Ever have those moments when you’re conversing with someone and you can just completely sense they are flat-out, bold-faced, straight out of their ass lying to you?... No? Quit playin!

On the real though, we have all been there. There is one particular profession however that seems almost constructed upon the very act of manipulating the words we are willing to believe. It has left me nothing short of mystified since my one-sie wearing days as a wee tot. That profession, is fortune telling.

Liar! Cheater! Money grubbing flat-backer! These are the names resounding in my mind when the thought of a “fortune teller” pops in. What the frick are they anyway? Their title holds the same weight as “modern day ninja” or “successful French-Canadian.” AKA – not real! Is there any sincerity to the psychobabble they believe they have to benefit? Or are they selfishly clawing up their innocent future-seeking patrons, like defenseless gazelles in their lewd tarot card reading lairs? I have never had my palm read, or experienced the oh, so mind blowing magic of tarot cards, but all that is changing Zubazkateers. I grew hungry for a peek into the future, channeling the ferocity of my curiosity into an effort to feed to my starving intellect. My past has waxed and my past has waned, but my future lies ahead. Squint your eyes … can you see it? My life fulfilling prophecy will be revealed and you are coming with me! And how lucky you are!

Location: 2 shitsville lane. No really it is…alright, alright, I’m lying.

In my town, this place has existed for as far as long as my memory can serve. No one knows a thing about it. I mean NO ONE. Its activity is questioned here and there, but like fathers day in Harlem, it brings nothing but mass confusion. Looks kind of like a tool shed, don’t ya think? I assumed it was run by an obese, eh … ok I’ll be nice, “pleasantly plump” lady dressed in nothing but oversized translucent scarves with a hairy mole, unsettlingly large headdress and filth breath. Serviced only by Mexicans traveling on foot. How the hell did this place stay open? And more importantly successful!? Or were they? What trickery went on within the walls of this shack of magic? Or was trickery even the right word? Could this small hole in the wall dispense the knowledge my heart grew weak to attain? Well behold, you are about to find out!


Exactly what I imagine a psychic to look like. EXACTLY!

Now after calling the number listed on their front door innumerable times to no response, I decided to swing by the joint and see if I needed to schedule an appointment and whatnot. The establishment next door is a car stereo installation building.


Enticing area, isn't it?

A bunch of their hood rat employees were standing out front so I asked them if they knew if this psychic place was even still open. "They are there from time to time" one employee from the neighboring building explained, "but we haven’t seen them in years." YEARS!? FREAKEN FANTASTIC. If there wasn’t anyone there operating the damn place, they should at the very least turn that damn “OPEN” door hanging over to "CLOSED". Perhaps unplug that pansy neon sign. How cruel of them to play such tricks on my fragile heart! The pain of disappointment quickly shifted shape to determination however, fueling the fire inside. While one question was now answered; they certainly were not successful, the question of who shall unveil the beast that was my future remained a mystery.

Then destiny stepped in. Days later I was cruising down Rt.6, minding my own business, when I passed this cursed shack once again. This time however, much to my amazement, the lights were all on and the door was wide open! I immediately turned my car the hell around and parked that shit quick. I burst through the doorway of the elusive establishment and was instantly smacked in the face with a disturbingly thick cloud of nose hair fringing incense. My eyes darted across the blank white walls. It was a cozy little room, with dim lighting and white leather couches. I know, sounds like the love nest of a stoner guido, but it was so much more.

Crreeeeeaakkkkk. A bright faced woman eased out from behind a door. Her stature was small, her makeup faint. She approached me, her eyes glowing with the glee of a shiny, pure, unadulterated new customer, hopefully not to be enslaved! "Uh, are you guys open for business?" I asked her, pretty excited that my original plan was on the verge of coming to fruition. "Yes, we are," she replied, enabling my dream to come true! I asked her a couple more questions then assured her I would be returning shortly. After all, I had to get on my Zubaz baby!

Ain't no otha way to go.

Geared in my Zubaz, I approached an experience that had the possibility to change my life. Was it that serious? The answer awaited me. We met again, and she sat me down. I decided on the tarot card reading, and just as quickly as I arrived, the reading began. She asked me to shuffle the cards one time, and then she began placing my story on the very table before me. With tarot cards they don’t just “predict your future,” tarot cards sort of explain you. They skip up through your past, dangle a microscope over your present, and take a flashlight to the long, vague corridor that is your time to come. She started by telling me I was going to "live a long, full life, and that I wouldn’t die a painful death." She continued on that my "attitude will get me where I want to go in life." Spot on, ducky! Not a bad start! She then proceeded to present me with a detailed array of factual attributes to my self and life. She went on speaking, and I continued listening to her marvelous divinity. I stared back at her, my face like a strained flag, but inside I was sitting at her feet like a hungry animal. It was fantastic, but I questioned her abilities. I was curious and there were things I wanted to know, man. Questions that can neither be waved nor dismissed. Will I be happy and successful with my future career or end up a tinkering gypsy? Will I be led to the corner of the earth where happiness and love are born? Or more importantly, will I win that radmotious Zubaz T-shirt on e-bay this weekend? Longing and alert, I was ready for the answers, and lucky for me, this chick had them.

