When I was 17, my miscreant friends and I were driving around aimlessly, as we often did. We got into a discussion of the supernatural, which became heated as I took the “bullshit” position to my friend’s “there are things we don’t understand” position. In my view, we have a comprehensive understanding of bullshit.

Anyway, as we drove by Madam Tina’s, a fixture in our town, he commented that there had to be something to it for her business to survive. I pulled over, commented that she couldn’t find her ass with both hands, and pulled down the sign.

I threw it in the back of my car (81 Celica ST Sparlingco convertible conversion RIP), and drove off. I told him that if she was a real psychic, she’d come get her sign.

28 years later, I’m still waiting.