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I'm so psychic On Monday when I was walking home from work I decided to walk across the athletic field barefoot because the green grass looked so inviting. But there was a lot of clover with bees buzzing around. I pictured myself stepping on a bee and getting stung. I often picture things happening that then happen. One time a few years ago Mr. Pooh and I were out in the boat on the lake and I was leaning overboard with one hand in the water and Mr. Pooh's sunglasses in the other hand. I pictured the sunglasses dropping into the water, so I thought to myself, "Golly, I better hang onto these sunglasses tight so they don't fall." Then, surprisingly, the sunglasses fell into the water and were lost forevermore. It was dumb. So on Monday, after I pictured myself getting stung by a bee, I said to myself, "Golly, I better watch where I step so I don't get stung." Then, surprisingly, I got stung. It was dumb. I looked at my foot and the stinger was still there, so I looked on the ground for a bee-free place to sit down. The sting started to hurt. I tried to flick the stinger out, but I couldn't. It was really starting to hurt. I looked for my keys, because my Swiss Army knife has tweezers. My keys weren't in the pocket I thought they were in. My foot was really hurting now. Then I found my keys. My foot was REALLY REALLY hurting. Then I got the stinger out. Ouch ouch! Then I got up, decided to put my thongs back on (my feet), and started limping home. My foot was hurting like a motherfucking bitch. It really was. Then I started laughing because it was so dumb. Then my foot stopped hurting. Then I stopped laughing and my foot started hurting again. So I just kept laughing and it stopped hurting forevermore. Now it itches. Last night it was goddamn hot and I couldn't sleep, *and* my foot started itching like a motherfucking bitch. If I'd only heeded my psychic intuition, I wouldn't have an itchy red spot on the bottom of my foot, and that poor bee wouldn't have lost its butt in my foot.
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