It’s that time of year. You’re attending a Halloween party and you see a fly ass green hunny who you just gots to knock big belt buckled boots with.
Let BQB show you how it’s done with his Top Ten Witch Pickup Lines.
Salem, MA – 1692
Prudence Goodhope sighed and lamented her fate as she struggled against the ropes that held her tight against a wooden pole buried in the earth. Villagers came and went, dropping off handfuls of twigs and kindling at her feet. With each drop, the pile grew larger and larger until it reached her waist.
The stern looking Reverend Cotton Snerdway approached with a lit torch in hand. “Right then, time to send you to hell witch. Have you got any last words before I set you ablaze for the committing the crime of witchcraft?”
“Yes!” Prudence shouted. “I’m not a witch! Please believe me! I swear I’m not a witch at all!”
A hushed gasp overtook the crowd of villagers.
“She just accused her accusers of lying!” a random farmer cried.
A random old woman swooned and was about to fall when her fellow villagers caught her. “Fi on thee, witch! Your words cut my ears like knives! How dare thee mistreat thine accusers so!”
The reverend held up his torch. “Now, see here, you dirty witch. If your accusers say you’re a witch, then you’re a witch and that’s all there is to it. So shut your gob and enjoy your burning.”
“Please!” Prudence said. “Good reverend, allow me to plead my case.”
“Sorry,” Reverend Snerdway said. “Once you’ve been accused, that’s all there is. If we let people start denying accusations then people who make accusations will get their feelings hurt and then the next time someone sees a witch they’ll just shut their traps and not tell anyone because they won’t want to feel as bad as your accusers will when you start runnin’ your dirty witch face about your so-called innocence of witchcraft and then before you know it, the whole bloody colony will be overrun with witches, flying around on their broomsticks, turning children into newts, cackling at all hours of the night. We can’t have that. Not on my watch. Come on, now. It will just hurt for a minute.”
“But I can prove I am not a witch!” Prudence said. “I have, at all times, been in the company of my family and if they had seen me dabble in witchery, then surely they would have said something.”
“They’re probably all witches too,” the reverend said. “Fear not. We’ll burn them next.”
“Wait!” Prudence said.
“What now?” Reverend Snerdway asked.
“I’ve never flown on a broomstick,” Prudence said. “I’ve never turned a child into a newt. I’m not green. I don’t know any spells. You can search my home top to bottom and you’ll find nary a wand or a book of incantations, not even a single potion…”
“My hands are tied,” Reverend Snerdway said. “If your accusers say you’re a witch, then you’re a witch. But rest assured that your imminent burning is most assuredly deserved because if you hadn’t been a witch, then surely, your accusers would not have accused you of being a witch.”
Prudence’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Wait? Reverend, you mean to say that accusers never get their accusations wrong?”
“Not at all,” the reverend said. “Since the dawn of time, not one single accuser has ever made a false accusation, either on purpose or accidentally due to a misunderstanding of the pertinent facts relative to the issue at hand. You were called a witch and ergo, you are a witch. If you weren’t a witch, then you would have never been called a witch, so which witch is a witch? That’d be you, witch.”
Prudence sighed. “I can’t argue with that impeccable logic. You have convinced me, sir. I must be a witch.”
“Finally,” the reverend said as he leaned down. He was about to set the kindling ablaze when Prudence called out. “Wait!”
“Blast!” Reverend Snerdway said. “What now, witch?”
“What if there’s a tiny, absurdly small chance my accusers are wrong?” Prudence asked.
The reverend shrugged his shoulders. “Unlikely, but no matter. Most assuredly, you are a witch, and so when I set you on fire, you will die a painful death, shrieking in agony and being justly punished as the witch that you are. But, in the unlikely event that you are not a witch, you’ll still die and just get to Heaven that much sooner, enjoying all the rights and privileges thereto that a good Christian death can offer and I’m sure our Lord will be there to offer his condolences for the mix-up.”
“Hmm,” Prudence said. “Well, I should very much like to meet the Lord.”
“And meet him you shall,” the reverend said. “Unless you’re a witch, and then you’ll go straight to hell.”
“Now I’m very uncertain of this whole ordeal,” Prudence said.
“Woman,” the reverend said. “Please stop questioning this for in the end, the important thing is that your accusers not be offended. If I don’t set you on fire and allow hot flames to lick the very skin off of your bones, then they will think I do not take their accusations seriously. If I ask them simple questions like, ‘Say, accusers, why do you think Prudence is a witch?’ or ‘Did you even see Prudence ride around in the night sky on a broom?’ then your accusers will be cross and their feelings will be hurt and do you have any idea how inconvenient it is to make an accusation?”
“OK,” Prudence said. “You make a fine point, reverend. It would be easier to just burn me than offend an accuser with basic lines of inquiry. Have at it then. Lord, here I come!”
