Congratulations Street Magician!

You’re the kind of man who lives without fear, striving to entertain and amuse his audience day to day. You live without a thought of the future, for your future is today. And your past is tomorrow. And yesterday is your present. Or something.

Look, we’re usually more articulate around people, but you just do this to us. You make us all baffled, make us think we’re seeing one thing when in fact we’re seeing something completely different. It makes us confused, makes some of us a little horny, some of us feel dumb and some of us just feel for the first time in years. That’s why we’re happy to give you this prediction:

Today you’re going to be in Spain running from the bulls. You’ll feel kinetic and young for the first time in years, the way you used to feel before your wife left you and took that ungrateful shit you call your son and moved to Palo Alto with the man your son now calls “better dad.” Fleeing the bulls you’ll be free for the first time in years.

That is until the bull charges you, piercing your colon with his horn and hurling you upwards. You’ll stare at the bull’s compatriots, charging towards you, and you’ll know fear for the first time since your bitch wife had your best friend serve you papers just because he was the only process server in town. She didn’t even have the courage to show up herself.

You’ll spend your last few seconds of life cursing her name and formulating elaborate revenge plots, and as the bulls near your face you’ll close your eyes, only to be whisked away in a rush of motion, pulled out from under their hooves and hurled bodily into the cheering crowd. There a team of paramedics will rush to assist you, patching your new asshole and assuring you that everything will be alright, except your ass.

You won’t hear them, though. You’ll be taken by the young woman, the street magician, who saved your life as she sashays into the crowd. In that instant you’ll feel her pull, her magnetism, and you’ll know that you have to be like her. The choice will be made for you. There will be no turning back.

Ilea iacta est.

Congratulations Street Magician!

Congratulations on Feeling Kind of Invincible!

Today you’re going to get a little bit wasted and wander through Chinatown. Usually when this happens and a white person is involved they just end up getting their ass kicked, their wallet removed and their supine form deposited in a place where it will be discovered, but not too quickly so as to insure that the honky in question suffers adequately. But you’re no average honky. You’re Kurt Russell.

And you’re going to hit the stress of Chinatown like an ancient mystical dragon or a sweet tattoo thereof on some dude’s chest. Every time someone steps to you you’ll lay them out with a sweet hay maker from one of your meaty fists.

You’ll stumble from bar to bar in this brazen fashion, laying Orientals low left and right, until you finally come to a massive abandoned warehouse. At this point you’ll be so drunk that you’ll believe you’re inside the story of the John Carpenter film Big Trouble in Little China and you’ll head into the abandoned warehouse, believing that this is your chance to vanquish those god damn sorcerers once and for all.

Surprisingly you’ll be totally correct about the warehouse housing a group of ancient wizards. The moment you step in the door they’ll summon massive winds to push you out. You’ll press forward against them, those years of mime training finally coming in handy. After a few minutes of struggle, however, one of the spell-weavers will recognize you.

“Kurt Russell?” he’ll ask in a stage whisper, before shouting. “Is that Kurt Russell?! Of stage and screen fame?!”

“Fuck yes!” you’ll shout back. Laughing, he’ll motion for his friends to stop casting you out of their mystical warehouse and get a piece of paper ready so that he can get your autograph, but you won’t notice that. You’ll be so intent on beating the shit out of every Asian dude you see that you’ll just lay him out as he tries to hand you a pen.

His friends will sigh. This happens every time a celebrity comes into their secret lair, apparently, and it always ends the same way. They’ll combine their powers and shock you within an inch of your life and leave you on the outskirts of Chinatown, where you’ll be picked up by the police early the next morning. The papers will run a story about your nearly fatal blood alcohol level, knowing nothing of the strange mystical underworld you stumbled upon in your drunken stupor.

Congratulations on Feeling Kind of Invincible!

Congratulations Live Action Role Players!

Your culture has had some real gets. Like the movie Role Models, that was huge for you guys. It made you seem like interesting people with a weird habit that normal people could enjoy. You’ve had your share of PR blows, like the lightning bolt guy, the SCA and the general state of your internet culture, but you’ve been riding high. Nowadays you can tell people that you LARP and they’ll just get really quiet instead of bursting out laughing.

Well today life is going to get a whole lot more interesting for you when a huge part of the Tea Party joins your community. They’ll do so, as is their way, with at best a loose grasp of the framework governing it, largely entering it as a means of training their mostly obese body politic for the rigors of surviving even a bloodless coup. They’ll also be excited at the prospect of eating mutton off the shank.

They’ll show up and act like absolute dicks, trying to make arbitrary rules based on how they believe other people should play their characters. They’ll generally alienate other groups and try to ruin the game for everyone just because there are some parts they find kind of confusing. They’ll make a kingdom called “America,” which they claim cannot be invaded regardless of circumstance, wherein magic no longer exists and maid may not lay with maid as such it offensive to their imagined king, who presides over their actions from the sky.

The many guilds of LARPing will unite under one banner to show them just how wrong they are. The bean bags will fly, the foam blades clash, but it will not be much of a fight. In the end the Tea Parties will lay broken, declaring that this is no longer fun for anyone. They’ll pout and leave, only a handful of them remaining, having found the entire experience pretty enjoyable. They’ll help you clean up and find guilds they particularly enjoyed being savaged by, joining them and continuing to participate in sanctioned events for years to come.

Congratulations Live Action Role Players! You’ll have allegorically saved America!