But who are these Slacker Gods?
Ah, sit at my feet, young grasshopper ...
You would be referring to the Dude and the Chick. Obtain your first degree in slacker wicca through the sacred sound of Slackerus Male-us: "Duuuuuuuuuuuuude, Duuuuuuuuuude." You must achieve the catatonic harmonic.
If you are familiar with some conventional wicca, you may recognize the following:
"In this night, in this hour, I call upon the ancient powers." Slacker wicca has achieved the sublime advancement to distill these words to their purest and most powerful form: "We're here, man. Let's party!"
If you work slackermagick, or the slackerwicca equivalent of "lettin' sh!t happen, man," nix the "So mote it be" and replace with the slackerwiccan purity of phrase, "Like, whatever, Chicks and Dudes."
If your leanings are towards the philosophical, try the slackerwicca mythos, recited here in the sacred words of one of our First:
"Once upon a time, we were, like, all part of this great big, uh, thing, man. And it was, like, really cool and cosmic. Then this cosmic pizza like, wanted to party, so it made more of itself. But after awhile, these cosmic cops showed up, and like, busted our groove with the burning times. It was, like, major bummer."
And continued in the saga of our own dudes and dudettes:
"But s'cool--we laid low for awhile, and now we're, like, back. The party never stopped, man. In fact, we're partying that same party our ancestors did, 'cause you see, Bonzo's gramma showed us her family secrets on how to party, and she learned how to party from her old lady. And, like, so on and stuff...Okay, I gotta go, man. I'm starvin'..."
And thus spake the words of our elders in slackerwicca.
Have I been making devotions to Them inadvertently? Or is that the kind of devotion They prefer? The laid-back but dire Loafer-foam-instep, ottoman of Cthulhu?
It depends. Do you have a ritual couch? And a coffee table of sacrifice? Quoth here from the Back-of-an-envelope of Shadows:
"Thy ritual couch must most definitely be plaid in nature, and saggy to the max, otherwise thy offering will be, like, mondo bogus. Thy coffee table must be hideous, and obtained by raiding thy city dump, or thy suburbs on Garbage Day, or thy nearest Yarde Sale. Liquid offerings must be placed in containers on thy coffee table (preferably nowhere near the coasters set out for their purpose), and offered unto the Dude and the Chick with a careless move of a sneakered foot, accompanied by the sacred chant of 'oh, shit, man, there goes my drink. Bummer!' to which other followers should reply 'Whatever' or 's'cool, there's more in the fridge.'"
