Rags & Bones

I’m in a bad mood. The White Stripes cancelled the rest of their tour because Meg is sick. Really bummed me out. I’ve had tickets for five months. Just in case Meg reads this though, Meg, I hope you feel better soon and I don’t blame you for ruining my chance to see Jack play the guitar.

So, if Orenthal James Simpson goes to prison for armed robbery of a memorabilia dealer in a Las Vegas hotel room, is that like Al Capone going to the clink for tax evasion? Methinks so, kids.

Seriously Juice, how stupid are you? Did you not think the guy would recognize you? Do you not remember you are one of the most infamous celebrities of all time? As I recall, your sham of a trial received some attention 10 years ago. Your guilty mug was on the telly just a bit. For crying in the night.

I’m not a fan of people who ask, in an obviously un-fun situation, “so, you having fun yet?” (sigh…) It’s nearly as annoying as those that think it’s clever to ask, “so, you working hard or hardly working?”

(For those of you keeping score at home, that’s Johnny the Arrogant - 737, Johnny the Nice Guy – 9. Come on Johnny the Nice Guy, you can do better than that.)

While I’m being rude—Why do some old people have a smell? Have you ever been to a nursing home? It’s an olfactory nightmare in there. What is that smell? Mold? Mothballs mixed with oatmeal? I don’t know what it is. It just smells stale and, well, old. My Grandmother didn’t smell before she passed on. I honestly have been confused about this since I was in junior high and delivered newspapers to a retirement home. Bad memories of those deliveries. “Hey you! Sonny! Help me find my teeth! You’re late with my paper! I want to do my word jumble!” (shudder…) I would sprint out of that joint.

(I think that’s another point for Johnny the Arrogant. Man, I’m getting creamed here.)

I was watching The Daily Show the other night. During the commercial break, an ad came on for a service that sent “psychic answers text messages sent right to your cell phone!” Wow. I’ve wondered who are the yokels that spend a dollar for the cell phone background of the dancing frog or the farting panda or whatever those are, but this one made me a little more disappointed in our society. Here’s what I picture this operation looking like; In a small office in suburban Detroit is a room of part-time college students sitting in cubicles with five cell phones in front of them. They rotate the phones and “answer” each question from the dupes across the country. Not one employee has any psychic tendencies, nor claims to. The boss just tells them, “text back something positive and reassuring.” How much you wanna bet I’m right?

Here is why there is no such thing as psychic. Or paranormal mediums. Or fortune tellers. Or those that have telekinetic abilities. First of all, it has never been proved by anyone. If it was real, if I could see the future, I could go on The Late Show and show off for an hour. Predicting the next three days weather, what’s going to happen in the news, and how long it will be before Britney Spears poses for Playboy. (Put the line at 18 months and I’ll take the “under.”) This is the problem; you’re asking me to believe that EVERY PSYCHIC IN THE WORLD IS AN HONEST AND MORAL PERSON. If there were psychics, there would be no gambling in casinos, no betting on football, no lottery, no Power Ball, no stock market, no horse racing, nothing that there is the possibility of manipulating the outcome like Biff Tannen in Back to the Future II. It’s a trick folks. I’ve heard people say things such as this. “there’s no way she could have known some of the things she knew.” You know what? I saw David Copperfield turn a 747 into an elephant with a showgirl on its back. Doesn’t make it real.

In addition, no conjurer ever gives the mark bad news. “Sorry, your dog is going to get hit by a car, you’ll lose your home in a blazing inferno, and you will die of cancer in 7 months. That will be 75 bucks please.” Doesn’t happen.

You want to know what your horoscope is? I’ll tell you. It’s a random, generalized statement that, with a little imagination, can be applied to just about anyone.

That will be 25 bucks please.

I told you I was in a bad mood. Thus ends my pointless, mildly funny rant of the week.

Good night and good luck.