Russ Carney of America

Whoops! I forgot to tell you: The world was supposed to have nuclear wars on September 12, 2006!

When you see a crazy guy in a sandwich board warning you of the end of the world, you usually just politely walk around him and yell, “HORSESHIT!” as loudly as you can silently in your mind. People have been predicting the end of the world for as long as religion’s been around. Eventually someone’s going to get it right — the end will come and boy won’t we be sorry for not having listened to him! Or the other 20,000 before him. You can understand why Doomsdaying is such a popular pastime: Humans have a psychological need to belong to a group, especially to an elite, exclusive group. Extra-credit if the group possesses special knowledge of the afterlife. Everyone wants to know the unknowable! Humans need spiritual connections, be it religion, drugs or psychic readings. Ever known a dude who insisted that India is as spiritual as it gets and who spared no expense to buy cheap tapestries and burn nag champa as the key to spiritual awakening? Humans need to feel a link to great power. Humans like the sound of their voice when they’re giving advice (myself included.) Humans are paranoiacs. Humans are assholes. Mix this stuff together in a reactive bowl and like a flavor-tainted marinara sauce, you get Doomsday Prediction Assholes.

I’m really, really, really sorry that I’m late in reporting the September 12, 2006 nuclear wars. I totally dropped the ball on that. I’d seen this newsleter before — My friend Bob slipped a copy onto my patio in April 2006 and we had a laugh about needing to get our shit together ASAP. Of course when September 12, 2006 came and went we mostly forgot about the doom predicted by the great prophet Yisrayl Hawkins and we laughed it off. As most people do. “My Dear Friends, We must warn the world of nuclear wars that will start no later than September 12, 2006.” Hmm.. Well I definitely admire his conviction. NO LATER THAN SEPTEMBER 12 is pretty specific! Far more specific than anything that hack Sylvia Browne would likely commit to.

Today as I was out at the apartment’s communal recycling bin, I found the old House of Yahweh Newsletter underneath a cat food tin, so I nabbed it and scanned it. I was again aroused with curiosity, so I searched the old Internets for “The House Of Yahweh”. Looks like the great Hawkins fucked up again in 2008, and even earlier in 2000 as demonstrated here. I guess the plan is to scare as many people as you can, make quick money, fade into obscurity, and then come back for another bite.

You can research his horseshit on your own — I’m not a debunking site, I’m just a humorist with a hatred for flim-flam. I have presented you with a copy of the front page of his newsletter for your amusement. Click on the newsletter and it will open in a new window so you can read the sweet tidbits.

[c] 2009 Russ of America
On page 3 (not shown) the Last Days’ Witness Hawkins gives readers permission to make unlimited copies.

3 Comments | In: Well Organized Ideas | tags: 9/11, bullshit, crazy, doomsday, doomsday prediction assholes, end of days, horseshit, myths, nuclear war, prophecy, prophets, psychics, recycling, sylvia browne, the house of yahweh, yisrayl hawkins. | #

The Getty Villa has something that I’ve seen a few dozen times in life: A pool of water with coins in it. I doubt the Getty people put the coins in there. I suppose it’s possible, but I’d guess that it’s a contingent of plebian visitors who are mucking up the pool with coins. My first assumption would have been that the Getty caters to a more selective, cultured audience who might refrain from dumping their pocket change into a classy reflective pool, but having seen the practice with my own two lying eyes, what I’ve known for years has been proven true again: For whatever reason, humans cannot resist throwing coins into a body of water. People usually won’t ditch coins deliberately in the ocean or in lakes, maybe because you lose visual connection after you dump it into the surf, but if you put a pool or a fountain in the middle of a mall or any centralized walking space, especially if you might take a date there, without fail some jackoffs will have thrown handfuls of coins into it. I wonder if it’s the same people who put chewing gum under restaurant tables. Who the fuck is doing that?