And so, Reverend Snerdway burned over 100 accused witches without even bothering to find out if they had ever even owned a broomstick because, holy shit, you can’t ask an accuser a question, you un-woke sack of crap.
First, I’m not asking that about Video Game Rack Fighter. That woman is a Saint with the face of an angel. At least I think she is. She’s been playing Car Thief Mayhem for three weeks straight without a break not even for the bathroom. She just pees in a coffee can.
Second, just pointing out one of the top web searches leading people to this illustrious site is along the lines of “Is my girlfriend a witch?” or “my girlfriend is a witch” or “how to tell if your girlfriend is a witch?”
Listen bros. I’m not relationship expert, but if you have to ask…
Anyway, in case you missed it, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Girlfriend Might Be a Witch:
Bitches be green, y’all.
Oh those sexy practitioners of the dark arts.
Halloween is just around the corner, so if you’re looking to score a hot date with a fine ass witch, you best school yourself on these witch pickup lines, player:
#10 – “Bubble bubble, toil and trouble, damn girl, you make my heart burn and my pants bubble.”
PRO: It’s classy and Shakespearean.
CON: She might think you’re saying that she gives you heart burn as in acid reflux and not as in her setting your heart ablaze with passion.
#9 – “Hey baby, wanna ride my broomstick?”
PRO: Direct and to the point.
CON: This is a rather uncouth line and thus will only work on the most promiscuous witches with low morals. Sure, they’ll rock your world but beware witch STDs. There’s no spell to get rid of that.
Not that I’d know.
No, I haven’t been scratching myself for the past three hours straight. Mind your business.
Also, she might get confused and tell you that she already owns a broomstick that provides her with adequate transportation, but thank you just the same.
#8 – “Wanna see my eye of newt?”
PRO: Again, little time wasted.
CON: She’ll be expecting an actual eyeball that you yanked off of a damn newt. Is your love life really worth blinding a lizard? I think not.
FYI – Don’t use “eye of newt” as a euphemism for your junk. Whatever your pull out is going into her boiling pot.
#7 – “You cast a spell on me.”
PRO: Maybe she’ll think you’re clever and charming.
CON: She might also take it as a challenge and turn you into a damn toad. Ribbit, ribbit. Enjoy those flies, bitch.
#6 – “That is the sexiest pointy hat with a damn belt buckle I have ever seen.”
PRO: She’ll appreciate that you realize she’s been practicing witchcraft since colonial times.
CON: She’s going to keep wearing that hat no matter what and the point is going to flop around all over the place while you two dance the horizontal cha cha.
Then again, some freaks are into that sort of thing.
#5 – “I’m keen on the green.”
PRO: You’ll make her realize that her being the color of grass, broccoli and Kermit doesn’t matter to you.
CON: Whatever part of you that touches her will turn green, so uh…you know, keep that in mind if you’re cheating on your vampire girlfriend with a witch.
#4 – “Damn baby, I gots to make my magic wand disappear.”
PRO: She’ll be glad you share her interest in magic.
CON: She may be turned off by the double entendre and use her power to uh…actually make it disappear.
#3 – “Witch betta have my money.”
PRO: She might be a Rihanna fan and appreciate the reference.
CON: You basically just called her a witch hooker, which may or may not be true but still, discretion dude.
#2 – “Move, witch! Get out the way!”
PRO: She might be a Ludacris fan and appreciate the reference.
CON: She might get out of your way, then never come back.
#1 – “Which witch is which?”
PRO: Good to use on a group of witches. May lead to a witch threesome.
CON: They might just politely answer your question by telling you the names of each witch in the group and then dismiss you.
Do you have a good pickup line to use on a witch?
Share it in the comments.
The flames dissipated. The smoke subsided. Two cloaked figures searched through the thoroughly cooked bodies.
“Are we too late?” asked the female.
“It looks that way,” the male said.
Several feet away, an unscathed hand rose into the air.
The impromptu rescue party darted for it. They removed their hoods, revealing their faces to the moonlight.
“Is she alive?” Lady Beatrice asked.
“Only one way to find out,” Henry replied. He leaned down to whisper into Hortense’s ear. “My name is Legion…”
Cough…cough. Hortense sputtered for awhile until she gave a week reply. “…for we are many.”
The redhead stood up. Her hair was a twisted mess. “What the hell is wrong with humans these days? Cast a spell to turn all of their children ugly and none of them notice but oh sure, break wind one time in mixed company and its all ‘burn her at the stake! burn her alive!’”
Hortense observed her visitors. “Oh. Hello vampires. Late to the show, I see.”
“You must be moving up in the world, Hortense,” Henry said. “Father sent us personally. I had no idea your power had grown far enough to allow you to pull off that little trick.”
