Upsetting Day: Hoodoo Justice Magic (Patreon)

White magick has failed me, and I don’t mean morals. The true powers of hell are priced out of this neighborhood. Let’s leave the Bushwick library and learn some real shit.

Starting with the mean streets of Midtown Manhattan, where I found this.

I’m instantly hard. Zapping dicks into dangly ornaments is all the enlightenment I need or want. Anyone can poison their neighbor’s dog and mumble “alakazam.” A mage chants your boners away, forever.

Before you ask: potassium nitrate, and no it doesn’t. Unless you believe. I won’t question sending cheaters and presidents the same whammy, when I can ride the high of dickrot charms existing. What do I need?

Don’t mock the coasters. How often, in the quest for vengeance, do we lose ourselves? By shielding our furniture while disintegrating wayward dicks, we stay human. Vital, considering the cock-shriveling powers we now hold.

I’m starting to question my lifestyle. Not the dickwarping, I’m all in. Just the fact that I can find everything else more quickly than the cookie sheet. Though does the dick candle have to be black? Half these books are about spells backfiring, and…nevermind, fuck it. Cowards fill unmarked graves.

Stop laughing. These are the weapons of the downtrodden. Stop laughing. This is justice in a predatory world. Stop laughing. There’s nothing funny about writing “soft dick” thirteen times on a wang-shaped candle or yearbook photo. Why are you still laughing at justice?

Clearly, I should savor this one. Let’s get the chapter title before the book title.

Golden. Justified covers for double-tapping hexing and cursing. This is drum-fed dark magick, and overdue. I started to think magick might be fake.

I should have trusted Miss Aida, my one and only mentor.

Whose cover bangs beyond mortal attainment. What dick could stand in her way?

Her work speaks for itself, so I’ll go light on background: Miss Aida has experience in Caribbean cock curses, psychic fraud, and Air Force flight instruction. That’s right, she strafed at least one OPEC member with impotence. Her only unethical deed. To make up for it, she’s brought cursed dick seals to the people.

“But wait,” says the strawman. “Must men bear shadow herpes alone? Is there a war on warlocks? Were alt-magicians right all along?” Calm down.

Miss Aida’s a step ahead. I can’t riff “why not curse the cheater?” because that spell’s the chapter opener. We’re clearly meant to dual wield, waving a genital-melting candle in each hand. A roaring rampage of impotence. Caught your partner in the act? Dried. Back talk from family? Softened. Nosy witnesses? Premature ejaculated. Staring at their phone, pretending they didn’t see you warp seven dicks, but they totally saw? Double whammy.

Good thing justified is in the chapter title, or vengeful jiltees might use the Sahara Crotch Curse. Grok would specialize in Vaginismus no Jutsu. The war between Inquisitors and fraternities would dominate headlines, followed by the global alum shortage:

I appreciate the trust. Miss Aida doesn’t ask if we have print photos of our enemies on deck. We just get to work. Illness is our business, and business is mental.

Soldering? While the arcane FGM’s ethical, I’m worried about wytch safety. There’s overlap between believers in crotch magick and people guaranteed to burn themselves. The Rule of Third Degree is potent. And no amount of skill will keep ER doctors from mocking your vagina effigy.

Then again.

Aida says it’s cultural or whatever. We ball. Hell, if you’re marrying an idiot tomorrow, cast this on yourself. At least magick won’t give you bacterial vaginosis. Unless you write “discharge” on the candle.

Someone wrote choke laughing on a black lung candle.

“I’d love to do this to people. But it seems like a stretch,” says the fool. Oh, to be made of straw! To soak in a pool of ignorance! Miss Aida explains Santeria’s truth to those with eyes to see:

Even the title tests us. You immediately distrust every word. Burying that doubt strengthens your powers.

I cut this down a bit–Miss Aida takes her time with this story. You need to know who got their balls cursed and why. Endless rambling, like a chicken murder closet, is island tradition. If you don’t believe me, check my word count.

Strange, how Cuba impoverished itself. Or did Batista write “poverty” nine times on the way out? If magick does anything, at all, anywhere, the CIA has more wizards than—

Whoa, went all light-headed. What happened to Tony?

That’s a gelding. I don’t make the rules, I just apply them selectively for personal gain.

“That’s Rose. She’s making some kind of revenge puppet. Yeah, like in the scam books we sell white freshmen. No, it’s fine. Time collecting my toenails is time away from a lawyer. Sometimes I plant them for her.”

A much more mature generation. I’d finish three micropenis charms before remembering his savings exist. Though if cash magick works, you kind of wonder why she needed nevermind. Please do

Honestly, Aida’s brave to reveal she ever doubted. Imagine how many peers wrote “hater bitch” on command paper before she saw the light.

Ah, I made a little slip earlier. It’s clearly Fucking Day. I’ll scry for further errors. Except typoz.

But she didn’t stop there. Warlord Maria extinguished Tony’s family line. An afterthought, after she’d reduced the balalawo to a commoner and purged his name from the coven chat. Finally, his assets in the next world were split between Maria and Azealia Banks.

Cower before the wrath of family court. Now that we all know and believe in divorce charms, when should we use them? When is sweet, delicious revenge justified? Arcanists occupy two camps.

Or, as Miss Aida puts it:

Granted, half of moral philosophy is speaking first and loudly. Yet I have a few questions.

I still have questions.

I have no questions. We’re so back.

I see a chance to build community here. The neighbors stopped asking me questions years ago. You can only bury so many AI wearables before becoming “that guy.” But they might have to ask “Why’s the entire block smell like piss? Have you opened an independent sewer? Don’t deny it, you’re carrying two Stanley Cups. Can’t you just sell drugs or something?”

