Olga stumbled across a free online webpage that would interpret the four tarot cards clicked on. The entire deck of cards was spread out, face down. Things hadn’t been going well for Olga recently and she was searching for something positive to cling to. She had been threatened by strangers several times in the past week because she had been seen going into a fast food establishment that was no longer considered woke.
Olga clicked on four cards, even though she thought that such things online were bogus hocus-pocus. The four cards when clicked on turned their faces up. An interpretation of the selected cards was proclaimed by a computerized voice.
The first card shows that you are insecure and do not know whether or not to accept a recent invitation to a birthday party. Go! Go to the party!
That’s true, thought Olga. I have been invited to Elaine’s birthday party at the solstice and I wasn’t keen to go.
The second card indicates what sort of gift you should bring to the birthday party. Nothing too expensive; nothing too ostentatious. Just a pleasant gift that the person would enjoy.
How right that is, thought Olga. I am so pleased I bought Elaine a simple peace lily in a lovely pot.
The third card indicates someone else at the party whom you meet for the first time. It could be a person of the opposite sex. The card indicates that they will become a significant person in your life.
That is so exciting, thought Olga. I’m well into the marriageable age and have yet to find Mister Right.
The fourth and final card indicates…
It was then that Olga’s phone rang. Hello. Hello, said Olga. It was Elaine. Could Olga email her the online address for party games she had told her about? Sure she could. She would do so immediately.
What a shame that Olga never heard the reading for the remaining card she had selected. Otherwise she may not have been murdered at the party by “Mister Right”.
I hope Mr. Right is sufficiently woke.
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I don’t know much about Mr. Right’s wokeness. I believe he sells chicken at some airport.
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Please tell me you’ve seen Portlandia.
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You should know by now that I’m very yesterday. Portlandia is far too recent for me. I’m still catching up on “I love Lucy”.
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Season 1, Episode 1: all you will ever need to know about chickens. It has been an inspiration to me in times of plenty and a balm in days of sorrow.
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I shall seek it out enthusiastically since it has been such a satisfying consolation to you. I have always kept chickens until my current residence. I used to have faverolles (the breed) because they were classy and no one else had them.
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That’s fair. Honestly I never liked chickens that much. I’ve always been annoyed by the holes they dig.
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Yes, they can make a bit of a mess. But one can forgive the classy faverolles.
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You’re a generous man.
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We DESERVE to know what happened to Colin the Chicken, Bob.
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Right you do, and I am the grotesque scrooge standing in between you and your rights. Watcha gonna do?
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Come on you two! Fight! Fight!
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We need no egging. Lolz.
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So it’s back to the chickens is it?
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Marry you, Bob, just like Fred and Carrie married the owner of Aliki Farms; and for the same reason: your metallic azure eyes.
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I must confess, I have gorgeous eyes. People have often complimented my eyes.
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Looking at your eyes saves having to look at the rest of you.
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I get that a lot.
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LOL!!
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I taught someone called Aliki. He was from Tonga. Am I the only sensible one around here?
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Oops, there goes my statue. Fuck. I hope no one writes “fascist pig” on my beautiful cheek before they toss me into a marsh.
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Well – this has been very educational. I shall refrain from kicking your statue in the balls because I have just learnt how to type one of these – ã – on my computer! João-Maria!
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Tildes are the rarest of diacritics, if you don’t count the disgusting, invidious háček. Even typing it nauseates me.
Thank you for learning how to type it, though I’m used to being referred to as Joao, at this point.
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I think João is so exotic to this dumb nobody. So I’ll stick with João even though I have to look up the bloody ascii number every time I type it.
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I don’t mind the hacek – it’s the macron that drives me silly – it’s utterly ugly and New Zealand Maori (language) uses macrons all over the place.
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That’s because the Maōri phonetics require the distinction of long and normal vowels; (ā/aa, ē/ee, ī/ii, ō/oo, ū/uu). It’s a feature that it shares with Chinese and that, as we’ve come to known, always translates poorly. I just find it rather odd that Maōri never got breves; I suppose they just like elongating vowels.
Portuguese is so infamously different to pronounce, actually, that we have a very wide breadth of vocal expression as well as ease with other complex phonetic languages, like Greek, Russian and Korean. My only major downfall is Estonian. I can’t get the Estonian umlaut, ä, to roll out, for the life of me.
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Just pronounce Estonian like you’ve got a burning hot potato in you mouth and everything will fall into place.
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That’s what I did with Danish. And I learnt much of Romanian by telling everyone to shut up.
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I learnt Tongan (not very well) by telling Tongan students to shut up!
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That’s funny, though I hope they resumed speaking eventually. I meant telling people to shut up because of the notorious Romanian /s/, ex. Targovisshhte and Bucharessshhht.
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My partner is Romanian!
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I’ve been rooting for Olga’s gruesome, merciless death, since the crack of Tuesday. I’m glad this issue is resolved.
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With all the empty plinths about they’re thinking of erecting a statue of the murderer.
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As they shall; I’m available to produce the beat poem that will engender its subsequent felling, for the murderer had not one, but two ancestors that once said “what, Cassandra? I have friends that are black, I can say it!”
Yes, they both spoke to a Cassandra as they were saying it.
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Jane Austen had a sister in real life called Cassandra. I wonder if it’s the same person.
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Yes!, the one with the short leg.
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I know her well – she (the one with the short leg) is forever putting her foot in her mouth.
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But if Olga would have seen the 4th card then the whole thing would have been wrong because she would have learned that Right was wrong. This way the cards were right about Right. It’s all very confusing, really, but I think Bruce did this whole right Right thing because he knows how to write Right, right?
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You’re possibly wright on the ball. Right?
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I hear that Orville was more conservative than Wilbur, and when they went down the street Wilbur was generally on the left. At least Orville’s view on aerodynamics was correct.
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If they were going back up the street you could hardly say that Wilbur was on the left. Right?
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All the world’s a stage. Wilbur was on stage left.
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I think it was Eugene O’Neill, or have I got the wrong person? who wrote his stage directions the opposite to everyone else. He wrote as if he was sitting in the audience.
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What a prick.
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I’m presuming that exclamation refers to me and not to Eugene O’Neill. I delight in being called a prick. It gets me noticed.
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Since you took it that way I see no reason to amend.
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I guess Mr. Right saw her going into the fast food establishment…silly Olga
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At least he doesn’t seem to have fallen asleep in a drive through.
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No… he kept his eye on the prize.
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I always give the same advice: if you’re going to do a murder don’t start drinking until afterwards.
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I bet you got that advice from Dear Abbey.
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You read me like a book Max!
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Like a dime store novel!
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I’m not above being cheap.
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You are a lot of things Bruce…but not cheap.
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That’s very kind! Since everything I’ve ever written is available for free, I guess you could hardly call that cheap!
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That is true Bruce! Generous to a fault…
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Generous? Don’t you mean poor? In fact, broke!
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Well you fit in with us bloggers very well!!! Why else would we peddle our material for free? But…we still aren’t cheap.
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That too true!!
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Now then, that reminds me again of Tess of d’Urbervilles, the letter slipping under the carpet etc. Unfortunately, the real culprit never even crossed the mind of the detective, or the Judge, who sent the assassin to the gallows. I would like to time-travel and make the deceased read the fourth tarot card too, but that is only a triumph of your story.
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Probably the 4th tarot card simply said “Have a nice day”.
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Probably it said, Be afraid. Be very afraid.
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Ha!
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Well when you read the Tarot cards, death very often doesn’t mean death, usually a big change, but who was she to know whether it would be good or bad…
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I had my cards read once and the death card came up which was interpreted exactly as you suggested.
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