She allowed me three questions, a time to ask anything of her. At this point I realized this was more than just something I thought up for a Zubaz article. I could ask her anything I wanted. So I thought a moment, and like any 19-year-old chick in college I asked what I believe were common, predictable questions. 1) Job related, 2) Marriage related, and 3) Family related. Family was excellent news, but still somewhat hazy. She mentioned things that I felt could be applied to anyone. After all, a point in all directions is like having no point at all. I wanted more from her, more than an intangible object looming beneath the surface. I wanted a veracity that could not be confused with a well-worded speech of sweet, composed breath having the dust shaken from it for its disordered sequence of use. I wanted an answer that would speak to me, not just float into my head and settle to floor, never to be conjured up again for its unimportance.

For work, she said I’d always be okay. "That my dedication, ethic and endless motivation would take to me all the places I desired to go." She then nailed what I was good at, what I enjoyed, what I studied in school now and even what I have studied in a past school. Incredible! She was starting to sell me. For love, well she started off by saying I’m going to have three kids and the first are coming out in two – that’s right, twins! I scoffed at this, I mean, come on dude, how could she see something like that? But her next statement left me startled. She perfectly described how and why my last "relationship" ended, and well, she couldn’t have been more correct. I sat silent, with no words to speak for pure astonishment at how she perfectly depicted every move of what happened there. Some of what I knew, some that I was learning. I had spent so much time wondering what had happened. At such a time I’d lose myself in thoughts, questions rattling inside of me like tacks in a tin can. Finally to hear someone else utter the words that replayed over and over in my own mind like a broken record brought solace to my somewhat unsettled soul. She was so unbelievably right. To be sitting there absorbing it was surreal, her words silently flowing through me, a hollow log. She went on to tell me I was "letting other people’s negativity taint my inner light in many ways. I use to be full of color and energy, but my color, energy and love were weakening. My inner light had grown dim now from allowing negativity into my self." Cripes! I had to fix this man! I didn’t want my inner light to blow out! Eager for my light to flourish beyond its most magnificent and overflowing potential, I craved more. I don’t want a puny tea candle, I want lightning exploding on the ocean, beaming its splendor from my every pore upon a luminous sky. I want my colors to bleed into each other and create a brilliant spectrum so bright you have to close your eyes simply to see it. I want energy so intense and profound, that beating it with a stick, or marching it under burning rays of mid-August sunlight wouldn’t do so much as dent it.

She then told me for 90 dollars, I could have this. "This" being a “candle burning light session” with her tomorrow to allow my inner light to be bright again. Oh, thanks! My hopes and dreams crinkled around me, as I now doubted all the wonderful things she revealed to my ears. Was it all simply a ploy for my cash moneys? I found definite happiness with her offering, but I was a bit annoyed with her persistent efforts for me to return tomorrow. With that I paid my dues to her and bid her goodbye. As I walked out, she stopped me and handed me a tiny stone. "This is a love stone," she said extending her hand to me. "It is normally 40 dollars, but for you, because I feel your light and I know you believe, I give you it for free." I gulped hard, wondering if she possessed the power to invigorate the light within me that ceased to brave the somewhat harsh and untiring winds of the world, and shoved the stone deep into my pocket. Then I realized what a fucken retarded shortbusser I was beginning to think like. I snapped outta that funk, thanked her, and peaced out.


This is the stone. 40 bones my ass.

I accept the fact that most people view psychic readings and tarot cards over a chasm of misinterpretations and preconceived notions, considering it somewhat of a malicious sport. While I once thought I had a better chance at finding out if Ciara really is a dude or even genuinely enjoying an episode of the repulsive Roseanne than getting something real from a psychic, this chick provided me with some hardcore reasons to not so easily slight her kind. Give yourself up to them for a moment, and allow them to lay their service freely at your feet. They could be a phony, but they could be one skilled at hearing fate in the parting of your lips. Try it for yourself, you might be surprised at what you learn and feel after expending some time with one ... I was. Jesus, do I sound like a freaken infomercial or what. All right, peace and love Zubazers! Til next time.


Questions? Comments? Want this chicks number? Business number sleazy...Well, slide me an email at JDaw22@gmail.com and join the forum Ludwig!

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