Prison School has so many lessons for us. In times of fear and confusion, charge in piss-first. If it bleeds, you can piss on it. Maybe your medium is a doll (soaked in piss) or a jar (full of piss). Maybe you hand enemies their own piss-soaked headshot. It’s all ammonia. Build from a strong foundation of coffee and light beer, and pissbending can be your sword.

While I’d love to push piss science further, my knowledge has gaps. “Personal concerns” have come up twenty times, and I’ve just coasted by on context. Let’s define terms while finishing our water jugs. Miss Aida’s included a handy summary for our cursing ease:

Honestly, Miss Aida writes with inspirational confidence. Curses are justice, no more questions. DNA hides target data for curses, no more questions. None of a psychic’s wishy-washy “no one knows how or why this works.” We’re studying moral science, and by the time you debunk one of those words she’ll be six insanities deeper.

Comedy asks for comments about semen, footprints, and vaginal secretions. But teeth and tears are listed. Imagine holding enemy incisors and considering your revenge incomplete. Or their sorrow-stained napkins. This isn’t mundane revenge magick. You cast Aida’s curses twice: once at your foe, and once at a prosecutor.

Once you’ve collected enough of your target’s toilet waste, this book is rich in curses. The previous two and following four are one the same three pages. I could milk a series on these, if my sister hadn’t written “tryhard” on a Necron Monolith.

I guarantee that briquette’s an afterthought.

No punking out on me now, acolytes. Maybe comics promised you that sorcery was all posing and exposition. That was correct. But you pose behind a bucket of your shit. Or, if you’re in it to win it, your enemy’s. Or, if you’re ready to unleash your Shit Expansion, both.

Life offers a choice. You can be young Aida, and ask how or why you’d have your ex’s shit. Or you can channel her Godmother and grab a bucket. Choose justice.

Though it’s a lot of latrine magick. What’s up with that?

There we go, she’s a second-generation scat mage. Aida’s level of talent demands a little parental intensity. That was the subtext of The Lonely Death of Cheapskate Tony, so the double beat’s loud. Like mom always said: “The Americans measure your worth in test scores. You can sleep, or win. Choose incorrectly, and we both die in the snow.”

Anyway, if you’ve weakened your resolve with therapy—or you’re both constipated–you still have options.

…Was grave illness a pun? Or just habit? I tend to spam certain words too. Per word science:

By the wytch goddess, that’s a lot of fucking Lochlainn Seabrook. Clearly, it’s time to add Lochlainn’s entry to my next fun dictionary. Photoshop.

Therefore. Naturally. As we all know. It must embarrass her to even have to say it.

Not to be too Gunplay about this, but if you’re stalking an enemy with a sharp object and lunging forward, there’s another option. You’re already justified and correct, to say nothing of righteous. And any jury that shits is your puppet.

It’s a date.

I have no opinions on hawking your other cursing book in the one I’ve just bought. Public ones, at least. Whether or not a single spell here works, Aida’s first response to defamation is “collect their blood.” I don’t need that stress. I don’t pull up or put down, that’s why I want this book in the first place.

That said, if you’re boring as fuck, you might want to check if any of this works. Bad attitude for getting at the Tonys in your life. Still, Aida has your side.

Blatantly. Clearly. Overtly. How could you miss them? You sound like a bad-faith internet clown.

Eh, this reeks of cold-reading. These happen to everyone, especially during the enshitification of nations. And technology, I guess.

You have my attention. Not just for half the powers of the avatar, but the revelation that half of water spirits are fucking morons. “Sorry about your house, mortal. Someone hexed your lighter, and it would’ve burned your hand. It would’ve totally sucked. They collected your jizz for the curse and everything.”

Holy fuck, what? I was kidding with that dog joke earlier. Summon Dysphoria V is intense enough, leave Fido out of this.

Two years cursing one neighbor is the third most insane part of that paragraph. No version of this story keeps the speaker out of a straightjacket. A true believer attempted murder by melanoma, and at some point they’ll try mortal methods. A grifter, meanwhile, is the kind of compulsive liar that no longer cares if lying helps them. The lie itself is the purpose, and the grander the better. Either way, Miss Aida’s backyard trees have more dolls than leaves.

Still, my favorite thing about Miss Aida? Her flexible sense of humor and forgiving soul. She’s really someone that celebrates a good joke, or lets a bad one roll right past her. She would never send a wordy clown dick cancer. Or stab his dick’s shadow. Or stab his dick.

Now, when casting sane curses, it’s easy to overshoot. As a justified necromancer, you enter waterfights with urine balloons. Your targets may suffer and smell far more than intended. In this situation, there are two schools of thought.

Gunplay’s right. Remember the one true law of Santeria: don’t punk out.

That’s Atlantean for “fuck ‘em.”

In these cases, I like to remember the words of my magical idol: Char Aznable. Blame your target’s gynecomastia, divorce, and flash-flooded hovel on an accident of their birth. You’ve never betrayed anyone in your life. Mankind’s soul has been held down by sanity for too long.

I needed this after 48 volumes of Pins and Needles: Unleash the Power of Tingling. Instead, Miss Aida sold national audiences Drown Your Boss in His Shit,. And I’m grateful for every page. I don’t know who’s casting countercurses behind the Resolute Desk, but they’ll slip eventually.

Until then, Miss Aida’s inspired a side project.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: FancyShark who does all of his candle based magic with those expensive bath and bodyworks candles, but at least they smell amazing.

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