Poor old Farrah Fawcett. After a long and public battle with cancer and the release of a dramatic, last-rites-the-end-is-nigh-any-minute-now, I’m-on-my-deathbed photo only to have Michael Jackson steal her thunder at the final hour!
I wonder what would have happened if Princess Diana, Elvis and Michael Jackson all died on the same day. The Internet would explode. News travels fast these days my friends, and if you’re going to die you’d better hurry up in case someone more famous than you dies first.
I love psychics. They’re so entertaining. They’re also full of shit. So here, ranked not according to any real or imagined ability but rather for their incredible audacity to spout absolute bullshit, is the ultimate guide to People Who Are More Than Willing to Relieve You of Your Cash in Return for Nothing. They fall into two categories: those who actually believe they have a “gift” (aka delusional) and those who are outright liars (aka outright liars). So here they are, from the ridiculous to the stupid. Gaze into the crystal ball and see if you can predict the winner.
10. Edgar Cayce
Known as the Sleeping Prophet, this joker would reveal his premonitions whilst having a bit of a snooze. Edgar (who is hailed by some as the father of the New Age movement) would lie down and enter a trance-like state, delivering his messages to people who weren’t there from people that don’t exist. That’s right, the person he was doing the reading for wasn’t even allowed in the room at the time. Old Sleepy Head would focus mainly on health problems but his powers also extended to reincarnation, business advice and personal problems. He was also quite fond of astral travel and would nip off for a bit of a trek about the place whenever the mood would strike. A devout Christian, poor Edgar falls into the delusional category of psychics, taking out the tenth place with a double whammy of delusion by being both a Christian and a psychic. Even though he died in 1945, his legacy lives on with tens of thousands of nut jobs around the globe keeping his dreams alive.
9. Sylvia Browne
This old bag is the stuff of nightmares — really creepy nightmares where scary women tell you that dead people are watching you all the time. Even when you poo. Her attention seeking ways began at the tender age of five when she revealed to her grandma that she was having visions. Instead of rushing poor little Sylvie off to the nearest shrink, grandma encouraged the delusional behaviour and seventy years later Little Miss I-See-Dead-People has authored several books and appeared on countless TV shows and even a soap opera. Sylvia is a regular visitor to heaven and, oddly, claims that the weather is perfect and there are no insects. Sounds awesome. Despite her ambient temperature requirements and latent entomophobia, Sylvia falls into the category of outright liar psychic because, as she revealed to her ex-husband in 2007, “gullible people deserve to be taken advantage of”. Convicted of grand larceny in 1992, Sylvia has faced several fraud charges over the years. But the worst moment must surely have been when the missing young man, whose parents she told on national television that their son was dead, turned up a few months later alive and well.
8. Uri Gellar
Spoon bending fruitcake from Tel Aviv, Uri Gellar has been proven time and again as a fraud and that his cutlery deforming ways are a crock of shit. Yet he still insists that he really does have the powers of psychokinesis. Moving on from parlour tricks, Uri decided to try his hand at predictions, particularly sports results, but he was so bad at it that it soon became known as the Gellar Curse: if he predicted the team would win, they would almost certainly lose. Uri then tried acting and writing only to discover that he sucked at that too. In fact, the only thing Uri was good at was suing people. But Uri’s greatest moment was when he declared kidnapped Hungarian model, Helga Farkas, would be found alive and well. She was in fact murdered by her kidnappers. Uri gets the prize for most persistent lunatic but it should not detract from the fact that he is the ultimate outright liar.
7. Jackie Stallone
Jackie Stallone can read your arse. That’s right, your rear end. Sly’s mum has pioneered the revival of a supposedly ancient and bizarre technique known as Rumpology, which in layman’s terms is butt reading. You send Jackie a picture of your backside and she’ll tell you everything you need to know about your life, loves, the future and the past. It’s all written in the cheeks, where the left one represents the right hemisphere of the brain and vice versa. You get a personal report written by Jackie herself detailing exactly what your bum has in store for you in the next 12 months. Despite looking like a hatful of arseholes herself, Jackie seems to be financially secure which makes me suspect that she might be somewhat delusional about her talents.