The coins-in-pool phenomenon reaffirms my hypothesis that the quickest and surest way for me to achieve my fortune is to create a chain of trendy wishing-wells not unlike Starbucks. I could call it Mybucks, because that’s literally what it would be. Naw, that’s a stupid fucking name. By the time I cut the ribbon I’ll have a way better name because I’ll hire a marketing strategy genius to brand my wishing well as really upper-crust and to convince people that my wishing well chain is the absolute best in the entire world. Creme de la creme. I’d sort of want the Cognac XO analog to wishing wells, whatever that is. A wishing well that inspires loyalty. A wishing well that will make people scoff at the other wishing wells the way they scoff at cheap coffee, cheap cigars or cheap wine. “Sorry man, but I only use Russ of America brand wishing wells, they’re way better than that stupid seagull shit-encrusted wishing well in Marina Del Rey. My cousin is a wishing well expert and he says that the RCoA brand is tops and that I should accept no substitutes on account of I’m a superstitious high roller!” And yes, I’d want to have exclusive contracts with top casinos, hotels, and other venues to install about 200 of my wishing wells all throughout Vegas. Ooh, and in Dubai! I’ll be the Dubai wishing well mogul! I’m not sure if wishing is against the Islamic faith, but you can guarantee that if there are people in Dubai, and a wishing well in Dubai, then Dubai people will put Dubai coins in the wishing well in Dubai, Islam or not. It’s science.

Whomever designs this wishing well would have to make it a real sweet piece of ass. Maybe delicious-looking imported Italian marble or some kind of special fountain that shoots water out of gorgeous robotic chrome nipples. Sexy blue and purple lighting for after hours like a space-age bachelor pad. Maybe some mist and a disco ball. Esquivel playing softly from speakers hidden in fake boulders. I’m not sure. But it’d be a hell of a sight to see whatever it looked like. Shiny, clean, sexy, smooth, sleek and mod. Maybe we’d have a different design theme for each well. Kind of like Fry’s Electronics. Zen, space ships, ancient Egypt, old Holland, verdant Irish knolls, lots of gold trim and frescoes. Like a really classy miniature golf course. There’d probably be a way to pick lottery numbers and special designer cubby holes in which to aim your coins if you wanted to wish for people’s health and other jive like that. But not bullseyes because we don’t want the thing to look like a fuckin’ SkeeBall. And as part of the branding we’d spread some propaganda so that people knew that my chain of wishing wells are extra famous for giving extra good luck, especially if you put extra money into the wishing well. Fuck pennies, you cheap motherfucker! Throw a roll of quarters in there if you want to maybe have your wish come true. Wrap a $20 around a pebble and toss it in. Don’t worry, we have dryers. It’s not very scientific, but if people give money to psychics on the belief that those thieving turds can discern the future by playing solitaire with a spooky deck of cards, I don’t see why that same person wouldn’t give me all of their spare change on the unrealistic expectation that they’d somehow prosper for it. Humans are ridiculously superstitious and they deserve to voluntarily empty their pockets for my benefit, and in this economy (here we go again with that expression…) I don’t mind helping them out.

Brother, can you spare a dime?

[c] 2009 Russ of America
(Gratitudes to my lovely bebbeboo for discovering that nasty weave fountain with me in November 2008)
PS: Yes, I’m aware that the title of this article is grammatically incorrect.

2 Comments | In: Well Organized Ideas | tags: ancient egypt, bad economy, brother can you spare a dime, bullshit, chewing gum, coffee, cognac xo, coins, disco ball, dubai, economic recession, esquivel, fountains, fry's electronics, getty villa, las vegas, mall, money, myths, nipples, psychics, recession, skeeball, starbucks, tarot, wishing wells. | #

Dear Sylvia,

I’m pretty sure that you are reading my blog. I was drinking Turkish coffee this morning and was reading the coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup per usual when I divined an image of you along with a shape resembling a percent sign. From these facts I understood it to be true that you or your assistants are actively reading the 400% More Jackoff Magic blog, and I thank you for your attention. Sylvia, I have the grave misfortune of predicting that you will die a horrible, natural death. Please allow me to explain.

