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August 12, 2005


A tragic story from Scotland.

(Thanks to DavCat14)


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If you happen to be a psychic it's fair to say that you should still pay attention to the news.

I knew that something like this was going to happen before I got back ...

A few years ago, a co-worker invited me to a "Psychic Party". I didn't go because I knew I wouldn't enjoy it.

Anyway, the next day I asked how it went and she said it was awful. First of all the psychic got lost and had to call for directions.

If you can't even foresee that running into a burning apartment is the wrong direction to run in and will lead to medical prolems, I'm not sure you have what it takes to develop subtler forms of perception.

Problems, I say, of a medical nature.

So much for the plan to use psychics to predict fires before they happen, sort of like in "Minority Report." It would have saved so much money on hoses, too.

“I don’t think it was the crystal ball. I have had crystal balls on my windowsills for years and nothing happened.”

I'm getting a picture but it's probably better if I just keep it to myself.

Are crystal balls anything like squirrel's nuts?
Just askin'.

oh i just love dramatic irony.... bwahhhha

I finished doing a party one night, and came home and put my crystal ball in a wicker basket on my stairs. The next morning, the sun came in the window and my basket caught on fire. Hubby tossed it out into the snow and there was no real damage.

This is a picture of me and my ball.

I went to a psychic to have my palm read, and she told me to sand it down and start over. But that's another story.

The lesson here, for all you bloggettes: If it has tires or crystal balls, you're going to have a problem with it.

sounds like a personality disorder to me

Hello. My name is Bob when it is not Bill, Gwendolyn, Rap Master Waldo or Big Bubba.

You see, I have multiple personality disorder and I am not sure who I am most of the time.

It is all right, though. The nice therapist at the clinic says I will be all right as long as I keep the right wallet with the correct identification in the pants or purses that each “person” uses.

That has been my biggest problem up until now. Try explaining to a cop that just pulled you over for speeding that although you are wearing a gold sequined low-cut with the cutest high heels this side of Giorgio’s of Rodeo Drive, your name is not Big Bubba.

See what I mean?

The problems I have faced would make Doctor Phil go back to drinking tequila shooters and using his tongue to play paddleball.

For example, my “Bob” persona is a quiet accountant with the firm of Pinchem, Squeezem and Gouge. “Bill” is the Grand Wizard of the Knights of the Klu Klux Klan. Gwendolyn is a transsexual Marilyn Monroe impersonator. See? Even my personalities have personality disorders. I’m so confused. Rap Master Waldo is the whitest DJ rapper you have ever heard. He has absolutely NO rhythm and could not rhyme the word “play”. Hey! Word up to your auntie. Big Bubba is an unemployed redneck with delusions of becoming the next WWF wrestling sensation.

So, when I say I have an identity crisis, I mean I have and IDENTITY CRISIS!

But things have been going well since I’ve been taking the little pink pill; at least until the other day.

Some one of my idiot personalities went online and purchased a new sequined set of wrestling tights…and we know who that would be, don’t we Bubba?

Next thing I know, someone has stolen my Identity in what has been termed “Online Identity Theft”.

This is when some sleaze-ball hijacks all your personal information and begins to become you.

This guy did not know what he was getting himself into!

First, the little men in the white coats came by and took him to his missed electroshock treatments! Rap Master Waldo needs those to supply the power to his DJ equipment.

Then Four Brothers whipped him in the alley for the crosses Bill burned in their backyards.

The Kennedy family had him arrested for Gwen’s repeated stalking of Ted Kennedy. She had been sending him letters telling him how much he reminded her of Jack.

The IRS auctioned off his home for the back taxes they said Bob owed on those offshore accounts the Mafia had him funnel money through. There are two guys named Guido and Luigi leaving threatening phone messages on his answering machine.

The good news is that he is scheduled as Bubba to lose to Gonad the Gelding Maker in the main event on Monday Night RAW.

I was very upset about all of this until I gave it a bit of thought and talked to my therapist. We decided to give up all our old identities and start a new one.

Hello. My name is George W. Bush and I AM the President!

Agent - *snork* Well done!

I once had a deck of Tarot cards.

You know, if you use those to play solitaire, you find out how the game's going to end after flipping the first card, and it's just no fun anymore.

And if you use them to play poker, everyone knows everyone else's hand.

Not as dramatic as a room bursting into flames.

But I lost a whole lot of money over the course of a week. OMG, and Jon Edwards can be so annoying with the, "Your grandmother wishes you would have called more" sidecomments. What a distraction! Dude, just play the game, okay?

I kept waiting for the story to say something about him having a fire extinguisher but it had expired and needed recharging.

Jozet--I know what you mean about playing with Tarot cards. I was never good ubtil I learned a method: Whenever you get dealt the DEATH card you always double-down.

I've always wondered this: If the "Psychic Friends Network" was as effective as Dionne Warwick used to say it was, why didn't she see what happened to her career coming?

It's not really his fault. My crystal ball caught my house of fire three times before I realized I wasn't supposed to light a candle under it.

I love this dramatic ironie. :-)

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