6. John Edward
Stage-prancing, tunic-sporting fat boy, John Edward is the showman of the psychic scene. Most wannabe psychics aspire to be just like John. King of the cold reading, John’s predictions seem to fly all over the place and never seem to settle on anything concrete: “It starts with a W or is it an A? No wait, has Mom passed on? No? I’m getting an older female. Your grandmother has passed? Her name was Valerie? Yeah. It’s her. She’s showing me yellow roses.” Outright liar. Next.
5. James Van Praagh
More of the same with this clown I’m afraid. In fact James is so unoriginal in his methods that he could almost be considered a Generic Psychic. He’s written a few books, had a TV show and gotten pretty much all of his public predictions wrong. James likes to prey on people who have recently lost a loved one by claiming to get his information direct from heaven. The lines must be crossed or something because James says that sometimes he misinterprets the meaning and has an odd habit of correcting his predictions after the fact with the benefit of hindsight. There’s no delusion here just an outright liar. He’s also as camp as Christmas.
4. Derek Acorah
Regular readers will know how much I love Derek. Even though he’s completely full of shit, at least he’s entertaining. This guy’s the ultimate melodramatic psychic, always getting possessed by some rogue ghost or other. The former footballer likes to roam the country in his big bus looking for haunted locations then tells the residents some crock about the spirits not being able to move on. He then conducts a seance, gets possessed, collapses, gets carried outside to recover before going back in to finish the job. He’s stoic, I’ll give him that. He’s also an outright liar.
3. Doreen Virtue
Looking like a newer, improved version of Sylvia Browne, Dr. Doreen has a PhD in something to do with psychology. I think she may have gotten it over the Internet or out of a Cornflakes packet. Maybe it was a box of crackers. Whatever it was, it certainly helped her understand human nature enough to take advantage of it. Doreen talks to angels. She also runs Certified Angel Therapy Courses, where you too can learn to speak to imaginary beings. You have to pay of course. You can also buy her Angel Oracle Cards, which she designed herself. Doreen is the queen of merchandising, with a plethora of books, tapes, CDs, kits and jewelry. Doreen has a range. Doreen has an empire. This makes me suspect that she is less of a psychic and more of a marketing genius. Ka-ching! Ka-ching! She does get personalised messages from Archangels now and again, which she posts on her website for all to read. Maybe she does this to keep the hordes happy when the sales start to dwindle. Check out her message boards when you’re bored one day and you’ll see the ramblings of the delusional hanging on every word of this outright liar.
2. Allison DuBois
I think it’s pronounced Doob-wah but I like to pronounce it as Dubious. She’s on the telly in that show called Medium where she has premonitions and gets around all stressed and shit. To be honest I don’t really know what happens on the show because I’ve never been able to sit through an entire episode without nodding off. Allison’s a bit of a glamour girl, more glamourous than Dr. Doreen. In fact she almost gets her tits out on her website. Being a psychic is big business and if you really want to make it you’d better look good. Sex sells and that rule doesn’t stop just cos you’re being all spiritual and stuff. Put it this way, Allison ain’t no medium. She’s closer to a large. Allison claims she’s been touched by many spirits over the years and they’ve all helped her put together her crap books. If I’d been touched by that many spirits I’d be filing a police report.
Newsflash: It wasn’t the spirits touching you Allison. It was Daddy.
