land? Every day it seems like a definitive no. Every day the elves wonder what the point of all of this is, especially with a mysterious blight covering their once fresh crops. Every day they pray to Mageta and wonder why his answers won’t help them escape a sex dungeon or a slave auction. Every day they wonder if they’ll be the next ones to take the Death Valley March.

And yet, the religion is still alive in the year 500 AM. That’s because it is not a religion, but a spiritual bond. It is nationalism. It is family. It is protection. The world may be a cold place, but somewhere in life is a warm leonine embrace. The elves may have to search far and wide to find it, but when they do, it is pure magic. Magic may be gone from the elven culture, but it is not forgotten and never will be. Trauma can suppress creativity and lore, but it can’t kill it forever.

"The Liberal Redneck Manifesto" by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan

BOOK TITLE: The Liberal Redneck Manifesto: Draggin’ Dixie Outta the Dark

AUTHORS: Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Political Comedy

GRADE: Extra Credit

To an outsider, the American deep south represents everything wrong with the country today whether it’s bigotry, ignorance, or lewd behavior. After reading this book, you’ll find out firsthand that it’s far from the truth. Even I had negative feelings toward the south once upon a time. And then this book came along and gave me a lifelong education worth more than college tuition that no millennial can afford. The problems in the south are nuanced and complex whether it’s poverty, drug addiction, religious zeal, or anything else that rightwing politicians and pundits have purposefully imposed upon it. Nobody wants the south to be in that much trouble, least of all the citizens themselves. For all the negative things I’ve said about that region, I humbly apologize. That’s what this book means to me and that’s part of the reason why I’m giving it a five star review. I always appreciate having my eyes forced wide open…even if the tough love is tougher than a two dollar steak.

Even though this book is categorized as humor, it does have one chapter that almost brought me to tears: Pillbillies. It describes how Purdue Pharmaceuticals aggressively advertised heroin-like pain pills to the south and now addiction has become a national epidemic. The part where Trae Crowder talks passionately about his mother being a pillhead who ruined the family’s life is what hit me the hardest. She would lie, steal, and end up in prison many times before she got clean and sober and even then she was still on thin ice with her son. I used to know somebody who was addicted to drugs and was probably just as dishonest as Trae’s mother. The two of us haven’t spoken to each other for years and that’s how I’d like for it to be. But then Trae has a moment of warmth where he’s more forgiving of addicts because the circumstances that got them addicted were beyond their control. Will I ever forgive my former friend? Only time will tell, but Trae’s story along with his political analysis gave me lots to think about. I like being able to think critically, in case you couldn’t tell.

For all of the dark stuff the south is unfairly stereotyped for, there are times in this book where it feels like a fun place to live. Partying hard to passionate music, shooting guns (responsibly), and best of all, eating the best-tasting food on the planet. Barbecued ribs, salty steak, sweet potato pie, mmm-mmm-mmm! Of course, eating all of that delicious food uncontrollably will lead to diabetes and other health problems, as Trae Crowder will point out with his own experiences as a fat kid. But that’s the redneck way of life: they don’t do anything halfway. They don’t hold back. They don’t live life at anything other than a hundred percent. I’d be lying if I was saying I wasn’t a little bit envious of all of that fun. But then I remember that the south, much like any other place on earth, has its own set of awful problems and trading one life for another isn’t a healthy approach to personal reflection. I’m fine living vicariously through the three authors. With their sense of humor, who wouldn’t want to?

If you learn nothing else from this book, then at least learn to take care of each other and always be kind. That’s what liberalism is supposed to be about, right? Don’t judge strangers too harshly and don’t blame your problems on the wrong people. Be humble, but not so humble that it completely ruins your emotional wellbeing. Thank you, Trae, Drew, and Corey, for all of the tough love and fun times. Reading this book was a welcome experience and I look forward to many more of them. Fun fact: I gave this book to my mom one year for Mother’s Day and she loved it just as much as I did. Like I said earlier, five out of five stars is what this book will get. Congratulations on knocking it out of the park, guys!

Young Turk

VERSE 1

I am the Young Turk, I am creative fuel

I don’t say this shit because it sounds cool

I do it for the fire, I do it for the passion

Fuck what’s trendy, fuck what’s in fashion

Call me a Young Turd, call me a Young Jerk

You’re the only one who’s going berserk

You’ve got a loud voice? Mine is even louder

My words are explosive like lit gun powder

VERSE 2

I am the Young Turk, social justice ronin

Adrenalize the world with a dose of serotonin

I don’t need your guns, I don’t need your bombs

You don’t need armor, just a hug from your mom

Call me a snowflake, call me easily triggered

Watch as this movement gets bigger and bigger

You’ve got an army? Mine is even stronger

Your iron fist won’t rule for much longer

VERSE 3

I am the Young Turk, your worst fucking nightmare

The ghost breathing down your neck until you’re tired

You will relent one day, you will fucking pay

For all the sins you’ve put on internet display

For all the shots fired, for all the brains wired

For all the demon seeds you’ve fucking sired

You’ve got a congregation? Mine is everywhere

Watch as the one percent rips out their own hair

FINAL LINES

I am the Young Turk, lightning in a bottle

I am the Young Turk, American role model

I am the Young Turk, see you in November

I am the Young Turk, always fucking remember

I am the Young Turk! X4