Some people are psychic--and HATE IT!

 The syndrome, called "psychic self-hate," by paranormal psychologists, refers to the tendency of some psychically-gifted people to deny or disguise their abilities. 

In experiments, some psychic self-haters give so many wrong answers that it simply proves their mind-boggling talent!

In one real-life case, a woman went on a date to a horse race track. She didn't know anything about horses or betting. Yet, when her date prodded her to make bets, she purposely bought tickets for losing horses--even though she wrote down on notepaper which horses would actually win.

In six out of seven cases, she was correct--but she didn't tell her date because she found him attractive--and thought her extraordinary psychic ability would scare him away!

Doc Paranormal

What it Means to Dream of Olde English 800

 Dreaming of Olde English 800 malt liquor indicates you're on the slippery slope of downward mobility. Your life is over, finished, whether you are 20 or 35. You have huge student loans, an education of limited monetary value and small hope of remaining a member of the middle class into which you were born.

     Silver lining: If you awakened from your dream with your face in the gutter, your mouth a receptacle for diluted urine and cigarette butts, you have nearly hit bottom.

Dream On!

Dawnlee Hope, Jr.
Undergraduate Student
Dream Interpretation Curriculum 
Edgar Allan Poe Community College

Startled Christmas carolers spout Satanic slogans.

An eastern European chorale group stopped all performances after shocked members spontaneously spouted Satanic slogans.

The choir of twenty was gathered on a village street, when, in the midst of O Holy Night, the lead soprano began shouting demonic epithets.

After her head was secured in a plastic bag and she was dragged away, the choir launched into the jaunty Jingle Bell Rock. However, during the second chorus, the entire group surprised onlookers by singing “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, s**k my satanic c**k around the clock.”

Other songs followed with more blasphemous lyrics inserted into familiar tunes, including:* “Hairy nuts roasted over an open fire…” * “I saw mommy ******* Santa Claus…” * “Rudolph the ****-nosed reindeer…” Members of the chorale group began crying and screaming over their inability to control their filthy mouths. Finally, as angry listeners pelted them with inch-thick candy canes, frozen snowballs, petrol-filled vodka bottles and flaming chestnuts that had just been roasted on an open fire, they clambered into a horse-drawn cart and fled.

The choirmaster has cancelled all further public activities until the problem is sorted out. Meanwhile, five of the group’s twenty members, all superb tenors, have been burned alive in the village square. Needy bachelors were rewarded with the singers’ wives and homes.

A dire warning for newbie psychics.

 

I’m afraid of amateur psychics. And a lot of them have popped up during the pandemic. In an attempt to learn a well-paying new skill, everyone from unemployed waitresses to out-of-work chicken slaughterers are delving into the Other Side. With catastrophic results for the untrained newbies and society at large.

I can’t tell you how many of their unsuspecting clients have been immeasurably harmed. People have gone insane when put into contact with the wrong deceased relative. In one case, a female client wound up channeling Ted Bundy when her spiritual adviser misspelled her dead father’s name. The séance became a slaughterhouse as the client, acting on Bundy’s orders, thrust a wrought-iron candleholder through the advisor’s skull. Fortunately, no charges were brought against the client. Possessed, she was considered a mere witness to Bundy’s mayhem.

In another case, a lonely male attempting to materialize in a Hollywood starlet’s bedroom took a wrong turn on the astral plane and instead emerged in the padded cell of a notorious sex criminal. Prison guards discovered him comatose the following morning, wearing nothing but a demure bridal veil of Kleenex and yellowed newspaper clippings.

I’m a veteran paranormal investigator warning all psychic newbies to learn before you leap into the Great Unknowable.

Here are thirteen essential tips to get you started. Ignore my advice and the results could be catastrophic on a very personal level. That is, unless you want to summons the wrong spirits and turn your apartment into the infinite cauldron of Hell:

Never ask an angel if you can borrow its wings.

Don’t carry your crystal ball in a bowling bag.

Yes, werewolves do need a dog license.

Don’t play loud EVP noises after 10 p.m.

Sterilize pins before inserting them into voodoo dolls.