1. Emily Poynton
You may not have heard about this precocious little shit but that’s only because she’s just starting out. Give it time. She’ll be scamming someone at a psychic convention near you soon. This could quite possible be the worst case of child abuse ever. Little Emily is the daughter of Jodiann Poynton who obviously failed miserably as a psychic in her own right and decided to exploit her own daughter in an attempt to get some recognition. Now Emily is hailed as Australia’s youngest psychic at just 8 years old. Emily can’t go to school any more because she is too sensitive. Emily glows with love. Emily has this amazing gift. Emily, my friends, is full of shit, evil shit pumped into her brain by her self-serving, egomaniac mother. Here’s the best that Emily can come up with in a reading: “Always take good care of yourself. You’re a beautiful person and you have always been a beautiful person and always take good care of yourself. Do you understand?” In fact she seems to end every sentence with “Do you understand?” which makes me suspect that she doesn’t.
It’s that alone that wins Emily first place. See the Bindi Irwin of the psychic world here:
The end is nigh! If it’s not today, it’ll be tomorrow. If it’s not tomorrow it might be next week. It could be three weeks from Monday. It could happen on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox (i.e. Easter). But it’s gonna happen. It’s just a matter of when.
Fortunately there’s some good news in sight. When god finally gets pissed off with everyone and decides to torch the joint, you can rest assured in the knowledge that you can spam your unbelieving relatives from the comfort of heaven, giving them one last chance to accept Jesus as their main man.
These jokers have come up with a brilliant idea where for 40 American bucks you can spam up to 62 of your closest friends and relatives on the day of reckoning. So, if they have previously laughed in your face at your attempts to bring them salvation, you might still be able to reach them at the last minute.
Well sort of.
The problem is, this crazy scheme is set up to automatically send all this salvation spam when the site administrators fail to log in for three consecutive days. Then it waits for another three days, just to be sure. Then it sends out the spam to all the non-believing heathens six days after the end of the world.
“But if the world ends won’t the Internet end too?”
Indeed. Here’s the answer:
I do believe that the Internet will be up and running. There may be some localized temporary outages. Today the entire global economic and commerce system is completely dependant on the Internet to function. They will keep it working. There is also huge redundancy and overlap in the system. A message keep trying pathways and services until it is delivered. Most of the net is buried underground. Eventually God will take it down, as he destroys the World system that has been built up by a people trying to do it all without him. That won’t be until the second half of the tribulation though.
Phew.Looks like they’ve really thought this thing through.
“But what if my loved ones’ computers melt in the inferno?”
A very important question but there’s no answer for that one unfortunately.
Looks like they might have to install a firewall.
And how do you know you can trust these people with your $40?
Just read their statement of faith and remember that Jesus “died dead on the cross” for you, you ungrateful bastard.
TV Chef, Kylie Kwong, has revealed that her book, My China: A Feast for all the Senses, published in 2007, was actually a misprint and was never intended to be released as a mainstream Chinese cookbook. Speaking exclusively to Good Luck with All That, Kylie revealed that the book was originally intended to be titled My Vagina: A Feast for all the Senses but the publishers somehow got it wrong and inadvertently got the manuscript mixed up with a real Chinese cookbook.
“I submitted a delightful series of photographs to my publisher depicting my hoo-ha in a variety of scenes involving fruit, lobster and rice but somehow they got it mixed up with a book that was submitted by an unknown Chinese chef, Sum Yung Guy. The print run went ahead and the rest, as they say, is history.
“Although I am incredibly grateful for the success of the book, I can’t help feeling a little bit saddened by the fact that the original work was never released to the Australian public. My minge looked amazing in those shots and I wish I was getting the credit for that instead of all these stupid recipes that no one can make.”
So what happened to the pictures and, more importantly, how did Sum Yung Guy feel about the mix-up?
“Well it took some time for us to get to the bottom of it but it turns out that my original book was credited to Mr Guy and printed by a small independent publisher off shore.
“Because I look like a man the book was a huge hit with the lady-boy lovers of Thailand and Mr Guy is laughing all the way to the bank.”
Self-righteous cock gobbler, drug addict and hypocrite Ted Haggard has finally spoken out about the errors of his ways in an upcoming doco on HBO. It’s been two years since Ted rode the Hershey Highway and lost his job as head honcho of the Scariest Church Ever.