“Uggh,” Hortense said as she stood up. “There was nothing little about it. I’ll be feeling it for days.”
A man’s voice groaned. “Help…please….help.”
Lady Beatrice discovered the source. It was Jericho. He was burned beyond recognition. His face charred. His flesh crisp. All but a few hairs on his head were gone.
“Charming fellow,” Hortense said. “A cobbler by trade and in his spare time, an insatiable reader. Pity he’ll be dead soon.”
Jericho’s blackened hand trembled as he raised it.
“Not soon enough,” Henry said as he lifted his boot, preparing to bring it down on Jericho’s face.
“Stop,” Lady Beatrice said.
Henry returned his boot to the ground. “What?”
Lady Beatrice fell to her knees by Jericho’s side, then looked up at Henry. “I want to keep him.”
“Keep him?!” Henry scoffed.
“You promised we’d start a family,” Lady Beatrice said.
“When we find some trustworthy humans to bring into the Legion’s fold,” Henry said.
“Oh honestly,” Lady Beatrice said. “If we wait to find a trustworthy human we’ll never have children, Henry.”
“You have him then,” Henry said. “He’ll be no son of mine.”
“Look at him,” Lady Beatrice said. “He’s mere moments from death. He’ll be ever so loyal if we save him.”
“He’ll despise our guts if we save him,” Henry replied. “Eternal life is meaningless if you have to look like that forever.”
Lady Beatrice rolled her eyes and popped out her fangs. “Oh Henry. Ever the narcissist.”
The lady chomped into Jericho’s throat, her fangs tearing into the cooked flesh. Within seconds, she was draining Jericho’s blood.
Hortense drew closer. “I’ve heard of this,” the witch said. “But I have never witnessed a vampire turning ceremony.”
“It’s not all that ceremonial,” Henry said. “First she drains the subject of his blood.”
Lady Beatrice lifted her head up. Her face was drenched red.
“The subject dies…”
Jericho gasped and went silent.
“He’s dead now. His soul has traveled off to the afterlife,” Henry explained. “To heaven if he’s been nice, hell if he’s been naughty, you know the drill. And now, my good lady has but seconds to open a vein…”
The lady’s fang tore through her wrist. She held it over Jericho’s face and dripped red drops into his mouth.
“…and feed the subject,” Henry said. “The human body has such a great need for blood that it will search for it up to five minutes after being drained to death.”
Jericho jolted up to a sitting position. Like a mad fiend, he seized the lady’s wrist and suckled at it.
“Vampiric blood restores his body,” Henry said. “He’ll live forever barring silver bullets or stakes to the heart, having his head chopped off, being exploded, the standard pitfalls. And without his soul bossing him around with outdated concepts like ‘good’ and ‘bad’ he’d normally have a jolly good time…”
Jericho continued to feed.
“…if he didn’t look like that,” Henry said.
“Fascinating,” Hortense said.
Lady Beatrice smiled. “Oh Henry. He’s warming up to me already.”
“Yes dear,” Henry replied.
Hortense looked baffled. “How are vampires any different than zombies?”
Henry clutched his chest and gasped. “I beg your pardon?”
“You both die lose your souls,” Hortense said. “You’re both dead bodies that keep walking.”
Henry tapped a single finger against the side of his head. “Our brains still work. Zombie brains do not. Ironically, that’s why they seek to ingest them. Foolish notion that doing so will make them smarter.”
Lady Beatrice snuggled her free arm around Jericho and allowed her new son to keep feed from her open wrist.
“All is well now, my love,” Lady Beatrice said. “Mumsie will take good care of you.”
Jericho stopped drinking. His voice was strained now and full of gravel. “Muh…Mumsie?”
“Shhh,” Lady Beatrice said as she pushed her bloody wrist up against Jericho’s lips. “Drink.”
Hortense snapped her fingers and a broom poofed into her hand.
“Right then,” the witch said. “I do hate to walk out on a vampire birth but, as you may have noticed, they’re burning witches in these parts and I’d prefer not to go through that whole rigmarole again. Did Esmerelda survive the inquisition?”
“She did,” Henry said. “You’ll find her in Spanish territory to the south.”
“Lovely,” Hortense said as she tucked the broom between her legs and grabbed the end. “I’m off!”
Henry watched as the witch launched herself into the sky and streaked away. He then returned his attention to the lady.
“Isn’t this grand, Henry?” the lady asked.
“Hmmph,” Henry grunted.
The Reverend Jonathan Willard was a stern faced man, his features old and withered. The old man surveyed the captives, two women and a man, each tied to a stake, kindling wood piled high over their legs.
“Who doth accuse these wretches of witchcraft?” the Reverend asked as he raised his flaming torch in the air. “Step forward and make your accusations known.”
