Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

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jokers on the left of me, tarot on my right

She seemed a funny sort of gypsy, with her hair a vivid blonde not known in nature, her skin layered with china doll make-up, and her outfit a kind of tailored Junior League chartreuse. Her home was an immaculate tract home, three stories high, with a five car garage, and a front yard full of stunted ornamental trees, hacked up like a topiaryman's fondest dream. Her Texas twang reminded me more of a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader than of a mystic seer. She even had a huge button on which said "Bush/Cheney 2004!" and another button which said "I have see the future and it is not a Donkey!".

But when she started to wield that tarot deck, I knew she was the real thing. For one thing, she could whip those cards around like a Vegas blackjack dealer. I always feel that mystics are so slack--but not her. She was the goods, the real deal, and when she asked me to cut the cards before the reading began, I knew I was getting a fair deal.

The funny thing about the reading began, though, when the first card came out all weird. I mean, who ever got the SUV card during a reading? I nearly goggled when I saw that giant thing, looking more like a misplaced bit of desert military hardware than a tarot card. "Very good!" she whispered, "already you show you are a good consumer!". Then she flipped up another card, and it was the Gerrymander. "Ah. good, the Fates declare that we can control the future". I was getting puzzled by now, because you expect trumps and cups and necromancers when you buy a tarot reading, not a picture of an obscure governor in the shape of a lizard-y thing.

But she wasn't done yet. Next she pulled up a card with 7 pigs on it. "Ah, the 7 of pork!", she said, "this is a very bad card, but a necessary evil. Here, I must cleanse you". She then touched my forehead with something I'd swear was a Handi-Wipe.

I was just about freaked out, and ready to hit the exit, when she said "just one more card, dear", and grasped my wrist with a vise-like grip that indicated to me she'd spent a lot of time in the gym. I must say that she was the fittest mystic I've ever met, and she had a way of making polyster seem pleasingly wrinkle-free. I waited nervously, as she reached down to the deck. She flipped up the final card. On it I saw a picture of George W. Bush. But it wasn't just a picture. I could swear his lips were moving. That card was talking! and do you know what it said? Well, that's the creepy part. I could not understand a word he said, because everytime he opened his mouth, some auction barker kept saying "Sold to this fine corporation!", just like in the old tobacco commercial, except there was no auction bidding. It was all just sold. The reader swiftly picked up the card, and said "there's no future in talking about that".

I got up to leave, and paid for my reading, and then she looked at me, deeply into my eyes as if she were looking into my soul, and she whispered, as if it were Saturday night and we were having drinks in a bar somewhere, "it's all in the cards, dear (altho she said it "Deeeyar"), and you can't escape what is to come".

I learned my lesson about mysticism that day. Don't go looking for the future. You may just find you're living in it.
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