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By KatyK on I Hereby Convene The Beach Witch Coven

I feel like I'm a little more... gritty than a beach witch. Like, maybe a bit more specific, too. A sand witch, perhaps. Perhaps.

Posted on April 14, 2015 at 6:22 pm 4

By isabelle bleu on "...saying she was single when she was maintaining nine husbands."

♥♥*✰˚˚ღ♥♥。✰˚*˚★ღ˚。✰•*˚♥♥"✰˚ ♥*♥♥new role model♥♥*✰˛˚♥♥ ★ღ˚✰•*˚♥♥" ✰˚♥*♥♥

Posted on April 10, 2015 at 10:39 am 1

By adorable-eggplant on DO NOT GET MARRIED UNLESS YOU ASK YOUR PARTNER THESE 39 QUESTIONS

@totallyunoriginal I really cannot think of a non-skeezy way to say this: but I would eat that pickle.

Posted on November 19, 2014 at 3:31 pm 3

By totallyunoriginal on DO NOT GET MARRIED UNLESS YOU ASK YOUR PARTNER THESE 39 QUESTIONS

My questions are very similar to the tomato questions but are pickle-centric.

Do you want my pickle?

Can you take this pickle?

The pickle is touching my sandwich AND my fries CAN YOU GET THE PICKLE OFF MY PLATE RIGHT NOW???

Posted on November 19, 2014 at 3:25 pm 2

By Jazmine Hughes on The Witch In All Of Us

@BethJ HI JAYA'S MOM! If you would like to write an article about raising a teen witch please email me at jazmine at the hairpin dot com. Please include embarrassing teen photos, plz and thx

Posted on October 22, 2014 at 2:24 pm 5

By Jaya on The Witch In All Of Us

@BethJ Love you mom. Let's do some mother-daughter spells next time I'm out.

Posted on October 22, 2014 at 1:46 pm 3

By BethJ on The Witch In All Of Us

Jaya's mother here... Rest assured, the spell book is in the attic.
And here I thought I was being a nice mom to let you go
to Seth's bar mitzvah-- I didn't realize I'd been spelled!
Now need to rethink our whole history! ( of course I was
a witch in 1966, age 12...)

Posted on October 22, 2014 at 1:40 pm 8

By antilamentation on "Lady/ Assaulted As Teenager/ Or Current Business"

John Smith picked up his post as he got home from his job as a marketer. He flipped through some leaflets for take out food, one credit card bill and then paused with a frown on his face as he came across a slim white envelope addressed to "John Smith, Being Stalked, Or Current Business."

"What the fuck?" He tore open the envelope to see that it was a promotional leaflet for a car wash. He glared at it for a moment, perplexed, and then tossed it with the other leaflets into the trash.

He knew about some of this stuff from work. "Someone got it wrong," he muttered to himself as he headed to the kitchen. "Fucking interns."

Two days later, he got home to another slim envelope, brown this time, addressed to "John Smith, Being Stalked in his own Neighborhood, And at Current Business."

Hands trembling slightly, he tore it open and extracted a leaflet advertising a local computer repair company. He pulled out his mobile phone.

"Hello, Computer Fix. We fix it for you. How can I help you today?"

"I got this leaflet in the post from you, and it's actually addressed to me, being stalked?"

"What? You're being stalked, sir? Online?"

"No! Your leaflet. It's addressed to me, and says I'm being stalked."

"If you're having trouble with an online stalker, sir, you need to contact the police. We can only fix your computer."

"No! Look, who's in charge of your marketing? Look, just put me through to a manager."

One pointless conversation later during which he managed to learn absolutely nothing, he jammed the phone back into his pocket and went to fix himself a stiff drink.

The third envelope was waiting for him a week later. This time it was a stiff rectangular cardboard one with a white adhesive printed label, addressed to "John Smith, On Suicide Watch, At Home or At Current Business."

Inside the cardboard envelope was a small, free sample penknife from an online company which sold knives and pocket tools. He swore and flung the whole lot into the trash.

After that the letters came everyday.

"John Smith, Seeking Help for Anxiety, At his MD's."

"John Smith, Still Being Watched, All the Time."

"John Smith, The Police Just Laugh, At You."

And so on.

He began to miss work on some days to wait for the postman. He would grab the letters before the postman could slide them into his mailbox, and then hurl them straight into his trashcan. And then later when he found he couldn't think of anything else, he would creep back, extract them, and read them fearfully.

"John Smith, Self Medicating with Alcohol, At Current Business."

"John Smith, Fired, From Work."

"John Smith, Treated For Paranoid Delusions, In Hospital."

"John Smith, RIP, At Home."

The last accompanied a brochure for a funeral home.

For once, it wasn't spam.

Posted on January 24, 2014 at 12:59 pm 6

By Rookie (not the magazine) (not that there's anything wrong with that) on Friday Open Thread

@I'm Right on Top of that, Rose That's actually pretty good to know! I wasn't sure, and I guess I just assumed, and I made an ass out of me. But not u.

Posted on December 20, 2013 at 6:06 pm 1

By I'm Right on Top of that, Rose on Friday Open Thread

@Rookie (not the magazine) (not that there's anything wrong with that)
Flowers are a good move, but you'll know it's serious when he sends you food. Or, I guess, that's what would make it serious for me. "Oh, you send me a bouquet of bbq ribs! How thoughtful, we are in love now."

Posted on December 20, 2013 at 5:51 pm 2