~*~You Might Be Giving Pagans a Bad Name If~*~

You insist that your boss call you “Rowan Starchild” because otherwise you’d sue for religious harassment. (Score double for this if you don’t let that patronizing bastard call you “Mr. or Ms. Starchild.”) You’ve ever confused the Prime Directive with the Wiccan Rede. You’ve ever cast a spell with twenty-sided dice. You said it was bigotry when they didn’t let you do that ritual in front of city hall. It had nothing to do with the skyclad bit. You picketed The Craft and Hocus Pocus, but thought that the losers who picketed The Last Temptation of Christ needed to get lives. You’ve ever publicly claimed to be an elf, alien, vampire, faerie, or demigod, and been genuinely surprised when not everyone took you seriously. You’ve ever publicly claimed to be the reincarnation of Gardner, Merlin, Aleister Crowley, King Arthur, Cleopatra, Morgana Le Fay, or Jim Henson, and been genuinely surprised when not everyone took you seriously. You’ve suddenly realized in the middle of a ritual that you weren’t playing D&D. You’ve failed to realize at any point in the ritual that you weren’t Playing D&D. You’ve suddenly realized that you are playing D&D. Your Book of Shadows is a rulebook for Vampire: The Masquerade with notes in the margins. You’ve ever effected an Irish or Scottish accent and insisted that it was real. You talk to your invisible guardians in public. (Score double if you have met the Vampire Lestat or Dracula, triple if you got into a fight and escaped, or quadruple if it was no contest.) You’ve ever tried something you saw on Sabrina, The Teenage Witch You’ve ever had to go along with someone’s ludicrous story because it was twice as likely to be true than most of the crap you spout. You expect your employer to exempt you from the random drug testing because of your religion. You’ve won an argument by referencing Drawing Down the Moon, knowing damn good and well they haven’t read it either. You’ve ever referenced the Great Rite in a pick-up line. Someone has had to point out to you that you do not enter a circle “in perfect love and perfect lust.” (Score double if you argued the point.) You claim to be a famtrad (hereditary), but you’re not. (Score double if you had to tell people you were adopted to pull this off.) You claim to be a descendant of one of the original Salem Witches. (Score to a lethal degree if you don’t get this one.) You’ve ever used tongue delivering the fivefold kiss. (Score double if you did it more than once.) You’ve ever used reincarnation as the intro for a pick up line. (You may deduct this point if it worked.) You think it’s perfectly reasonable to insist that, since every tradition is different, and no one tradition is right, there’s no reason not to do things your way. You request Samhain, Beltaine, and Yule off and then bitch about working Christmas. The thing that drew you to the Craft was the potential to dance with naked members of the opposite sex. You strip in a club like the one in Porky’s under your craft name, and consider it highly appropriate. You’ve ever been psychically attacked by someone who conveniently held a coven position you crave, and suddenly had a glimpse into their mind so you could see how evil they were. You’ve ever achieved position or influence in a coven by sleeping with half of it. You claim yourself as a witch because how early you were trained by the wise and powerful such-and-such. Of whom nobody has heard. You complain about how much the Native Americans copied from Eclectic Wiccan Rites. You’re not a hereditary witch but you have a good disposition to it because your ancestors (the ones before your German parents) were Native American or Irish. You don’t know the difference between Irish and Scottish, and you alternately claim to be both. You think it’s your Pagan Duty to support the IRA, not because of any political beliefs you might share, but because, dammit, they’re IRISH. You think the number of Wiccan books you own is far more important than the number you have read, regardless of the fact that most of your books are for beginners. You hang out with people who each match at least fifteen of these traits. You recognize many of these traits in yourself, but this test isn’t about you. But, boy, it’s right about those other folks.