At first I thought that maybe it took Ted this long to think up a good excuse to explain why he did what he did but it turns out he had a deal with his former church to keep his trap shut for a big wad of cash and a truck.
I guess the church hoped that people would forget about old Ted and his knob-jockeying ways but he’s back only a year later hoping to cash in on the whole shamozzle. “It taught me how desperately I need help from God,” he said. “I’m much more compassionate, much more understanding in my life.”
By “God” I think he means “the bank” and by “compassionate” I think he means “desperate for cock”.
Scientologist, couch-jockey, and all-round nut job Tom Cruise has revealed he will play the role of L.Ron Hubbard in the upcoming film The Thetan Keeps Repeatin’ which is based on the life and work of the founding father of the Church of Scientology.
“I’m just ectastic that this opportunity has been handed to me on a silver platter,” said Cruise as he trampolined on the leather Chesterfield in his Hollywood home. “It’s always been a dream of mine to actually be L.Ron but to play him in a movie is almost as good.”
The film, which is was penned by Lisa-Marie Presley, is due for release early next year.
“This is Lisa-Marie’s first movie script, ” Cruise shouted as he bounced from the sofa to the armchair, “so you just know it has to be good. She even got some help from her mom.”
The Malaysian government has come up with a hair-brained idea for its Muslim astronauts: a guidebook on how to be stupid in space. The book details how to locate mecca, how to figure out prayer times, how to fast (i.e. the avoidance of Tang) and how to wash yourself.
“The reason we formulated guidelines for Muslims in space is because we wanted to ensure our astronaut could fully concentrate on his mission, without having to worry about how he should perform his religious obligations in space,” Abdullah Md Zin, a minister for religious affairs, was quoted as saying.
Saudi Prince Sultan bin Salman, who was the first Muslim in space, had said that although he managed to pray and fast, he was not able to face towards Mecca and could not fully kneel on the ground.
If you’re so stupid as to believe in some archaic rituals laid down by some fourth century paedophilic desert dweller you shouldn’t be allowed in space. The lunacy of this is so ridiculous as to be almost incomprehensible. The two simply do not go hand in hand.
It’s been a year of blogging! Happy anniversary to me. I thought I’d mark the occasion with a moving tribute to my favourite fictional character — god.
Scribble down some sentences composed of half-baked ideas, random clichés, mixed metaphors and thinly veiled analogies
Employ a ghost-writer under the guise of an “editor” (i.e. me)
Get your PR manager to ring the MD of a large publishing concern and tell him that you are writing a book
Sign a contract
Don’t bother wasting your time learning the craft of writing for years. Don’t even bother with revising, revising, revising; just write down what you have to say in two weeks and leave it at that! The “editor” will fix it for you! Then you can get on with more important things like what you will wear to your book signing.
No wonder real writers feel jaded and despondent about the publishing industry in this country.
And for the record, the bullshit the publishers feed you about how the book-buying public dictates the demand is just that — absolute bullshit. It’s the publishers who decide what you will read, or more to the point, what choices you have available for reading. Why else would bookstore shelves be groaning under the weight of Matthew Reilly?
Bulgaria — home of the Cyrillic alphabet, the Gradeshnitsa Tablets, nine World Heritage sites, and this freak:
Meet Azis, Bulgaria’s foremost gender-bending folk pop singer and failed political candidate, who recently gained notoriety in the gay global arena for his expansion in the wedding tackle department.
Put simply, Azis is a big fat ponce with a huge dong who can’t decide whether he’s Arthur or Martha. As this picture quite clearly displays:
The flouncy Gypsy scarves, the layers of black tuille, the fishnet stockings, the French manicure, the shimmering lip gloss, and the trucker’s singlet. Of course there’s no escaping the conspicuous beer gut and the white beard, both of which are alarmingly offset by the creepy lady eyes.