I wanted to write to you to apprise of you of a vision that I had about you last night. First however, I want to mention my credentials. I’ve consider myself a medium for thirty or so years or so, with talents god-given to me by the grace of the Lord and blessed by two Roman Catholic bishops, six priests and a chocolate Easter bunny. One of my earlier experiences in divination occurred when I was a little boy. A friend of mine, Francisquito, had a dog who disappeared one day. The dog’s name was Adobo. We used to call him Francisquito (the boy, not the dog, because the dog was named Adobo) or Little Francis (the boy) because Francisquito was tiny. Francisquito wasn’t any larger than one of those plastic Swiss Army Knives they have as window displays in knife stores. Francisquito looked all over the neighborhood for Adobo but to no success. His family canvassed the neighborhood with fliers all day and went door-to-door and wrangled all of the kids and able-bodied adults to look for the dog. After an exhausting day I fell asleep and had a dream that Francisquito was looking for his dog. I was picking up a wooden image. I couldn’t tell initially what it was, but I knew that there was wood involved. And cloth. I was seeing something of cloth attached directly to the wooden thing. I saw that Francisquito found his dog underneath this wooden structure. I remember being very confused about this structure in my dream and I told myself in my dream to look closer and closer until I could really make out what it was, because otherwise what good would that information be? As I got closer I could see very clearly that Adobo was sleeping underneath a bed (wooden frame, covered in cloth,) and on top of the bed was a colorful printed sheet and comforter. There were a lot of greens and whites. I swear it was one of the most vivid dreams I ever remember having. Anyway, as soon as I woke up the next morning I ran to tell my mother about my dream and she poo-poohed me. I told her again, but she waved me off until the third time when I finally convinced her to peel back my Green Lantern sheets and to look under my bed, and there was the dog Adobo, asleep. Francisquito was so happy to have him back, and I thought his family would give me a reward and that Francisquito and I would be really good friends, but we didn’t talk very much after that day.

On September 10th, 2001 I predicted the 9/11 attack, but I misinterpreted the date it was going to happen as 11/9, and I figured that I would start making warning phone calls sometime in early October. Well obviously when I woke up the next day I didn’t have to worry about making any phone calls because, well, you know.

Sylvia, I wanted to tell you about a vision of you I had last night when I slept. I don’t call them dreams because in regular dreams people don’t see things that could happen or they don’t get to talk to people who have passed over. They usually have dreams about flying or shopping or work or their high school reunions. I have dreams like that too but they are different from the visions I have. I also have visions when I am awake, so that proves that I’m not just dreaming. Anyway last night when I was asleep after watching an old Montel that I’d TiVo’d, and then after watching Conan O’Brien, I fell asleep and had you in my prayers because although you weren’t on that episode of Montel that I watched, I was thinking of you as I watched it, and I figured that I’d just put out my feelers and see if I could pick up anything that might be going on in your sphere. So I put out my “Soul Antennas”, as psychic Doris Jacobs said to do in her self-published book Dreamnology: The Technology of Dream’n, and I felt something important. Within a few seconds of meditating on you, I got a sense of tightness in my chest. I saw an ugly woman with hair of straw struggling to breathe in a hospital room. I felt as though there was a weight on my chest, kind of like all of the cats in my house sleeping on my chest at once. The weight traveled back to the woman and I could see her laboring under this tightness. The woman had old, lazy hands with tacky acrylics at the ends of her stained-brown fingers. When she spoke, her voice, raspy and coarse, splintered the MDF cabinets in the hospital room. Each time she cried for medication a cabinet disintegrated. In the corner of the room I saw a tall, metal tank of some kind, reminiscent of those that might contain medical oxygen. The tank was scuffed and dirty, with clear tubes running around it, up into her face.

