Whiplash Smile

I'll be the first to admit I'm cranky today. Without going into details, I'm considering taking over the cooking chores in the house. That way I'll be able to eat at least one meal in two days, unlike the past two.

But, I'm already off the topic and I haven't even started yet. Your Psychic Fiend is all set to tackle the pressing issues that plague your mind.

As you begin your journey with Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:

1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. Your Psychic Fiend must be careful of copyright infringement issues just like everyone else.
2. All answers are for entertainment only.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those sorry donkey-raping shiteaters who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, sorry-bitch charlatans like Miss Cleo and her ilk should be strangled with a telephone cord.

MooCow, self-professed code monkey and Lord of the Manor over at Crazying Up The Bottle, writes:

How pissed do you get when people keep calling you "Psychic Friend" or even worse "Psychotic Friend?"

I’m a little tired of tea leaves, so let’s use coffee grounds instead. I’ve also decided to see what can be seen when a filter full of them hits the wall. One moment while I meditate on what would possess someone to stir-fry vegetables for half an hour…annnnddddd…soft mushy whack similar to tonight’s supper hitting the plate…

Answer: I get nearly as pissed as you do when you tell folks not to touch you and their next seven comments include the phrase *touch*, but not nearly as angry as I get when I think back on the fact that I haven’t had a decent meal in two days.

Thanks Moo!

MoeThat’sMe from Moe’s Moments of Wisdom also has a query on something close to Your Psychic Fiend’s rant tolerance:

What is the name of the recruiter (I'm thinking of taking up jewelry making) and his boss… or the company for whom they scam?

You know, those coffee grounds really reveal a lot. I bet they’d reveal even more if I smear them all over the wall they’re stuck to. They’re still wet, so hold on a moment while I….

AHA! I knew it was in the grounds!

Answer: There’s a large block to that recruiter and his employer’s names being released—the ether shields him because he’s sold his soul to the Devil and it requires the services of a Santeria priest to remove the shield. Only once blood has been cast on the recruiter’s doorstep and all items in his office’s break room refrigerator anoint his desk will his name be told and his reign of terror halted.

Thanks, Moe! I'll be over to visit when time permits.

Brighton, the gorgeous lady over at A Day in the Night of a Stripper, asks something Your Psychic Fiend thinks we all wonder about:

Will I finally find myself surrounded with financial stability by August? Just askin….

The Magic 8 Ball wants to answer, but since it's generally full of shit I’d rather consult the Tarot. The Lovers (Two of Cups) figures prominently as does the Emperor, the Knight of Pentacles and The Wild Draw Four—uh, oops, looks like someone’s been playing UnoTarot again and I have to go kick their asses. I’ll be right back…

Answer: All Pentacles in the spread are the lower suit cards—the Two, the Four, the Ace. This tells me you’re at the beginning of this journey, too soon to tell if you’ll reach the goal as early as you’d like to. You do have help on your side in the Emperor, so look to the older, wiser man offering you and yours help—he means well and desires your well-being, nothing more.

Thanks, Brighton!

VegasGustan at The Song Repository and Home But Far From It has come to the well again:

I can't take a joke, so in what position do you forsee me getting fucked?

Oh, hey, those coffee grounds are moving! They’re spelling something…oh, that’s nifty! Tea leaves don’t do that stuff, they get one idea in their heads and just lay there afterward.

Answer: The Coffee Grounds of Divination show a shadow standing over you, baseball bat in hand, ready to land your head in the cheap seats. The cartoon balloon says, “Gee, if you can’t take a joke you’re already fucked, so here goes…”

Excellent question, VG! Thanks for stopping.

The Beef-Flavored Vegetarian Mo from Chez Moelle queries Your Psychic Fiend:

That stuff, is it gonna do the thing?

Hey, you're psychic. You should know what I'm talking about.

Answer: Your Psychic Fiend loves it when she doesn’t need to dust off the crystal ball for a question! Thanks Mo! Yes, it’s going to work–YPF helped, did she not? Your teacher should like it, and I was going to ask if you wanted to try it out on some ginormous incense sticks—I have plenty and can spare some. Email me if you’re up for it.

Thanks, and let me know how Schrodinger's Soap turns out.

Jackie at 86 Tips (it’s great to see ya, btw!) has a question:

Dear Psychic Fiend,

Will my boss fire my co-worker that I totally hate?

(Please please please say yes)

This time I *am* going to have to consult the Crystal Ball. Whipping off the silken cover, I buff the surface with a handy paper towel…ah, shit, is that fragrance oil? Cherry Sandalwood, mmmm…

Where was I? Oh! Ahh, I see them…the boss and The Hated One…in an office…alone…Suddenly the boss sweeps all the clutter from the destop…replaces it with…OH, EW! PUT THE SHIRT BACK ON, YA SKANKY SLUT! No—not the skirt…Fuckin’ A bitch, ICK! Shave the rainforest, for fuck’s sake! And quit shopping at Victoria’s Secret—you do NOT put the Dream in Dream Angel…OH EW MAN NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Your Psychic Fiend needs about an hour to shower in bleach, Sweet Orange EO and to scrub her eyes with a wire brush.