Despite the drag queen’s short yet cataclysmic foray into the political arena (no one voted for him) it seems Asiz has quite the following on the music front. As he stated himself, “My first record was crap, but then I turned gay and wore the pervert dress and got a new sound.”
Good luck with all that, Azis, or should that be As if.
My son broke his ankle last week and I was told by some RI (Religious Idiot) that all would be okay; god will take care of him. Actually, it was the Children’s Hospital that took care of him but that’s beside the point apparently.
It got me thinking about god and his antics when it comes to the human body. He has a standard waiting period for broken bones. The human body (that god allegedly designed) takes around six weeks to mend itself and knit the bone back together. That’s pretty impressive.
But if you happen to lose the limb, well, that’s a whole other story. God won’t want to know about you then. No way, no how. You lose it, you’re on your own. God ain’t growing it back for you. Forget about it! He planted the idea into someone’s brain about designing prosthetic limbs but that’s as far as it goes. He doesn’t do replacements, his powers only extend to mending.
God says in the bible that if you ask him, he’ll give you what you want — but when sitting down to write this part of his great tome he neglected to add the words but only if I feel like it. That’s right, that’s the fine print that isn’t there. That’s god’s glaring omission in the dodgy family business he’s got going on with his son, JC and that other idiot, Mohammed.
It’s not part of some elaborate, mysterious god-plan that you’re not privy to; it’s a scam. Yet billions of people get down on their knees daily for a good ol’ praying session with the lord asking for something they will never receive. That’s assuming they have knees to kneel on. God forbid they should ever lose them.
Astounding as it may seem, television psychic Derek Acorah has investigated the gunpowder plot of 1605 and come up with, well, absolutely nothing new.
Guy enters Derek
In his highly realistic Derek Acorah’s Quest for Guy Fawkes television special, which was recently re-run on Foxtel, Derek visited the Tower of London, strolled around the Houses of Parliament, sailed down the Thames and laid (gloved) hands on the signed confessions of one Guido “Guy” Fawkes before revealing what really went on.
The ghosts of the plotters were all around Derek and let it be known what they intended to do with all that gunpowder they’d stored under the Houses of Parliament 400 years ago. They planned to blow it up!
Derek managed to channel Guy who then began speaking through him. This was apparent to the viewer because whenever Derek channels anyone, he becomes scary and can’t open his eyes, before dramatically collapsing into the arms of the nearest crew member. Derek/Guy said that during his period of imprisonment and torture he had been feeling a little frustration and agony at the hands of his keepers. I suspect this was because Guy had had his nuts cut off and burned before his very eyes while he was being hanged, drawn and quartered in the yard.
(They really knew how to deal with terrorism/treason back then, unlike the mollycoddling they give the guilty these days — yes I’m talking to you, Hicksy. But I digress.)
So Derek got to the truth about the infamous Gunpowder Plot of 1605: Catesby was the mastermind, Fawkes was found in the cellar, the mysterious letter revealed the plot to the Secretary of State, a bunch of the co-conspirators fled and went into hiding in the Midlands before the whole dramatic affair ended in a shoot-out.
These are facts you can get from any history book on the subject or by simply typing Gunpowder Plot into Google. Derek has revealed only one thing: he’s not psychic, he’s just a tool.
Poor old Farrah Fawcett. After a long and public battle with cancer and the release of a dramatic, last-rites-the-end-is-nigh-any-minute-now, I’m-on-my-deathbed photo only to have Michael Jackson steal her thunder at the final hour!
I love psychics. They’re so entertaining. They’re also full of shit. So here, ranked not according to any real or imagined ability but rather for their incredible audacity to spout absolute bullshit, is the ultimate guide to People Who Are More Than Willing to Relieve You of Your Cash in Return for Nothing. They fall into two categories: those who actually believe they have a “gift” (aka delusional) and those who are outright liars (aka outright liars). So here they are, from the ridiculous to the stupid. Gaze into the crystal ball and see if you can predict the winner.
