Ask Your Psychic Fiend Friday: The Horton Hears a Snootch Edition

July 8, 2005 at 9:56 am (Your Psychic Fiend)

For some reason, I just cannot get the title above out of my head. So, before I really being to worry about my mental hygiene, let’s get started.

First, the ass-waiver:

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.

Hofzinger, of …and not to pull your halo down fame, asks:

When and where will A* and I finally find ourselves together in the same zip code? Visits don’t count.

Good question, Hof—and one I completely feel you on. Been there, done that, got the “Will Drive 10 Hours for Dates” T-shirt. Let’s take a lookie at the pattern in the hairball Desimonster just left me…awww, nice fucking kitty…good fucking kitty…where’s the paper towel again…AHA! I thought so! Got it!

Answer: Hof, the pattern repeats in threes, meaning it could (but not likely) be as soon as three months, but not bloody likely it’ll be three years. It could be three groups of another number as well—three groups of two months, three months, four months…the possibilities are endless. Your Psychic Fiend can only tell you that you and the magnificent, marvelous A* will share a zip code when the Universe is damned good and ready for you to do so. Ways and means will reveal themselves when the time is right.

Thanks for shopping Your Psychic Fiend!

Mona’s concerns are of the snootchly variety, making her fit in quite nicely in the crowd around here.

Dear Psychic Fiend:

I’m just tired of my period. It’s a week long and comes…when?…not every 28 days, like a normal female…OH NO!…it comes every 24 or 25! So I get an EXTRA period every year! Holy what-the-fuck! Can you tell me when, oh please, when this will stop? And how gentle will the final ‘flush’ be? ‘Cause I don’t want to suffer much, yo.

Thanks, from Mona

As Andrew Dice Clay says, “You got the bonus plan, Baby! OH!” But I’ll take a gander at…SHIT! I hate it when I spill Coke on the cat! Yeah, she’s pissed at…OW—SHIT! I know—let’s take a look at the swirling of the claw marks decorating my fucking hand as I tried to clean up the kittykittybitch…aw, ew, is that a piece of claw sticking up there? Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn! ‘Scuse me while I commit first aid here…

Answer: The droplets of blood oozing from YPF’s arm speak to the miracle that is a snootch—Native Americans believed that women possessed an incredibly awesome power during that time, so awesome that they were sent to their own tent in order to protect men who could not conquer the power of a being that could bleed for days on end and never die from it. Anyhoo, the blood pattern is not solid, it’s beading up at regular intervals thru the gauze lying over it, saying that as long as it’s always every 24 or 25, you possess a healthy, well-operating snootch, one you should treasure and care for. The pattern doesn’t show an early end, so the future’s not clear at the moment. So enjoy your snootch regularly and don’t sweat it just yet.

Thanks for stopping by!

Dan at The 6th Floor writes:

Hello Psychic Fiend,
In light of recent events, the questions becomes: is there a nice sane man on the horizon for me, or should I start buying cats now?
D

Hm, cats are usually nice…Your Psychic Fiend says you should disregard the ruckus in the last answer and…I almost forgot—it’s garbage night, so it’s time for cat maintenance. Let me go clear the box and I’ll be right back.

I’m back—did you miss me? Well, the litterbox had a few things to say on this subject…

Answer: Of course there’s a sane, healthy, hot, generous, kind, well-hung man on the horizon, just waiting for a hot, funny, smart, tattooed man! The catch is your being able to outrun the nut goodies so you can catch up to him and watch the sunset together. Meanwhile, a cute little 6th Floor Cat would be a great addition to the house—and you can hurl his/er non-declawed fuzzy ass at anyone who gets between you and that decent man over on the horizon. Cats can be wonderful weapons.

Happy Birthday again!

