The Fear.

I slept poorly last night. I had the Fear over for a slumber party. Stupid Fear. All friendly and nice when you're sitting up eating pizza in your jammies and laughing at Real True Ouija Stories on the web, and then as soon as the lights go out, HORRIBLOSITY.

"You are not properly Of Magicks," says the Fear.

"Yes I am," I respond. "Shut up, the Fear, or I shall not let you have any of the leftover pizza."

"You do not do Proper Magicks," insists the Fear. "You do not have a big hat or a cloak; also, you do not have £1050-worth of Grimoires you bought on eBay. How can you be Of Magicks when you possess naught but a bunch of PDFs? Also, you have no wand anymore. You need a big wand, but it must be made of gold and some jewels and you must bleed on the gold and jewels."

"I said shut up, the Fear, or I shall put anchovies in your shoes! I have a wand."

"Nuh-uh. It smashed the last time you tried to use it."

"Oh yeah." That's the last time I make a wand out of melty plastic picnic forks. "But I am still Of Magicks."

There is silence for a while. I start to think that the Fear has gone to sleep.

"Hey, Mordant."

"What now?"

"You are not Of Magicks--you are too LINEAR. If you were properly Of Magicks you would own a plushy Cthluhu and you would make plushy Cthluhu his own Livejournal. And you would have lots of entries here that said lAAAAYEEEiamFLYYYYYIIINGGGGG!!!1! and would talk about smoking dope a very lot."

I get up and put jalapenos in the Fear's pants.