Like Hell It's Free
Well, it didn't actually say that...I had to read it.
Small wonder the email wound up in my spam folder. Which, if the tarot card reader that sent the email was worth their weight in reading...they knew it was a wasted trip, baby. Like Oddball, they knew they wouldn't be locking horns with no Tigers.
It makes sense if you saw Kelly's Heroes.
Granted, if the tarot card reader looked like this:
My pet rock, Seymour, just *oinked* at me. I'd tell him to remember Julia Sandstone before he casts himself.
And let's say that the tarot card reader looked like Jane Seymour...no relation to the rock...and that I'd had the reading on, say, January 1 of this year. My route to work is fraught with hazards:
Mebbe a tarot card reader coulda seed that and warned me.
Granted, there are other things to be worried about on the road besides Seymour's geologic relatives:
Which we got up the canyon too.
And speaking of pot shops and their clientele:
I'm thinking of posting this on what's left of my Saturn, since there are recreational and 'medicinal' pot shops in the vicinity of my work. And if zombies are going to congregate, it's likely it'll start thereabouts.
Would a tarot card reader foresee that?
If they could, I could count on their place of readings not being next to Snacks 'R Us.
Now I know that tarot card readers want to tell me about the future, my prospects for love, money, career, health, et al.
Mebbe a good tarot reading would have spared me the angst of watching Green Bay fumble away their trip to the Super Bowl on a Seattle onside kick.
One thing I am reasonably sure about that the tarot cards wouldn't see or have to warn me about would be something like this:
That picture always creeps out Seymour...he's hiding under the love seat trying to make believe he did NOT just see that last picture.
So I'll print it for him.
At any rate, I didn't bother with the free tarot card reading. 'Cuz it wasn't going to be a young Jane Seymour doing it.
And it wasn't going to be free. The day it is, a Nigerian princess is going to contact me with a real inheritance that, with my help, I can get 40% of. And I'll get to marry Taylor Swift. And I'll never have to hear another word about Nancy Pelosi, Pillary, Obola or any of those democrap asshats via the lamestream servile mediocres.
I'll bet the tarot cards could at least predict a dream like that, eh?