Answer: Now you know how The Hated One is keeping her job. Firing her will be difficult, but if you can get to her computer during lunch and email his wife or other woman ACCIDENTALLY while emailing the boss that “you’re preggers and it’s time to make good on the promise to marry me” I can assure you that her time at your company grows short as the shadows lengthen on her career.

Thanks and remember not to use the same potty she does for awhile–karma has many ways of coming around and you don't want to get caught in the crossfire before she hits the free clinic.

The multi-talented Se7en at It’s a Dog’s Life and Blogs Gone Wild Design (he’s responsible for the great design on this blog and many others—check him out) writes Your Psychic Fiend:

Dear Psychic Fiend,
Can you tell me when I will receive my next BJ? It's been way too long! Please tell me that it will be this weekend!! woohoo!

As I wipe up the Coffee Grounds of Divination (who knew I’d be the only one who thought the kitchen wall looked really cool with them neat designs on it) they speak once more…but they’re telling a joke?

Man: God, I’ve prayed and prayed for You to let me win the lottery and You never answer my prayer. Oh Why, God, Why?

God: I can only do so much, man. You have to meet Me at least halfway and BUY A DAMN TICKET!

Answer: If you’re likely to be around hot ladies this weekend, chances are very good that you’ll have no problem getting a little lipstick on your dipstick, but you have to help the situation—you need to GET OUT THERE with desirable candidates for dipstick lipsticking first! You should also turn on the charm a bit, and knowing you, Your Psychic Fiend is certain you have no trouble in that department either.

Thanks so much for writing.

Mona Buonanotte from Mona’s Barbaric Yawp came up with a very good question for YPF:

Dear Psychic Fiend:

Will my co-worker, Suicidal-Guy-in-Loveless-Marriage, kill himself or that bitch wife first? And if himself, do I need to worry that he'll do it at work? Should I invest in body armour, just in case?

Sincerely,

Mona Buonanotte

YPF has decided to consult the sands of the hourglass (actually it’s a bag of unflavored Pop Rocks I happen to have here—great for nifty kinky bathing and reputed to be nice in pursuits such as Se7en’s). Ahhh, yes…I see it now…Hey! Bam Margera! Go abuse yourself elsewhere—can’t you see YPF’s trying to work…hm, how big does that thing get anyhow? WOW! Bet you could tie a knot in…

Answer: The wife will go first, but neither of them will buy the farm at your office. This guy’s the type to go postal but he’ll do it at home like a well-trained pup, not in pubic like so many others have done. No need to cover your nifty ThinkGeek t-shirt with Kevlar. However, keep an eye on the situation—if he begins to hang out on the building’s roof, re-consult YPF.

Thanks!

ESC over at …but mostly rants has this to ask:

Will Kev and I get everything together and get off on our vacation OK?

I’m going to read the bubbles in a nice hot bath to answer this one, I think…back in a bit.

There! I’m back—did you miss YPF? You’d better say yes.

Answer: The bubbles had quite a lot to say—something about rushing water and someone being very nervous? Anyway, your poop is in a group, the catch is that you have to make it a slightly smaller group to get it out the door and down the road. Don’t overpack for the trip because you’ll need a little room for things to bring back. Remember to de-battery any toys and pack anything potentially embarrassing in its own brown wrapper. Oh, and have a ball!

Thanks for asking YPF a question–by the way, how'd the squab turn out?

AliceBabylon over at Fallen has an excellent question, one YPF encounters regularly:

Your psychic, what's my question?

Answer: Alice, you and everyone else have so many questions that it’d be rude to pick just one and assume that’s the one you want YPF to be snooping about. Ethics require that you tell me which one you need the answer to so that I don’t abuse my superpowers and use them only for good.

It's great to see you here Alice, thanks!

Sir Brigadiere General Grend31, Mrs. at Grend31’s Lair snuck a question in just under the wire—good thing I reloaded the comments and caught it, isn’t it? He writes:

Dearest Psychic Fiend,

I was planning on a bit of a hunting outing today as I'm a bit peckish for quail, but Smiggins cannot seem to find the old blunderbuss. There isn't any way perchance you could use this third eye of yours to spot it out for Smiggins? He'd be forever grateful I'm sure, as misplacing my old thundrous girl could put him in bad stead with me for a stint.

Yours in needing a bit of bird,
Sir Brigadiere General Grend31, Mrs.

