The Future Is Now: Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce and Me.

No this is not a George Allen Sr. sequel. Well then, what does Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce and high colonics have in common? You obviously know nothing about prognosticators and their predilections.

I, for instance, know that the Edgar Cayce World Headquarters was located in Virgina Beach, Virgina in the late 1970'. I know this because I was on a road trip with my friends John and Lamont following our graduation from high school. Also on the trip was Lamont's very cool and pretty hippie girlfriend. Her only fault if you could call it one, was her hippie stoner belief in all things mystic and metaphysical and her topic du jour was this great psychic Edgar Cayce. According to the pulp paperback Miss Hippie had, Edgar was the second coming. According to her book, this Cayce character predicted everything from the Great Depression to World Wars I and II as well as the Kennedy Assassination.

The entire drive down to Virgina Beach it was "Edgar predicted this..." and "Edgar said that..." the whole f#@king way. As we hit the outskirts of Virgina Beach someone spotted the signs heralding "Edgar Cayce World Headquarters and Museum". "You have to stop! You Have to Stop!!" hippie chick squealed with glee. Lamont looked at me as we both rolled our eyes when Johnny , like the big softie he was, dutifully pulled over much to hippie chick's delite. I would have much preferred that we drive the extra three miles to the ocean and a motel room where we could start partying.

I was even more perturbed when the young Jane Fonda insisted that we all shell out the outrageous sum of $5 or $7 to gain entrance to this holiest of shrines. It was to hippie chick's complete devastation and to one of my life's more fondest memories when it turned out that the Edgar Cayce World Headquarters and Museum was nothing more than a shrine to high colonics.

As best as I could tell from the exhibits, which consisted of black and white photos of a series of brick and colonial style buildings set next to actual hoses and pans all connected to a story line contained on placards extolling the virtues of deep cleansing for even the most serious and fatal diseases, good old Edgar was cleaning out the terminally ill and desparate.

I ran giggling and gushing like a child from one exhibit to the next reading each placard much too loudly and hysterically laughing emphasizing the colonic aspect of each exhibit along with choice noises I made by blowing my lips into the palms of my hands. "Look everyone!" I screamed in delight, "Edgar shoved this hose up..."and "Edgar used that pan..." and on and on I went to the absolute horror of Lamont's girlfriend. It don't get any more delicious than that.

And with that incredibly banal digression I give you:

Plainsense's Proctological Political Prediction for 2012

Pretty but pooped Michele Bachmann packs it in following a crappy performance in Iowa.