The Strange Case of Joe Anderson Hopkins and the Witches of Waterloo

  • Gender Troubles Piece №2 — In this story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products, is intended or should be inferred.
Witches Familiar — picture from “Daemonologie, In Forme of a Dialogue, Divided into three Books: By the High and Mighty Prince, James &c.
The weird ReSisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Trudged across the Crosby sand,
Fearing not the scorn of man,
A charm, a hex, a spell began. 
 
One a sticker, cock and balls, 
Upon the tin man, and the walls,
But lo, their firey message called,
And echoed through the councils halls.
Peace! the charm’s wound up.

Part the First — Breakfast

Stoutly plumped Joe Anderson Hopkins, Mayorette and Judge-Chief of the shitty Liver, did grumble. His cornyflakes weren’t wet enough.
“My Cornyflakes ant weh enuff woman! An why isn’ dair any bacon on top?”
 
Ah, this dread baconless Old Swarn morn — folorn, and whishtee was unborn, consulted the twits for the latest porn. Tweet, tweeteroo. A smirkish titter or two. Tweet tweety tweeteroo. A curl tail wiggle, snortish giggle. Tweet Tweeter —

Witch Speak

“Arghhhaggleboorahloorahleytitty!”

The mind of Joe Anderson Hopkins: Arahh! Arooh! Arabblebabbleboo! An ass-salt upon the mind o man, this vile and blasted stick-her-up, what fuck is this, a witchy charter, I’ll ave their corsets guts an garters! Sick barefacery, brazen defacery, of the merry Mersey mud flats mine! I shat. Revenge! I must, at that! St Anthony imself, in is dessert hut cud’n a-conjured this demonic prick. Beelzeboob would shuddery oo at the thought of a wimin withow a dick — how sick!

“Quick!” squealed he, with porcine glee, “Release the Ownds! Release the Ownds!”

And so to the twits in fury he tooketh to show the shitty that he was shooketh:

Mayor Joe Anderson Hopkins

Joe Anderson Hopkins
@Mayor_Anderson_Hopkins

“I am not aware of the witches coven, will remove the stickers and place in the oven. Then work with Police to identify guilty and remove these foul witch-TERFs from our gorgeous city. #PRIDE xoxo :-)”

Part the Second— The Coven Aunt

TERFs

SCENE 101. The Cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron of scouse.

Thunder. Enter the three ReSisters

Sister One

Thrice the binded pussy hath mew’d.

Sister Two

Thrice and once the hedge-pug whined.

Sister Three

Harpier cries ’Tis time, ’tis time. (What time is it, actually?)

Sister One

Round-about the cauldron go;
In the turnips, carrots, throw.
Beef, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter’d onion, sleeping Trot,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

ALL TERFS

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Sister Two

Fillet of a fanny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
(Shit, we seem to be out of frog toes! Frog toes? Anybody? Bollox!)
Batty wools and tongue of dog,
Adler’s fuck and blind-worm’s sting,
Wizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

ALL TERFS

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Sister Three

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of him-locks digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver-bird of blasphemy,
Gaulish goats, and slips of yew
Silver’d in the man’s eclipse,
Nosey Kirk spied garter hips,
Picture of a home birthed babe,
Witch-deliver’d in a bath,
Make the gruel sludge thick with wrath:
Add thereto a mayor’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

ALL TERFS

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Sister Two

Cool it with a new-moon’s spud,
Then the charm is nay a dud.
Enter HELL CAT BIN d’ELL to the other three TERFs:

HELL CAT

O well done! I commend your scouse;
And every one shall share in the house;
And now about the cauldron sing,
Live elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
Music and song: ‘Alison Moyet, Prince, Patti Smith’ & c
HELL CAT takes early retirement

Sister Two

By the prick of my thumb,
Something wicked this way’s cum.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!
Tis piglet Joe, that dreaded pox!

Part the Third — The Trial

City Council of Liverland
Fury said to a
scouse, That he
met in the
house,
Let us
both go to
law: I will
prosecute
you.—Come,
I’ll take no
denial; We
must have a
trial: For
really this
morning I’ve
nothing
to do.”
Said the
scouse to the
cur, “Such
a trial,
dear Sir,
With
no jury
or judge,
would be
wasting
our
breath.”
I’ll be
judge, I’ll
be jury,”
Said
cunning
old Fury:
I’ll
try the
whole
cause,
and
condemn
you
to
death.”’

The Lord Mayor and various deputies were seated on their thrones when the ReSisters and their few male companions arrived in the chamber, with a great crowd assembled about them — all sorts of little birds, blue haired, pink haired as well as the mandatory outgrown sewage green locks. In the very middle of the chamber was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made ReSister spokeswoman Alice quite hungry to look at them — ‘I wish they’d get the trial done,’ she thought, ‘and hand round the refreshments!’ But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time.

Alice had never been in a council session before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. ‘That’s the Mayor,’ she said to herself, ‘because of his great size.’

The Mayor, by the way, was the Judge, and the Queen; and as he wore his chin and wig over the robes, he did not look at all comfortable in the company of such a Terfish bunch. It was certainly not becoming.

The twelve hundred jurors were all writing very busily on slates. ‘What are they doing?’ Alice whispered to her comrade. ‘They can’t have anything to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.’

‘They’re putting down their names,’ the comrade whispered in reply, ‘for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.’

‘Stupid things!’ Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the Councillor Hairy Doyle cried out, ‘Silence in the council chamber!’ and the Mayor put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.

Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down ‘stupid things!’ on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell ‘stupid,’ and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. ‘A nice muddle their slates’ll be in before the trial’s over!’ thought Alice.

‘Herald, read the accusation!’ said Mayor Joe.

On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on his trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows: —

The Mayor of Snitch, he saw a witch,
All on a summer day:
And Hairy Doyle, began to roil,
And burned the witch away!’

‘Consider your verdict,’ Mayor Joe said to the jury.

‘Not yet, not yet!’ the White Rabbit hastily interrupted. ‘There’s a great deal to come before that! We call upon Alice of the ReSisters to present her evidence!”

‘Here!’ cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for the accident of the goldfish kept running in her head, and she had a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the jury-box, or they would die.

‘The trial cannot proceed, this is literal violence’ said Mayor Joe in a very grave voice, ‘the trial cannot proceed until all the jurymen are back in their proper places — all,’ he repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said so.

Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put Hairy Doyle in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving his arse about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got him out again, and put him right; ‘not that it signifies much,’ she said to herself; ‘I should think he would be quite as much use in the trial one way up as the other.’

As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident, all except Hairy Doyle, who seemed too much overcome to do anything but sit with his mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the chamber.

‘Do women have penises?’ the Mayor said to Alice.

‘No,’ said Alice.

‘No? No!?’ persisted the Mayor.

‘No. None whatever,’ said Alice.

‘That’s very important,’ Mayor Joe said, turning to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted: ‘Unimportant, your Mayorjesty means, of course,’ he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.

Unimportant, of course, I meant,’ the Mayor hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone,

‘important — unimportant — unimportant — important — ’ as if he were trying witch word sounded best.

Some of the jury wrote it down ‘important,’ and some ‘unimportant.’ Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates; ‘but it doesn’t matter a bit,’ she thought to herself.

At this moment the Mayor, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out ‘Silence!’ and read out from his book, ‘Rule Forty-two. All persons born in the right body to leave the court.’

Everybody looked at Alice.

I’m not born in the right body,’ said Alice, “I merely found myself in this one.”

‘You are,’ said the Mayor.

‘Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,’ said Alice: ‘besides, that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.’
 
The Mayor then adorned a large billowing dress and crown and insisted upon being referred to as the Queen.

“This chamber asserts that the verdict and sentence “women don’t have penises” is hate speechery.”

“But it’s not,” replied Alice, a little exasperated, “It’s just a statement of biological fact.”

“And who are you to pronounce upon the biology of facts?!”

“Other way round, Your Mayorjesty,” said Alice quietly.

“Either way round those words are hateful! An evil fact is in fact evil,” insisted the Queen.

“But not all words fit every person,” said Alice.

‘Then the words don’t fit you,’ said the Queen, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

‘It’s a pun!’ the Mayor (quickly changing robes) added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, ‘Let the jury consider their verdict,’ the Mayor said, for about the twentieth time that day.

‘No, no!’ said the Queen (again changing robes quickly). ‘Sentence first — verdict afterwards.’

‘Stuff and nonsense!’ said Alice loudly. ‘The idea of having the sentence first!’

‘Hold your tongue!’ said the Queen, turning purple.

‘I won’t!’ said Alice.

‘Off with her head!’ the Queen shouted at the top of his voice. Nobody moved.

The Queen then rose to her pulpit and began, first softly, but gradually ascending to a sort of Orcish crescendo:

“This council or this chamber have united against the behaviour of the Witches in defacing public art, which I believe and am proud to state, was done in a hateful way - I say. And it resulted not only in groups, troops and individuals including ME, Hairy Doyle, and ME and others being subjected to torrents of abuse because of these stickers. Abuse! Abuse, I tell you, obtuse abuse!”
 
The councillors diligently noted “abuse” upon their slates.
 
“The abuse was so insidious that one person has reportedly even written a ruthlessly vicious satirical article about me! ME! Mayor, Judge and Queen of Liverland! Offoffoffoff with his head whoever he-she may be!”
 
 Alice looked on, bemused, tiring of it all. 
 
“That isn’t about equality, that isn’t about fairness. That isn’t about having an open debate. That’s about bullying!” she shouted at Alice with rage, “that’s about intimidation,” he thundered, face violet with excitement. “And putting up stickers saying “women don’t have penises” is about proposing hate against people that are different! That’s something that every single one of us in this chamber rejects!”

The jury mumbled unanimously in affirmation, all but Hairy Doyle who was still staring absent mindlessly at the ceiling.

“And that, Alice, is why you never got any applause! If you had approached it in a different way and you wanted to have a sensible conversation and discussion with us, then we’d have listened,” she bellowed, petticoat quivering with rage. “But we won’t tolerate abuse of members of this community that we respect value and love. And when, Alice, you get that in that enormous head of yours, then I’ll sit down and meet with you and discuss with you your concerns. Until then, I won’t meet with you.”
 
 Several members of the Jury were knocked over again as they simultaneously jumped from their pews to give the Queen a standing ablation.

Two jurors then proceeded to escort Their Mayorjesty to the gender neutral bathroom so that their motion could be duly passed, unanimously.

“Guilty!” screamed the Jurors.

“Witch!” shouted the Mayor.

‘Like a dog!’ said Alice, it was as if the shame of it must outlive her.

“Fin,” shouted the author having had quite enough.

The weird ReSisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Trudged across the Crosby sand,
Fearing not the scorn of man,
A charm, a hex, a spell began. 
 
One a sticker, cock and balls, 
Upon the tin man, and the walls,
But lo, their firey message called,
And echoed through the councils halls.
Peace! the charm’s wound up.