St. Gabriel’s Router — Waylon Graylight’s Magic Stuff & Whatever the Fuck-12.w1z
A lot of people think that anything enchanted, cursed, haunted, works as a portal to a hole dimension where you’re perpetually falling in and out of various holes until all the blood rushing finally makes you pass out (Sorry, I said “until,” as if the falling stops. Ha!), etc., had to have gotten that way decades and centuries and millennia ago. There’s a perception that one day, a long time ago, the gods decided to stop fucking with us and departed our fragile and monotonous realm, leaving only a smattering of mystical IEDs as mementoes of the bounty of divine essence we once knew. A scroll of spider conjuring here, a jug of fire walking there. And if that’s true, all the wizards and demons and gorgons and merfolk and gnome dickheads and cheetah men and baby bitch warlocks (they all are) and…well, anyone leying lines went away too. Maybe we’d all be better off if that did happen, but this is not a world of good fortune or even okay luck. They’re all still fucking with us. And they love it.
One of the more modern occult items to surface is St. Gabriel’s Router. It was discovered by a Catholic wizard in Canberra, Australia who reported that it allowed them to chat with God. I don’t know why anyone would want that, but who am I to judge? I’m neck-deep in a Frito pie as I write this and I don’t plan on stopping at three.
As with most things metaphysical, St. Gabriel’s Router wasn’t quite what it appeared to be. The router did allow a person to connect any wifi-enabled device to the network of the divine, but it’s a vast network. From Rodohill, god of sand dollars to Merdazrael, lord of the fifth circle of garbage hell, degradable plastics circumference (he’ll try to convince you he invented ski-ball, but it wasn’t him, and he’s terrible at it). It would be remarkable if the connection it provided was secure.
This Canberran wizard thought they’d contacted their one true Christian god, but they were really chatting with Pimtam, god of colors. It sounds like a fanciful and charming title, but Pimtam got that title from always trying to see what colors people and animals had inside them. And bringing these colors out. Sweet-sounding things are often the messiest.
After a week or so, Pimtam and the wizard arranged to meet in a parking lot behind a KFC. I heard that the wizard made a good go of holding their own, but…alas.
I’d use the wizard’s name if I remembered it. Oh, poor…Jess…othy. Poor Jessothy, we hardly knew ye. By “we” I mean me. But thank you for taking the bullet on this one.
