B is for I can't even be fucking bothered to do this.

I've been wrestling with 'B' for the last couple of days (obviously, I'm totally disregarding the original schedule for the Pagan Blog Project and just writing whenever I damn well please).  "Books" would be too obvious, and I just can't think of much else that interests me enough to write about it.  As I was flipping through some other blogs participating in the Project, I saw plenty of entries on the Burning Times, which made me pissed enough that I recorded a video basically to the effect of, "The Burning Times wasn't a real thing.  Shut up and get over it and read a fucking history book that wasn't written by Anne Llewellyn Barstow or Margaret Murray, for the love of all that is holy.  And stop comparing the witch hunts to the Holocaust.  You privileged fucks."

But that's just not very pleasant.  And I'm nothing if not pleasant.

It's not even a conversation that I thought warranted more discussion.  Everyone's got the Internet now, right?  And access to ebooks, free online historical archives through any number of universities, online lectures, etc.  There's just no excuse for that kind of ignorance anymore, right?  Surely nobody's tossing around the old "nine million women burned at the stake" thing anymore.

False.  In the last week, I've read this sort of horse shit in two books published since 2011.  TWO FUCKING THOUSAND ELEVEN.  One of these works was self-published by someone who teaches "Wicca" classes locally.

I just can't.  I can't even.  I have lost the ability to can.

So B is for Burning Times and bull shit and books that should never have seen a printing press.  B is for booze, of which I find myself immediately in need.