Last night after work I stopped into the pub for a pint or four. It was payday after all. Plus I was really into the latest book I have been reading, 'The Mad Ship' and I wanted to spend a couple of quiet hours reading. So I sat at a bench with my book and a candle and enjoyed my beer. After the third beer I went up to the bar for a refill. As I stood there weaving a little, my eyes alighted on an ad that had been tacked to a post on the bar.
ESP COURSE! Learn what ESP (extrasensory perception) is and how to use it in your everyday life!
Class 1 - What is ESP & how it works, Opening 3rd eye Chakra, Aura Vision.
Class 2 - Clairvoyance practice, developing psychic symbol dictionary.
Class 3 - Clairsentience practice, continuing development of psychic symbol dictionary.
Class 4 - Different methods of ESP development practice, ESP tool creation.
Oh ho! Thought my hops-muddled brain. An ESP course! Why, ESP is exactly what I need in my life now. I imagine myself going to a car dealership, and when the salesman comes out I would start sorting through his memories until I find his deepest darkest secret, and use that as a tool against him until he is on his knees in the parking lot, sobbing and holding out the keys to my new Honda. I would become invincible.
The courses are a whopping five dollars a class. For entertainment value, that's cheaper than the movies. Plus there is the woman...'Spring Rayne'. I imagine some late thirty-ish woman with long hair down to her waist and wearing some low-cut medieval princess robe that can hardly contain her bountiful bosom. During her crystal healing sessions she would squash my face into her bosom as she chanted out to her healing spirits. Oh yeah, that's for me. I asked for a pen and scrawled down the web address, loudly voicing my intentions. People inched away.
I got home and there was a letter in my mailbox from my health insurance. They were informing me that they were no longer going to support nexium. They claimed that the over the counter prilosec was 'just as good'. It's not, I know, I have tried. Oh sure, it works, but I still have to keep a bottle of tums around for certain occasions. With nexium I could drink battery acid and I would not wake up in the middle of the night what that annoying tummy acid. I was pissed. I need my purple crack. Otherwise I might have to quit smoking and eat healthy. (shudder) I might have to make an appointment with my doc and see what other alternatives there are out there.
I had a strange dream last night I visited the scientific facility where they were developing a better form of laundry detergent. They had a big stainless steel washing machine hooked up to scientific equipment. They would dirty the shirt with a special radioactive dye and after it was finished being washed a machine would tell how much of the dye was left on the shirt, thus measuring its level of 'cleanness'. Apparenlty I was there for a big breakthrough because the shirt had achieved one hundred percent cleanness. All the lab characters were dressed in outfits like you would see from the show 'Xena'. I am not sure what to make of that one.
I fell asleep last night watching 'Eureka'. That's ok, It will be on again.
2026 Update
Tonight's time-slip: 2006, when a pub candle, a five-dollar ESP class, and a purple pill were the whole personality.
Ah, 2006: the halcyon age when a man could prop a paperback on a pub bench, drink four pints, and announce to the room that he was going to learn ESP from a woman named Spring Rayne, and the worst consequence was that people inched away. Look at the archaeology in this artifact. The ESP flyer is tacked to a post — no QR code, no TikTok ad, no soul-sucking subscription funnel. The price is five dollars a class, which today buys you a fraction of one latte and maybe a third of a psychic pebble on Etsy. The health insurance letter arrives by physical mail, asking you to swap your patented purple pill for the common-man's pink one, and your only move is to call your doctor like a forgivable human. Now the algorithm would have already diagnosed your acid reflux, sold you a subscription digestive tea, and reminded you that smoking is a moral failing on your wellness app. And the dream about radioactive laundry detergent with Xena costumers? That, sir, was your brain doing free entertainment that would now be a premium podcast tier.
“2006 Ed, did you ever actually take Spring Rayne's five-dollar class, or did the fantasy of telepathically humiliating a Honda salesman stay parked right next to the bottle of purple pills?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, I hate to admit it, but no. I never made it to Spring Rayne's five-dollar wonderland. I think I lost the scrap of paper somewhere between the pub and my mailbox, probably right around the time the insurance company decided my purple crack was optional. And let me tell you, the Prilosec thing is still burning a hole in my gut, metaphorically and otherwise. The Honda salesman fantasy, though? Oh, that one’s still parked right next to my bottle of Tums, waiting for me to develop so much as a twitch of clairvoyance. Maybe I should’ve gone, if only to see what a real aura looks like. But between work and my cats bringing me dead things, I never got my third eye open. Some days I can barely get my regular eyes open. So no, no psychic car deals yet.