I’m not sure where I’m picking this information up from, but I assure you it’s god-inspired. Sylvia, I am posting this so that you will read it and prepare yourself for the heavenly peace that will follow this horrific tragedy. I really had to meditate on this dream to be sure that my interpretation is accurate, and I’m pretty sure. The dream told me that you, Sylvia Browne, will die of emphysema, complications related to COPD, advanced heart disease or lung cancer. Or possibly something related to the throat or mouth. It’s dark, whatever it is, and it is spreading. That which I have predicted will come true because I believe in it. I’m sorry to have broken this news. It must be difficult to hear, as it was difficult for his parents to hear when you incorrectly described Shawn Hornbeck’s abductor, Opal Jo Jennings’ white slavery, a woman who was “shot” in the chest and the firefighter who drowned in the Twin Towers on 9/11. I hope I can be of assistance to you by providing you with more psychic dreams such as these. I charge $850 for each half-hour of my readings.

[c] 2009 Russ of America

No Comments | In: Well Organized Ideas | tags: 9/11, bullshit, cancer, copd, death, debunktion, dreaming, dreams, emphysema, heart disease, lost dog, lung disease, montel williams, mouth, myth, myths, necromancy, paranormal, parapsychology, prediction, psi, psychic dreaming, psychic dreams, psychics, skepticism, skeptics, soothsaying, sylvia brown, sylvia browne, throat. | #

Is the “science” of criminal profiling similar to psychic “cold reading”? Seems like they would deal in a similar set of generalizations. “I’m getting the sense that he was a lonely man. Maybe middle-aged. Had trouble keeping girlfriends, but could get them occasionally. I’m picking up on the letter M. Is there a Mary or Margaret or Emily in your family? Yes? She wants me to tell you that everything is okay and that she’s at peace in heaven, God rest her soul, amen.”

[c] 2008 Russ of America

No Comments | In: Well Organized Ideas | tags: amazing randi, bullshit, cold-reading, hoaxes, magic, myths, psychics. | #

Science deals with facts. Fortunately, I don’t.

The difficult-to-categorize, but extraordinarily brilliant musical group Talking Heads said, “Facts just twist the truth around. Facts are living turned inside-out.” That’s a profound excerpt, I think. As they are have a published opinion on facts, this expert, authoritative citation I’ve quoted is good-enough to support my argument, even if I may have misquoted them or taken their ideas out of context.

I believe in ghosts, UFOs, angels, goblins, sprites, spirits, fairies, poltergeists, leprechauns, chupacabras, space aliens, any kind of loch monster, bigfeet, dragons, children of the corn, the Shining, psychics, necromancy, demonic possession, satanism, witchcraft (light, dark and caramel crunch,) Roman, Greek, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu and Christian gods, The Force, santeria, voodoo, zombies, the occcult, Aleister Crowley, Criss Angel, Teller but not Penn, The Mighty Atom, Hans Christian Anderson, Smurfs, the mythical Soma, Spanish fly, Hulda Clark’s zappicator, the healing power of magnets, homeopathy, hexagonal water, herbal penis enlargement and the legend of menehune.

All of you non-believers need to stop hating on me, you haters. Hatred is bad and it’s totally illegal to hate on me and you are hating with pure hatred streaming out of your hate-filled eyeballs. Why you hating so much, hater? Hatey Haterson. If you don’t believe in any of that stuff you’re just a no-good skeptic and you have no faith. Hater skeptic. You have no faith and I’ll pray for you.

[c] 2008 Russ of America

No Comments | In: Well Organized Ideas | tags: aliens, angels, ayurvedic medicine, belief, bigfoot, bullshit, chupacabras, criss angel, crowley, demonic possession, dragons, facts, fairies, goblins, god, hater, haterade, haters, healing power of magnets, hexagonal water, hoaxes, homeopathy, hulda clark, leprechauns, loch ness monster, magnets, menehune, necromancy, nessie, non-believers, occult, penis enlargement, poltergeists, psychics, religion, santeria, satanism, science, sham, skepticism, skeptics, smurfs, soma, spanish fly, spirits, sprites, talking heads, the force, the shining, ufos, voodoo, witchcraft, zappicator, zombies. | #