Let me pull out the crystal ball again, Brigadiere. Oh, my. OH, MY! Smiggins, you’re a sneaky fucker, did you know that? That’s just not cool—you know the Master just wants to destroy the Precious, your ass is safe, I think…until the next time you forget to have the Master’s martini waiting when he gets home…

Answer: The sneaky little shit hid your shotgun in Jesster’s shoe closet—under the 16 pairs of black shoes and right next to…something I’d rather not know about. You really shouldn’t threaten to blow Smiggins’ ass all over the Mall of America, dearest Brigadiere—one must take care not to scare the shit out of the help, you know.

Tut tut and cheerio—see you at Blog Jeebus’ gala!

Well, that’s it—don’t forget to give back to YPF on your way out the door. She likes chocolates and comments.

As you begin your journey with Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:

1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. Your Psychic Fiend must be careful of copyright infringement issues just like everyone else.
2. All answers are for entertainment only.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those sorry donkey-raping shiteaters who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, sorry-bitch asshats like Miss Cleo and her like should be strangled with a telephone cord.

Evil Science Chick, who’s recently taken up dovekeeping, asks:

Dear Psychic Fiend,

Will W ever admit that he lied about the reasons for going to war with Iraq?

Looking into my crystal ball once I wiped all the bentonite clay off (so it’s been awhile since Psychic Fiend has been asked anything actually needed scrying, your point?), I see a very old, teary-eyed man with the intellect of a shrubbery telling his grandson, “Plausible Deniability–that’s where it’s at, boy! You wouldn’t tell your wife about that hooker you and I turned into a human bong, now would ya? No! So ya don’t tell The People the truth about stuff either. See?”

Answer: Not fucking likely, hon. When this man writes his autobiography he’ll come up with yet another, altruistic-seeming spin for the whole debacle.

VegasGustan over at Home But Far From It and The Song Repository queries Psychic Fiend about family matters:

Dear Psychic Fiend,

My brother is messed up, will him leaving his wife and child (from a previous marriage) and moving to Las Vegas for a fresh start be a good thing or should he stay where he is ?

I had to pull out the tarot cards for this, my audiophile friend; it’s a complicated question involving a journey, I feel, so a little depth was necessary to truly see his place in the Universe.

The Wheel of Fortune placed prominently in the spread, VG, as I totally expected it to. Keep in mind the Wheel has little to do with actually gambling, but more to do with a long period of flux in your brother’s life. The Empress (his wife) will influence him more profoundly than he guesses, as her position is adversarial here. For some strange reason, the usual illustration on the Ace of Rods features a man polishing his rod most intently…but I digress–it could be that Your Psychic Fiend hasn’t had enough outrageously delicious Kona coffee yet this day. The rest of the spread indicates much will depend on his choices within the first 3 days of his arrival in your area.

Answer: His soon-to-be ex is still going to drive him batshit if he gambles, wenches, and boozes his way thru Sin City, so he should brace himself for the inevitable. When he does come to your area (the signs point to him making at least a short visit), don’t let him play the ponies or Pai Gow, keep him away from the hookers and make certain he’s aware that there’s no sex in the champagne room. Urge him to discover a true life with you and not to focus on how Vegas is a fantastic place for a newly-single guy to have one hell of a party.

Jamie at Margaritaville aka Whiskey Sour Town (damned great blog, by the bye) writes:

DPF,
Will my kids grow up and be normal, or will they end up in jail, or shot by a madman, or what-have-you.

Jamie, I’m going to have to pull out the rune stones for this one. Bear with me please…

Toss…tumbleclickclicktumbleraatttllllleeeeee. Hm.
Toss…tumbleclickclicktumbleraatttllllleeeeee. All right…one more time…
Toss…tumbleclickclicktumbleraatttllllleeeeee. YAHTZEEEEEEE!

Ah, yes, I see now…although it’s most murky as any Psychic Fiend’s vision is pre-caffeination. However, I do not understand something. What in blue Hell is Bam Margera doing in my vision? His butt’s not nice enough for him to be hanging it out of those chaps.

Answer: When it comes to kids who’ve been raised by you, any madman is at the disadvantage. However, you may want to earmark a little of that college fund for bail use–you’ve got one wild thing who will (fortunately) quickly realize that Better Living Through Modern Chemistry is a thing of the past. Your kids will learn some lessons the hard way but will pull thru because they will look to their Mom, who will back them up no matter what.

The most delightful Ian over at Welcome To My Soul has a question also:

Dear Psychic Fiend,

I had 3 diff´rent choices to go on a date with who am I supposed to accept first?

Mr.A- handsome 29 Argentinean guy, who sent me flowers twice and chat every night by msn…

Mr.B- handsome 30 Colombian guy who calls me on the phone every night and says he’s IN LOVE with my voice

or
Mr.C- lovely 22 years old baby faced cutiepie who has been writing me loooooooooooong emails detailing how handsome I am…..

