Did You Hear That?

At the latest session with my Parapsychiatrist I was telling him about having an argument with my Grandmother and that it had been very distressing to me. This was mostly due to the fact she has been dead for ten years and had been an evil sea hag. He assured me everything would be okay as soon as I ponied up $1,500 for a paranormal Orkin man to come out to the house and spray for ghosts. You can bet the first thing I did when I got back to the Casa de Adams Family was get my Realtor on the phone and ask him why this haunting business wasn't in the disclosure documents?

What the fuck is it with stupid people? Is there just not enough Jerry Springer and Oprah to go around? Every channel from A&E to The Discovery Channel has their own version of Dog The Spooky Hunter. Paranormal States, Psychic Children, (because it's never to early to become a nut-bag only dogs and squirrels will associate with,) Ghost Hunters, and soon to come: PSI. Psychic Scene Investigators, a team of surgeons that can let the air out of these balloon-head morons.

These shows take their format right out of the Seinfeld play-book; tweaking it from a show about nothing to shows about less than nothing. A family of Troglodytes or a woman with 30 cats has “had it up to here” with the non-tangible house guest from Hell who's overstayed their welcome. They just want to be able to get a good night's sleep damn it. Yeah? Then do what the rest of us do to deal with our problems. Have a Jack & Coke, do a couple of bong loads, pull the sheets over your head, and in the morning it'll be gone.

Or there's the sensible solution. Call a crack team of experts who will come in with a bunch of store closeout camcorders, a Radio Shack police scanner, and an oscilloscope they found at the flea market for $15. They will spend the next 30 minutes, (20 with commercial breaks,) wandering cautiously through your house with very concerned looks on their faces and the occasional startled gasp as they search for poltergeists without proper documentation, and any loose change that might be under the sofa cushions, or jewelery left out in the open . Fortunately The Brotherhood of Paranormal Investigators has strict rules regarding work hours so all instances of haunting must be resolved in a half hour show.

Now is all this really necessary? Has anyone ever been bitch-slapped by a ghost, been given a wedgie, a hicky? Have they taken pictures of you while you were in the shower and posted them on MySpace, drank the last beer, used your tooth brush to scratch their balls? See, the problem is in order for something to move a lamp, slam a door, smack your ass it has to have mass, and all mass is measurable. Yes, you can buy a $200 EMF meter and it will jag it's little needle all you want it to because guess what... Your house is filled with things that emit an electromagnetic field. They're called outlets, and microwaves, and fish tanks, and personal pleasure devices. (Which is another way of saying you're single.) But it will not tell you if you have a ghost hiding in your clothes dryer.

Thankfully we have a backup. Video surveillance. A crosshatch configuration of video cameras with motion sensors is established to intersect with all lines of sight, backed-up by an octagonal tripwire system connected to precisely calibrated still cameras equipped with precision ground aura filters. You can trip a ghost? Maybe that accounts for the crashing lamps and moving chairs. Ghosts are just really clumsy and run into things a lot. But we don't want to leave anything to chance. So Bob will be stationed on the second floor. When he sees Ghost Sign on the ectoplasm mats, (commonly known as contact paper,) he will attempt to trap the Sprite in an Apparition Containment Device, (commonly known as a thermos,) and transport it from the property in an astraltorial secure compartment on board the Ghostmobile, (Commonly known as the trunk of a car.)

“Jenn, Carl, do you have a copy?”

“We read you Bob, loud and clear.”

“Have you completed systems check?”

“Affirm Bob, all systems are on-line, and we're in position.”

“I'm getting some pretty heavy akasha readings up here.”

“We could be close to a full materialization, stay sharp.”

“Roger. Switching to night vision.”

“Roger? Do you see a Roger?”

“That's not what he meant Jenn, watch your screens.”

“Don't tell me my job Carl. Bob... Who is Roger? I'm not getting any readings down here.”

“He meant he understood you. Stay off the radio.”

“I have just as much right to talk on the radio as you do Carl.”

“Ahhh, ouch, damn it.”

“BOB! BOB! Can you here me?”

“Oh God I think my arm's broken.”

“What happened Bob? Was it a Banshee, did it attack?”

“No. I'm in the bathroom, the batteries in my night vision goggles died. I think fell into the tub.”

“What about Roger Bob? Is Roger in the tub with you?”

“Will you shut the fuck up. Somebody call 911 I think I'm bleeding.”

“Do you have your anti-ethereal serum? Inject it now.

“Oh God... Is that a bone sticking out?”

Maybe it's severe Nihilism that drives so many people into the open arms of the ridiculous. Searching for explanations and meaning to shore up the crumbling walls of their sanity. Rolling around in their own imagination like it was a big feather bed, tired and disappointed in the mundaneness and over ordinary that makes up most of life. You don't see movies about the mind numbing routine of apathetic life unless the protagonist has a psychotic break with reality or fucks some really hot chick who in real life wouldn't let you park her car. It might be fun if you got to do it. But you won't.

The fact is we don't want to spend $80, or whatever it is now for a movie, to watch what we can get for free by sitting on the couch and staring into a mirror for two hours. Fuck “Realistic Portrayal” I want to see someone suffering more than me or cuttn' a path through the checkout line at Cost Co with a chainsaw. Two thumbs up.

For some of us life is about staying ahead of the game, but for most of us it's about just trying to stay IN the game. The people who choose to legally change their name to Legolas, insist on wearing their Darth Vader costume to the company picnic, or refuse to believe the scratching they hear at night is the rats in the attic are just looking for their own version of American Idol to lose themselves in until the back to work whistle sounds.

Does this mean they're not a bag of fruity nuts? Not at all, they're crazy as Hell.

The only difference between them and us is that they're not afraid to show it.

Keep The Faith.