Archives For Psychic

You know about my experiences hearing dead people. I’ve even shared my psychic predictions from time to time. So I thought, hey, why not have a sit-down with some dead people and interview them, like Barbara Walters except interesting?

I turned off the lights and lit a candle for ambience. Except I didn’t realize the candle was some sort of cloying scented thing. It made my eyes water and I almost passed out from the fumes. I blew it out. Darkness is better for communing with spirit anyway.

Soon, I felt a presence. I called out, “Who’s there?”

I heard the sound of a coin dropping on the floor and rolling to a stop. From the street lamps outside, I had enough light to see that it was a penny, heads up. Hmm.

Penny

“Mr. Lincoln?? Is that you?”

“Yes it is. I’m so glad you figured that out. Do you know how many other people just say ‘Hey look, a penny!!!!’ and then grab it and run off and forget I’m here? It’s very annoying.”

We chatted for a while about this and that. But then I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to know.

MW: So, Mr. President, I hate to bring up bad memories, and I don’t want to seem tacky, but I have to ask: what did you think of the play before you were so rudely interrupted?
AL: You know, I was really enjoying it. But Booth shot me right during the funniest line—he did that on purpose, you know. At first he said he did it so the laughter of the crowd would drown out the gunshot. But he admitted to me later that he did it just for spite so that I’d miss the best part.
MW: What an ass. Did you ever see John Wilkes Booth act? Was he any good?
AL: Eh. He was okay. I might have been more generous with my opinion about his acting ability if he hadn’t been a president-murdering son of a bitch.
MW: That’s fair. I assume when he died he didn’t go upstairs, am I right?
AL: That’s correct, he’s down below. Last I heard, he was being moved to different quarters. The Night Stalker—he just arrived down there—got dibs on being his bunkmate. You have no idea how happy that makes me.
MW: But Mr. President, in your second inaugural address, you spoke so eloquently of a time when the war was over, and welcoming the Confederates back to the country with “malice toward none.” You don’t sound like the man who wrote of such forgiveness.
AL: I know. I lied. It made for good press. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I’m the only president who ever lied.
MW: You have a point there. Anyway, what have you been doing since your assassination?
AL: You mean in these past seven score and eight years? Well, I recently took up yoga. And I learned Thai cooking. In fact, just the other night I gave a dinner party—the food turned out really well but the guests were a bit rambunctious. Cleopatra drank all the wine as fast as Jesus could make it. And I have to remember never to leave Queen Victoria alone with Marco Polo…they disappeared for a few hours and when they came back, the Queen’s gown was all disheveled and wrinkled and Marco high-fived everyone.
MW: Wow. I had no idea they were such party animals.
AL: Remind me to tell you about the time I had drinks with Florence Nightingale. She might have been a bit of a prig when she was alive, but now, once you get a few apple martinis in her, she lets her hair down and starts slipping the tongue to the barmaids.
MW: Is that right?? I would have thought she’d be more of a teetotaling sort.
AL: Let’s just say the “Lady With the Lamp” becomes the “Lady Wearing the Lampshade” pretty quickly when alcohol is involved.
MW: You’re starting to fade, Mr. Lincoln. Is there anything else you want to say before you leave?
AL: There is, as a matter of fact. Why is everyone so fascinated by Kim Kardashian? Am I missing something? She has a great behind—I don’t think she’d even need a bustle to fill out her dress. But other than that, she seems as useless as George McClellan.
MW: A lot has changed since you were here, sir.
AL: Not really. Next time I’ll tell you about the time Edwin Stanton and I put on some of Mrs. Lincoln’s dresses and paraded in front of the Capitol Building. We acquired the calling cards of quite a few senators and congressmen.

Stay tuned for my next chat with the spirit world…who knows who will come through next??

As many of you know, I have something of a hotline to the spirit world.  I know things.  And I sense many important and exciting events in store for the coming year, so I want to share my predictions with you.

