Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Whirlochre: Poltergeist-To-Be


I’ve decided to train as a poltergeist.


Technically, I know I can’t make it as a pro until till I’m dead, which may be some time off yet on account of my stupendous bowel health, but the way I see it, if doctors are prepared to spend seven years acquiring the skills to heal the sick, I figure I can wait twice as long for the privilege of flouncing around wrapped in a diaphanous aura scaring the pants off the gullible and shrieky.

Problem is, not a single university in the world runs the kind of course I need. Granted, there’s a whole bunch of academic lookeelikees — Clinical Pathology, Cynical Egyptology, and Whinnying for Horse Whisperers & Bovine Lexicography (Joint Hons) — but quite frankly, unless I can be guaranteed a space under the table with the best the afterlife has to offer, I’m simply not interested. It would be like settling for raspberry ice cream in a top Italian gelato parlour because they’d run out of Stracciatella (and I realise this analogy doesn’t work if you love raspberry ice cream as much as you hate Stracciatella, but my first idea involved dancing girls and motor bikes and may have ended up excluding everyone, so I switched).

Likely, I shall have to go looking in the back pages of magazines like The Spectator, Phantom Ankle Tickler Monthly, and Espionage For Twats. Truth be told, I’ve already done a little research while pretending not to be looking at Hello! in W.H. Smith. Somewhere in East Acton (if the PO Box number is to be trusted), there’s a woman by the name of Dolores Rambrage who claims to specialise in “spectral apprenticeships”, though I’m still in two minds about requesting details as both of her adverts (in PATM — and, oddly, GQ) feature pictures of scantily clad women in stockings. And £2.50 per minute seems a lot to charge for a phone call given that BT have just slashed their rates. Or was it Virgin? And was it rates? I’ve been so out of the loop this week I wouldn’t be surprised if Richard Branson has been sliced to pieces by some psycho with a quintuple blade Wilkinson Sword razor while I’ve wibbled aimlessly twixt breakfast cereal and Horlicks like some sensorily redundant numbknob. But that’s another story.

While I wait for the right opening, I shall practice bending spoons like Uri Geller. It’s a far cry from flinging furniture around, I know, but everyone has to start somewhere...

15 comments:

jinksy said...

Do let me know if you achieve levitation soon....

Natalie Whipple said...

I think you would make an excellent poltergeist, and you're right—it never hurts to start training early. Practice on your neighbors. That should build friendship.

fairyhedgehog said...

You should be fine with the spoons. Just remember: use your hands, not your mind.

Well, you have to use your mind to make your hands work, but you know what I mean.

Whirlochre said...

Jinksy
Before you know it, I'll be hovering above you, tittivating your snowy locks with scissors gripped between my toes.

Natalie
Just been out and blown a pair of underpants off my neighbour's washing line, but as it's been windy since lunchtime, I didn't manage to scare them.

Next stop: cocktail sticks and their spaniel.

FlitterHog
I'm practicing on imaginary spoons at the moment. Problem is, I've seen this done so many times I'm having trouble finding any that aren't already bent.

sex scenes at starbucks said...

I think being a proper poltergeist has more to do with the scar-ee rather than the scar-er, if you get my meaning.

For that you just have to know how to pick 'em. Go to any movie theater, watch for screamers otherwise preoccupied with making out, and follow the little lovebirds home.

jjdebenedictis said...

What if Richard Branson gets sliced to pieces by some psycho with a quintuple blade Wilkinson Sword razor and becomes a poltergeist?

I mean, he'd be scarier than you. And it's not like ghosts can fight to the death, so you'd be stuck with him on the astral plane.

And what if he buys the astral plane and adds it to his fleet?

Whirlochre said...

SSAS
I'm not so sure I like the sound of the stalking part. Maybe I'll just stay in the cinema and prod all these suck-face couples with a rubber glove on the end of a stick — see if they notice they're being overfondled.

JJ
Great stomach workout. That's the last of the Christmas ounces gone.

Mother (Re)produces. said...

I think poltergeisting will turn out to be a lot like writing; you can learn only so much from books and courses. Mostly, you just have to DO, so I think you are wise to start practicing early.

In the mean time, could I borrow all your back-issues of Espionage for Twats? I'm considering a career change.

Whirlochre said...

Mother(Re)
Sad to say, but when I subscribed to Espionage For Twats, I paid the extra fiver for the chameleon skin magazine holder. Can't find it anywhere.

Mother (Re)produces. said...

no problemo, Whirl; I've already sneaked into your place and taken them. Which makes them kinda... moot, I guess...

Bernita said...

Whirl, I'm proud of you.
Here's to an interesting afterlife - but please don't make this career change too soon.

Robin S. said...

Espionage For Twats

HA!! I frightened the cuddly stuffing out of Madison the Cat when I read that bit, and chortled.
You have a way with words that makes me smile and smile. (And chortle pretty damned often, too.)

Bernita said...

Whirl!! Stop tickling me!

stacy said...

I'm sending along some imaginary spoons so you can keep practicing. Expect them in a few days. : )

stacy said...

Also, I love the new site design! Sorry I can't make it over more often . . .