The crowd parted to make way for three teenage puritans.
“Ernestina Meyer looked at me cross. I’ve felt peculiar ever since!”
“Hortense Tallmadge has a peculiar odor! It is of the devil!”
“Jericho Turner fills his home with books! What could he be doing with so many volumes if not using them to trap men’s souls?”
The Reverend shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. Good enough for me. Let the burnings begin!”
The crowd applauded.
Mason Prendergast, Mayor of Salem, was a bearded man who wore a buckled hat. He pushed through the crowd until he reached the Reverend.
“Reverend Willard,” the man said. “What you are doing is most uncouth.”
“Away with you,” the Reverend said. “This trial is being conducted in accordance with biblical law.”
“You call this a trial?” the mayor asked. “‘A woman looked at me funny so let’s set her ablaze?’”
“If these three are indeed practitioners of witchcraft, they shall use their powers to shield themselves from the flames and be saved,” the Reverend said. “If not, they will all die good Christian deaths and be welcomed with open arms by the angels in heaven as martyrs in our ongoing war against the devil. I’ve thought it all through, Mayor. My logic is impeccable.”
“Your logic is non-existent!” the Mayor said. “The Governor has assured me that he will arrive in a week’s time to investigate your so-called trials. I urge you to stay your hand until then.”
“The Lord’s will cannot wait,” the Reverend said. “And besides, you don’t want bloody witches lurking about all willy nilly do you?”
“Smelling peculiar makes you a witch?” the Mayor asked.
“It doesn’t not make you a witch,” the Reverend responded triumphantly.
“And reading books?” the Mayor asked.
“Story books are tools of Satan,” the Reverend said. “Souls of men and women are trapped inside the pages and their lives turned into printed words. The bible is the only book that one should ever read. Everyone knows that. These three are vile sinners I assure you.”
The Mayor sighed. “Allowing this charade to go on for so long is my sin.”
Mayor Prendergast turned to address the crowd. “Will none of you join me in stopping this?”
The townsfolk looked to each other for a moment and then shouted in unison. “Burn the witches! Burn them!”
The Mayor shook his head. “May God have mercy on us all.”
The Reverend walked over to Ernestina. She was an older woman in her mid-forties, some gray in her hair.
“Do you confess to witchcraft?” the Reverend asked.
“Umm,” Ernestina said. “Should I confess to witchcraft?”
“God looks upon those who confess their sins with favor,” the Reverend said.
“Then…I am a witch?”
“I knew it.” The Reverend set his torch against the kindling until it was ablaze.
“Blast,” Ernestina said.
Hortense was a young woman in her early twenties with long red hair.
“Do you confess to witchcraft?”
“Pater huc me,” Hortense mumbled.
The Reverend looked to the Mayor. “Do you hear this? She speaks in tongues!
Hortense’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Audite me, Pater.”
“Please,” the Mayor said. “You’ve frightened the poor woman into some type of fit.”
As the flames licked Ernestina’s legs, she cried out in agony. “Agggghhhhh! I’m not a witch! I swear I’m not a witch!”
“Silence you!” the Reverend shouted at Ernestina. “Only a witch would deny being a witch!”
Hortense’s chants grew louder. “Convertimini ad me in captivos igni.”
“Enough,” the Reverend said. “I’ll hear no more of your devil’s talk.”
The Reverend set the kindling underneath Hortense ablaze.
Hortense kept chanting, louder and ever so defiant. “Et offeres super eos , ut propter audaciam!”
“And you,” the Reverend said as he reached Jericho. “What have you to say for yourself?”
Jericho was in his early thirties with a gentle, round face and long brown hair tied back behind his head.
“I apologize, Reverend,” Jericho said. “I get so very lonely sometimes and the story books…I do so enjoy reading tales of great deeds I shall never accomplish but…had I known it was an offense…”
The Reverend was clearly not swayed.
“Please Reverend,” Jericho said. “I’ll burn every book I own the second I arrive home and never look at another one again.”
“I can’t take the risk,” the Reverend said. “Warlocks are even more powerful than witches.”
Jericho closed his eyes as the Reverend set his torch upon the kindling.
Ernestina had been consumed, her remains fully charred. Jericho winced as the heat grew strong underneath him.
To the Reverend’s dismay, Hortense remained unscathed, despite being surrounded by flames. The fire simply bounced off of her.
“What in God’s name?” the Reverend asked. “You…you really are a witch!”
“Salvum fac servum tuum patrem,” Hortense shouted. “Et destinatam voluntatem semper erit!”
Whoosh! The fire that danced around Hortense’s body erupted into a massive fireball that spread its way forth, consuming the other captives, the Reverend, the Mayor, and the hundred or so townsfolk in its wake.