MAXIMUM ASS

"I wish I was as much of a fucking bad-ass as Rondorr," thinks Oberon Zell-Ravenheart of the Grey School of Wizardry.

What follows is an excerpt from an interview with Rondorr the Mystic that originally appeared in the June 2003 issue of Mage Monthly (called simply “Magely” by aficionados of the Secret Arts).

MAGE MONTHLY: Let’s start with the basics. Why are you so awesome?

RONDORR THE MYSTIC: People ask me that all the time. I don’t have an answer.

MM: Really, though. Why are you?

RTM: I think it has something to do with me being better than everyone else.

MM: Why are you so much better than everyone else?

RTM: Because I’m mystical?

MM: What does it mean to be mystical?

RTM: It means your ass is scrubbed by invisible fairies in the morning. It means you glow with a constant inner light that also makes a thrumming noise, like God’s air conditioning. It means that every time you walk out the door, women throw their bras at you. It means you are chosen.

MM: Is it ever difficult?

RTM: Oh, yes. It’s always difficult. Sometimes I stare out the window for hours at a time.

MM: That sounds very poignant.

RTM: It is, Bob. Believe me, it is.

MM: I’m Terence.

RTM: Nice to meet you, Ron.

MM: Tell us about some of the enemies you have defeated, and how they cried afterward.

RTM: One time I punched a cripple in the face. He fell out of his wheelchair and into a hot tub in which the water was just slightly too warm for optimum comfort. Everyone clapped.

MM: That must have been awesome! I’ll bet he sputtered and shook his head spastically and struck at the slightly-too-warm water ineffectually with his fists!

RTM: Oh, no. He never came back up. He drowned.

MM: Oh…

RTM: Yes, the clapping died down, and everyone stood there nervously for a while. Then a concierge discreetly walked up to me and said that maybe it would be best if I left. It was a very fancy hotel, you see.

MM: It certainly sounds like it. Although someone should see to their hot tub technician!

RTM: Oh, don’t worry about that. I had him drowned, also.

MM: I know we already covered this, but man—you are fucking awesome.

RTM: I know.

MM: We haven’t really talked about magic. What originally drew you to it?

RTM: I used to think it was because I liked to make things float around in the air with my mind. But then I realized it was something deeper than that, a fundamental human need to be intimate with the cosmic mysteries of life. In other words—I just like making things explode.

MM: Is there an amusing anecdote you’d like to share about a time you made something explode?

RTM: No.

MM: Do you have any advice for young people who want to go into the wizardry game?

RTM: All the big names—Gandalf, Merlin, Harry Potter, Aleister Crowley—they all have one thing in common: They don’t take shit from people. Especially that snooty prick at the 7-11 who used to roll his eyes every time I paid for snack cakes with rolls of pennies.

MM: Used to?

RTM: Yeah…I followed him home one day and made his cat explode. He was wiping blood and fur off his face with this dazed expression, like, “Whuh? What just happened?”

MM: Well…that certainly is an amusing anecdote about something exploding!

RTM: I know. I snuck it in the back door, giving you want you wanted all along but were too bold to not ask for. It’s called being a wizard.

MM: I think that pretty much says it all.

RTM: You’re a very astute magazine writer, Fred.

MM: Thank you.

RTM: Shut up.