Awhile back, I visited Oklahoma’s largest paranormal carnival (which was written up here) hoping to take my usual skeptical angle on the event. While I was there, though, I had an encounter with a Pagan Priestess and Psychical Phrenologist that I cannot explain to this day. She explained things to me about myself that I’d been unwilling to see, such as that I’d been suppressing the joy of my inner child by forcing him to sit still for eight hours a day, and overcompensating for his lack of daily joy by spending too much time at night on RedTube. There is no way she could have just guessed at these things.
As I was preparing to leave, she sold me a $20 bottle of thrice-blessed homeopathic holy water, which looked just like an ordinary bottle of water, except she told me it has been purified and filtered so as to dilute out all of the water therein that was ever blessed by the Catholic Church. She explained to me the special process of 100% organic filtration, and how it magnifies the quantum energies of the original blessing along with the power of prayer and similia similibus curentur. What was merely a few molecules of holy water, contaminated by the vulgar presence of unholy water, becomes an entire bottle of water trebly-blessed by the power of filtration, dilution, and prayer.
Now I know that some if not all of my readers will be skeptical of whether this was really anything other than just an overpriced water, but as a skeptic I was determined to test it out. The night before last I was so loaded that I voluntarily left a party house filled with women to visit a geriatric jazz club (they exist!) with a few of the guys. After that indescribable experience, we went someplace for fish n’ chips and Irish beer, and thereafter that it’s all a blur of otherworldly images: sex dolls from the uncanny valley, prostitutes dancing on pedestals, creepy old men covered in clay and straw, and countless miles of fantastical artificial coastline.
I can only dimly remember how I made it home, but when I did, I could feel the mother of all hangovers starting to creep upwards from the back of my skull. It was at this point that I remembered the thrice-blessed bottle of 80X holy water. I broke it out of its special nook in the back of the fridge, used it to wash down a handful of ibuprofen and pretzels, and then passed out on the couch.
The next day, on Easter morning, I felt like a new man. My mind was clear and sharp, my lower back painless and flexible, and my testosterone levels spiking like a teenager. I felt ready to conquer the world and then make love to it for hours. You can’t explain that! I shall continue to pursue scientific skepticism, of course, but hereafter I’ll be fully powered by an endless stream of thrice-blessed homeopathic holy water.
WARNING: Side-effects include spontaneous generation pretty much any place you take a piss. We have a whole new ecosystem growing up my back fence these days, generating (mostly Catholic) pareidolia at an alarming rate.