Ian’s question doesn’t need Scooby Doo—anyone who’s got HaloScan, if you’ve noticed that your comment counter says everyone hates you and no one’s commented, but you click the link and there’s a dozen lovers all raving about you, that’s not unusual. I’ve been told that HaloScan is due for an upgrade, which it will receive very soon. In the meantime, in your Settings panel at the HaloScan website, there’s a link at the bottom of the Settings page where you can force an update on your comment counters. You will need to do this each time you want them to read properly, but at least you can make it quit annoying you part of the time.

Love ya Ian!

I’m not certain what Seamus over at Damp Dog is smoking, but he best pass that puppy over this way for a hit—YPF feels like she’s been marched on by an army of dwarves, armed and filthy. Here’s his question—perhaps you know what he’s on:

If I’ve already got cats and a dog and there is ice cream on floor – is there a place in the SW for the rabbity me or does pinochle go away for the winter? Inquiring minds want to know!

Let YPF blow you some smoke rings—hold on, pass that over here…ahhhh, Your Psychic Fiend sees it all clearly now…

Answer: Someone laced this shit with opium, Seamus dude. Hope you paid well for it—it’s very nice!

Hugs to Seamus and scratches and hugs for the Bufflepup. BTW folks, if you want to ever say, “Awwww,” take a stroll thru the galleries over at Damp Dog!

Hm, now where was I…One snootch, two snootch, red snootch, blue snootch…AH! Here we are!

Melina over at That Woman Speaks Eighteen Languages And Can’t Say No In Any Of Them writes:

Will I run away to Denver with Derek?

One moment while I toss the I Ching coins here. Hm, how come I get the ideogram for Trouble (Two Women Under One Roof)? Wait—that’s for Serra’s days lately. Let’s try again for yours…

Answer: The situation is fluid—many reasons there are for going, many reasons there are for not. The Not’s do outweigh the Do’s for you though. You have a purpose for living in The Cornfield, and YPF desperately hopes it’s not because it’s about to write a new chapter in the Children of the Corn saga. You’re needed where you are, Melina. For now, the I Ching advises that you stay put.

Hugs to ya Melina!

Nancie has a good one:

Oi will things resolve themselves in my far too chaotic relationships?

YPF really needs to pull out the cards for this, but the simple Tarot deck isn’t going to cut it. Here’s a big box with all the cards stacked nicely, all ready to deal. Let’s see here…I’m all in! Big Slick in da Hizzouse!

Answer: Well, that doesn’t tell me jack, Nan, I’m sorry to say. This means I can’t tell you jack either—luck, skill and common sense are going to be needed in large doses now, as well as liberal drive-by hugs, which I’m certain Serra will be happy to supply. Hang in there—YPF knows Serra’s worrying about you all the time.

Serra swoops in, shoves YPF out of the way, and hugsthestuffingoutofNancie…picks up Your Psychic Fiend and plops her back in the chair, hustling out on her way once again.

Leah’s new here, and brave lady that she is, she makes her first comment a question to Your Psychic Fiend!

Dear Psychic Fiend,
Why did I dream I was being killed by a vampire wielding a knife covered in peanut butter? He killed me with the knife, not his teeth.

Oh, goodie—YPF gets to play with the crystal ball! Hey, who’s the motherfucker who drilled three holes in my crystal ball? HONEY?!?!?! Here, let me flip it over. Oooh, how nice! Ah, hell, now I have visions of Johnny Depp from Blow here! Johnny, go plug the new movie and let a Fiend work here…wait a minute…boy, you look like a guy I dated for awhile, Johnny! I called him RoboBabe—and you’re butt’s not quite as nice as his, but face-wise you could be twins…

Answer: The vampire’s been assigned pubic service by the Court! His community service hours must be spent replenishing the blood supply in the Detroit area by killing people but draining the blood to little plastic bags and taking them to the nearest blood drive. Poor bastard doesn’t get to eat until the bank’s got a week’s supply of blood again.

Everyone, help a suffering bloodsucker out—if you’re in Southeastern Michigan, go give blood! Check at 800-GIVE-LIFE for information on a blood drive near you.

Well, that’s this week’s edition–be sure to tip Your Psychic Fiend on the way out.

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