| Rapscallion St Croix |
07-27-2017 10:53 AM |
This thread has intrigued me so I hired a medium to help me resolve some issues. I thought it worth a shot. We sat in my front yard in front of a statue of St Drogo The Bilocator, patron saint of ugly people. I use this ornament to hide my little white cross. To ensure a pleasant experience, I hired a DJ from one of the local swimming pools to play some oldies. Our goal was to communicate with the spirit of Nicola Tesla so he could help me figure out why my 2005 gas powered Club Car keeps destroying starter solenoids. Those babies cost $34 and the medium was only charging $19.99 through a Groupon deal. After a few minutes, we achieved a bit of a breakthrough, but my joy was short lived. We had reached the spirit of Sir George Sitwell, fourth Baronet of Renishaw, Derbyshire, England (1860-1943) Talk about a jerk! He began by demanding that we not contradict him in any way, as it interferes with the functioning of the gastric juices and prevents his sleeping at night. We quickly apologized for dialing a wrong number and moved on. Next came a brief exchange with Bob Marley who told us, “The devil ain’t got no power over me. The devil come, and me shake hands with the devil. Devil have his part to play. Devil’s a good friend, too… because when you don’t know him, that’s the time he can mosh you down.” He also added, "Your music sucks". This seemed to distress the DJ who began composing a letter to the editor on his iPad. Not much of a multi-tasker, he stopped playing music. After connecting with my old maid aunt who said, "I told you to buy an electric cart but you never listen" and Harvey Penick who told me my right hand grip was too strong, I was feeling somewhat encouraged. We were just hitting a groove when a neighbor came by and threatened to anonymously call Deed Compliance on me. I pondered the wisdom of trying to point out the paradox of her telling me that she was going to covertly report me, but I instead I just threatened to report her for having a fake service dog and exceeding the two pet rule with her amply stocked aquarium. I reminded the DJ that I was paying him to play tunes, not to text people on his cell phone and he sheepishly returned to work, spinning Jackie Wilson's first solo hit, Reet Petite. I hoped Bob Marley was still listening. We got a few more hits. Let me tell you that Don Rickles is not a lot of fun one on one. Mama Cass vehemently denies having been pregnant with John Lennon's child and is deeply offended that people believe a Jewish girl choked on a ham sandwich. Robin Williams is still not funny and sadly has pretty much reverted to full time Mork. We connected with dozens of common everyday people who wanted us to pass messages to the living. Most of these requests were of antagonistic nature, several regarding their spouses’ remarriages. When I began to lose hope of finding Tesla, it happened. Of course, all of the people we met were channeling through the medium. I know this was real because if it weren’t, the medium could be making a lot of money in Vegas as an impersonator. She nailed Rickles, Williams, Marley, my aunt, and now was speaking in a thick Serbo-Croatian accent. Sadly, I did not get my answer regarding the solenoid. Tesla admonished me for being trivial, noting that he could have revealed the truth about the Taos Hum, the Voynich Manuscript, Nazca Lines, or whether the chicken came before the egg or vice versa. Anyhoo…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Mediums are real but it is a hit or miss deal.
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