Today is the Magenta Sabbath of Ra Risen; so yet again I am forced to attend another dreary meeting of the Seance Circle at my local Theosophical Society. Our spirit guide is a pit-bull called Angus, which is a bit of a problem since he just barks his head off when there's "anybody there." Obviously, at this point the other spirit manifestations can't get a word in edgewise, eventually buggering off with their important messages from the Other Side to a quieter and presumably pit bull-free section of the Astral Plane.
We've tried distracting Angus with an ectoplasmic bone, but he doesn't seem to care. So tonight we held hands around the table, closed our eyes, and then began chanting "Beware of the dog. Beware of the dog" over and over again. No luck. As soon as the ghostly postmen arrived the canine cacophony struck up once more. "Well, Angus has certainly marked his territory on this table." Madame Svevo remarked, conjuring unwanted images of phantom dog turds floating in the aether above our heads. My only hope is that he does not carry ethereal fleas. I don't know. Why can't we have an American Indian spirit guide called Red Herring or whatever like normal people do?
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