Never sit on a Faery’s lap.

Men: Don’t use psychokinesis to unbutton a woman’s shirt.

Women: Don’t slap a man’s face after intuiting his thoughts.

Never ask the Devil if you can touch his tail. He HATES that.

Avoid telling Zeus you like Santa Claus better.

Martians prefer to be call “citizens of the noble planet Mars.”

Mop up excess ectoplasm after a séance.

Cut off your hands to spite bad palm readers. I did. And I haven’t been bothered by one of those foolish idiots since.

Sincerely,

A reader in Canada

 

You can catch someone else's mental problems.

You can catch someone else’s mental problems just as you can catch a cold. But rest assured; it’s not the result of an evil spell. Experts say you can absorb an individual’s mental disorder if you identify with that person—on an unconscious level, you imitate his or her symptoms. Among the problems that can be contagious are panic attacks, depression and anxiety.

Bottom line advice: Hang out with cheerful people!

Reported by:

Abraham Tribesky, Ph.D.

102-Year-Old Psychiatrist to Deceased Hollywood Stars.

Emeritus Professor, Afterlife Issues

EAPCC

Countless people remember living in their mother's womb.

Researchers say that a Pre-Birth Experience is the memory someone has of an existence before he or she was born.

Amazingly, some of these individuals recall living in a beautiful spirit world where they were able to select their future parents.

Even more remarkable, 53 percent of people reporting PBEs say they have memories that start before they were conceived. 

Heatherleen Glade
Student/Teacher
Past-Life Studies
Edgar Allan Poe Community College

A ventriloquist's dummy talked me into marriage.

His name is “Benjamin Byrd” and I love him more than words can say.  Because of this wonderful woodenhead, I’m now the mother of three healthy children and the wife of a hardworking provider.

   
It all started the day I met Ben’s shy, soft-spoken human pal “Cliff.”  We worked together in different departments of a huge corporation.  I first noticed him in the hallway:  tall and good-looking with a boyish quality.  I tried my girlish best to snare him into talking, but had no luck until we rode the elevator by ourselves one lunch hour.

   
Cliff sputtered and stammered but was finally able to ask for a date.  I was elated.  Unfortunately, the evening became a disaster when Cliff could barely get a word out and spilled his drink on my new dress.

I wrote off the dress and the relationship until Cliff nervously invited me to play Frisbee with him and a friend in the park.  I decided to give him one last chance, and an hour later met him sitting on a park bench.  There was a patent-leather suitcase beside him.

“Looks like your friend is late,” I noted.

   
“No, he’s right here,” Cliff stammered.  Then he eagerly opened the expensive-looking case and lifted out a wooden dummy with wavy hair, a bulbous nose and a goofy expression on his shiny face.

   
The dummy’s mouth opened.  “Hi, doll!  Benjamin Byrd here.  What’s a pretty thing like you doing with old stone face?  He this week’s charity case?”

   
I chuckled.  “Don’t say that.  Cliff’s a very sweet fellow.”

   
“He’s sweet, all right,” Ben cackled, “sweet as a freakin’ lemon.”

   
I laughed again.  Amazingly, I then proceeded to enjoy an hour’s conversation with Ben, whom I found to be witty, charming, and quite a wonderful companion.  I was impressed that Cliff’s lips didn’t move the entire time.  He was very talented.

   
Over the ensuing weeks and months, Ben and I talked endlessly almost every day.  Through Ben, I came to know Cliff very well.  This magic time climaxed when Ben asked me to marry Cliff.  I’ll never forget Cliff down on one knee with Ben perched on the other.

We were wed in a quiet civil ceremony, with Ben, of course, the best man in a tiny tuxedo I sewed for the occasion.

   
We’ve been married for eight years now, with three happy kids.  (He may not be much of a talker, but there are some great things Cliff can do on his own!)  Sometimes, when we really want to get romantic, Cliff, Ben and I snuggle under a blanket in front of the fireplace—not too close to the roaring fire, of course!  Cliff and I let Benjamin do all the talking while we kiss and cuddle.

by: Anonymous
as told to Doc Paranormal