The Stupid is Catching (Or "Ouija Boards")

It's become my little sister's newest obsession. I have to hear about it whenever I pick her up from her friend's house. Tonight, in fact, she and her friends talked to a bad spirit who hated their friend, who was absent from the get-together, and knew the girl's mother.

I know. My little sister's 17, by the way. One of the most popular kids in her school.

The standards must've been lowered since I left high school.

Ouija has really made me see that the human race will seriously resort to anything in order to obtain the unobtainable. Talking to the dead is something that we've been trying to do as a society since the first person died and the second person got kind of lonely and hoped they could still carry on a conversation, even though the first person had just been killed to shit by a Sabertooth tiger.

Today, it's a pop culture phenomenon. My sister would stop at nothing until she could have this "supernatural instrument", which naturally led to me driving my ass to the Toys 'R' Us nearest to my college in order to get one. Thank you, Parker Brothers. You bastards.

Listen up, kiddies, because Auntie R.C. is only going to break this down for you once:

1. If the dead really wanted to be talked to, believe you me, they would find a way to "contact" you. Like throwing shit around your house. I don't know, I just watched An American Haunting the other day.

2. If a Ouija board was truly an instrument to be used in getting in touch with the great beyond, it wouldn't be made accessible to the public. Or sold in a Toys 'R' Us.

3. If a ghost was going to use that little needle thing to point to letters, your hands wouldn't be anywhere near it.

4. A "bad" spirit wouldn't tell you it was so, unless he/she was a fucking nimrod in life. Wouldn't a bad spirit thrive on deception and mayhem and what have you? Only an idiot would tell you, up front, that it's probably not the best candidate as far as honesty goes.

5. A Ouija board wouldn't cost $24.99 (see #2)

It's fun for a party, but don't tell me all about contacting some douche bag who called your friend the C-word, a word I hate, and expect me to take you seriously. If it was real, a legit practice, I'd be contacting Dylan Thomas to ask if the cirrhosis was worth it.