What should I do?

Ian, darling, the tea leaves tell me that a hunk like you has so many options that it’s difficult to see the span. However, it’s jasmine tea in there, so the fragrance of the delicate floral is calling to my Psychic Fiendishness. There’s a couple clogs along the way, and I see far more than three panting and eager guys–that strip of leaves there (no, no, look there) is a start line tape and the lineup to date you stretches all around the cup.

Answer: This show’s not stopping at only three monkeys, my friend–the list of males wanting to chase your wheelchair around Argentina is still forming and those men will be elbowing each other out of the way to get time with you. Have the nice man who cared enough to send flowers take you for coffee VERY soon! Then find time for the other two, for they’re each worthy in their own way. Do not be afraid to cast aside the less-worthy demands on your attention, for they’re beneath your notice and not worth your time.

MoeThat’sMe over at Moe’s Moments of Wisdom asks:

Dear PF,

Why is it my Blogger icon doesn’t show up in the halo scan comments?

What can I do about it (besides pay for halo scan).

Thanks,

MTM

Answer: Your Psychic Fiend doesn’t need Scooby Doo to solve this mystery.

Gravatar is the nice place that lets us put those nifty pics with our HaloScan comments. Simply pick out your image, size it to 80X80 pixels, and sign up for a free account at Gravatar. Upload your image to the nice people’s server and make sure you comment with the same email that you register at Gravatar with, and HaloScan (another bunch of nice folks, and the $12/yr is well worth the nifty tricks guys like Se7en at Blogs Gone Wild can do to your bloggie comments afterward) will automatically load your avatar in when it displays your comment.

SJ over at Give Me The Booger has a good one loaded in the chute for Your Psychic Fiend:

Dear PF,

If I can’t take a joke, who’s gonna fuck me?

I’m studying the Zen of catnip tops fluttering in the Michigan morning wind for the answer to your question. They waft, waving their little fuzzy leaves at the cats of the neighborhood who covet them. There is only one cat which will truly enjoy the leaves—I can’t afford to feed the rest. One moment while I bring the catnip inside for Desi the Destroyer…

OK, I’m back.

Answer: The Zen tells me many would delight in sexual congress with your enticing form, whether you have a sense of humor or not. However, the true answer is this: If you have no sense of humor, you’re fucked to start with, are you not?

Grend31, of The Lair, has a great question to test Psychic Fiend’s mettle:

Dear Psychic Fiend,

Would you be available to help secure up Blog Jesus to his “place of honor” when we finally figure how to drive these confounded Lee Press-On nails through his palms? We expect a lot of wriggling about and howling so another to secure a limb would be just smashing.

We tend to have tea and biscuits after these types of soirees so we’ll need to know if you are coming. Smiggins may even make his world renowned crumpets just for the occasion!

Anywhos, cheers and lah-dee-dah

Sir Brigadiere General Grend31, Mrs.

Grend31, jump-starter of giggles and snark, I’m randomly processing your question thru the augury of a CAD-CAM program so I can find the best, most efficient, unique solution. While much will be cut and dried in your answer, your skill at BoA will figure prominently in successful execution of your party plans for Blog Jeebus. I’m also studying the boingboings of Happy Fun Ball in order to ascertain the path you should take.

Answer: Be sure you use the Glamour Length Press-On Nails, and if they’re blue (BJ’s favorite color) He’ll be much more likely to hold still. You will also require the services of a temptress—while BJ is reported to be celibate, I see that if a hotty of requisite age and hair color (pneumatic physique and hellaciously large tits won’t hurt either) offers Him oral sex on the condition that He keep His hands to Himself, He’ll happily position himself for you. From there it’s a matter of having a nice big sledgehammer, borrowing one of your Tank buds from CoH, and setting Him up for His festivities.

As for the RSVP, plan for Psychic Fiend +1. We both like tea and biscuits—be sure to have fresh lemon and lumps of sugar. Who is Smiggins and why are the crumpets such hot shit?

Thank you all so very much for consulting Psychic Fiend—no need to cross my palm with silver. Your comments will be my reward.

As we were leaving for Wisconsin back on the 5th, I surveyed the big Box Elder tree (previous referrals to it as an Ash tree weren't right) and commented, "That branch is coming down in the next high wind." We found out when we called Michigan from Wisconsin that about two hours after I said that, the branch fell across the driveway. It would have crushed Baby had we still been home.

That makes me your Psychic Fiend. My all-seeing eye predicted what could have been a major disaster for Honey's first love, in plenty of time to save Baby from certain mauling and possible extinction. Ain't I brilliant?

Maybe I should start a Friday Feature, "Dear Psychic Fiend (TM)." You could ask my overwhelmingly sensitive sixth scents questions; I would answer with what I see in my mystical emulsion tank (or whatever the hell popped into my head).

Comments?