Crystal ball

Jack Kerouac will return to earth in the body of a rabid dog and rip out the throat of the numbnuts who decided to crank out a tepid, unnecessary film adaptation of On the Road.  The casting director who signed Kristen Stewart for a role will be found with a copy of the novel rammed up his cold, dead colon.

Prince William and Kate Middleton will welcome a son who will bear an unfortunate and uncanny resemblance to his grandfather, Prince Charles—complete with giant ears and constipated countenance.  The front page of the Daily Mail will announce the birth with a photo of the baby and the headline, “A Royal Shame.”  The Times header will read, “Newborn Prince Healthy but Lost Genetic Lottery.”  And The Sun will simply declare, “BLOODY HELL!!”

In other celebrity baby news, the spawn of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West will have cloven hooves and will perform its own C-section.

The governments of the United States and Canada will jointly decide to banish Justin Bieber to an ice floe in the Arctic Circle.  He will never be heard from again.  The IQ of millions of tween girls will skyrocket shortly afterwards.

In sports, the New York Yankees will go 162-0, sweeping the playoffs and winning the World Series in 4 games. Alex Rodriguez will be out for the season, tormented by the ghost of Lou Gehrig yelling, “Suck it up, bitch!”  The NFL will be rocked to its core next winter when a meteor lands in the middle of Cowboys Stadium, destroying both the Dallas Cowboys and the visiting Philadelphia Eagles.  Americans will once again fail to give a rat’s ass about the upcoming Major League Soccer season.

Buoyed by the continued federal funding of PBS, the Children’s Television Workshop will introduce a new Sesame Street character, Bruce—Snuffalupagus’s boyfriend.

Sometime next month—or maybe later today—a woman in front of me will walk way too slowly, causing my blood pressure to rise until I finally go batshit crazy and push her in front of a bus.

President Obama will appoint Betty White as United States Ambassador to the World, which will usher in a new era of peace on earth.

There’s more, but my spirit guides just went for a cigarette break.  If you have any questions about the year ahead, please feel free to ask.  I will provide answers when my guides return.

As many of you know, I’ve heard dead people.  So I’m thinking of turning this into a full-time gig, complete with fortune-telling.  I figure as a psychic reader I can really work the wild curly hair thing and wear outlandish, exotic, low-cut outfits that show off the girls.  Plus, with “Madame Weebles” I’ve already got a good name for this shtick.

The problem is, a lot of the traditional tools used for fortune-telling are pretty old.  It’s about time we updated some of these divining methods to be more in keeping with our modern lifestyle.

Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice pot of tea brewed with loose leaves.  I’m sure tea leaves make all sorts of interesting shapes and patterns in the bottom of a person’s cup.  But if you can predict a person’s future by reading tea leaves, surely you can do the same thing by reading formations in bath salts.  Bath salts are so much more au courant than tea leaves these days.

I see a zombie eating your face. Good luck with that.

The crystal ball is a beautiful creation—a shiny, smooth, hypnotic sphere.  But it’s a bitch to keep polished and smudge-free.  And it’s heavy.  Ever drop one of those fuckers?  It’s a great way to fracture your foot.  And I don’t even want to think about what would happen if it cracked or chipped—or shattered, God forbid.  If breaking a mirror is bad luck, can you imagine what kind of terrible juju is in store for someone who damages a crystal ball?  So why take that risk when there’s an app for that?

I see you in a—wait, hang on, I’m getting a call.

Tarot cards have been around for centuries, but they’re so cool that I don’t want to update them.  If I were to modernize card readings, though, I would use baseball cards:  “You have drawn A-Rod’s rookie card.  This signifies that you will be successful and wealthy beyond your wildest dreams, but you will also be a pathetic head case with no soul.  Everyone will hate you.”

You’re going to die alone. Sucks for you.

Now all I have to do is cultivate some sort of vague, non-specific European-sounding accent and I’m good to go.  At least I think so.  Am I missing anything?