Here Comes Another One

It will help if while reading this piece, you hum the tune to the above title (as recorded by Monty Python on their final album).

It was only last week when I slotted this little item into a News Roundup:

…and here’s an update, with a younger member of the Nostradamus Tribe being a little more cagey, timewise:

A man who has been dubbed the ‘living Nostradamus’ claims ‘the worst is yet to come’, suggesting the world is teetering on the edge of WWIII.  

Athos Salomé, 36, who is a trained parapsychologist from Brazil, is often referred to as a psychic due to the accuracy of his insights and predictions, after previously foreseeing the coronavirus pandemic, Elon Musk buying Twitter, now called X, and even Queen Elizabeth II’s death.

Now, as people worry about the escalation of conflicts and humanitarian crises, he warns that ‘a small incident’ could set off a series of terrifying events. 

Key phrase:  “trained parapsychologist” (one could be snarky and add “Brazil”, but if we’ve learned anything, it’s that these loons can pop up anywhere).

If these Nostradami actually worked as advertised, they wouldn’t be hammering on about global catastrophes — at least, I wouldn’t, if endowed with these magical powers.

I certainly wouldn’t be blathering on vaguely about nonsense like “And there shall be a great pestilence come upon the land” [at some unmentioned date, in some unmentioned country].

No, I would be ensconced in the Presidential Suite at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo, paying for my accommodation (not to mention more than a few unsavory indulgences) by plonking a grand or so on 27 at the Casino’s roulette wheel each night.  That’s at least a useful application of the magic power, and not providing fodder for some crappy newspaper’s This Week’s Things To Panic About! section.

But perhaps I’m being too dismissive.

Sarajevo, anyone?  As Bismarck once said, it will be just some damn thing in the Balkans… now that was an accurate prediction.

RFI: Ireland

From Adopted Daughter:

“Hi Papa.  Could you ask your Readers for advice on visiting Ireland?  I’ll be staying at Lough Rynn Castle near Carrick-on-Shannon in August, but other than the castle itself, I don’t know anything about the area (County Leitrim).”

Here’s Lough Rynn, which appears to be a shabby little place:

I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ babies  traveling in Ireland, never having been there myself, so all advice, experiences and warnings will be welcome.

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim,

“I’ve been dating my girlfriend for five years now, but for four of those years we were long-distance while we both went to college in different states.

“We found a great place that was within our budgets and I was so excited to finally be together all the time after years of working around our crazy schedules and having to travel back and forth to enjoy just a couple of days together at a time.

“But now that we’ve made the move, I’m starting to think it was a huge mistake. She’s always been a control freak, but it seems to have trebled in intensity since we moved in.

“She obsessively vacuums the couch – THE COUCH! – every day, freaks out if there’s a single sock on the floor, or a towel that isn’t hung up on the right hook, and when we both get home from work, all she wants to do is clean and tidy, or talk about bills and budgets.

“I know I can be a bit messy so I’ve really tried hard to keep our place as tidy as possible. But I don’t want to live in a show home! I want to be able to come home and kick off my shoes by the door without panicking that she’ll get annoyed.

“It’s only been three weeks, but it already feels like moving in together has killed the romance in our relationship, and I’m scared that if we keep going down this path we are going to end up as resentful roommates rather than boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Dr. Kim, what’s the best thing to do?”

— Controlled, USA

Dear Pussywhipped:

Let me tell you:  control freaks / obsessive neatniks / do-what-mommy-says types are incurable.  All that bullshit is a great big searchlight shining away from some repressed nonsense from childhood or other serious mental issues, and it’s being directed at you.

You haven’t mentioned whether your sex life is any good.  It had better be the “blow the top off your head” kind, because otherwise you need to reconsider your relationship.

Actually, forget I said that.  No sex (of whatever excitement or variety) is worth putting up with control freakery.  Because one day the desire for sex will diminish if not disappear, and all you’ll be left with is Nurse Ratched.

Just get out now.  It’s kinda sad that it took you five years of your life to find this out — and by the way I think you’re an idiot for not having seen all the warning signs long ago — but at least you’re not married yet.  If you think Miss Controller is bad now, you have no idea what awaits you on the runup to your (actually, her) wedding day.

Oh, and ignore all the bollocks that idiot Jane Green suggests, because she’s a chick and chicks think that everything can be resolved just by talking about it.  You need to know that talking to your Controller will not achieve anything.  She is not going to change, and if you try to talk to her, all that awaits you is misery and humiliation.

You didn’t say whether the apartment is in your name or hers, or jointly.  Either way, one of you has to leave.  If the apartment is in your name, it has to be her;  if in her name or jointly, pack your bags and GTFO.

Once away from this minefield, find someone more agreeable, and start to enjoy your life.  You have no idea how much more pleasant that is going to be.

“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim,

“I have a son aged 38. He has a partner and three children. My husband and I feel as though we’ve been cut off because we haven’t seen any of them since Christmas 2019. One of his sons was born in 2021, so we haven’t even met him.

“There hasn’t been a falling out – it seems that we have just drifted into this situation. The main problem is his partner. She used to claim that we never made the effort to see them, even though we were always the ones who messaged and made plans.

“In fact they never once came to us. It always felt like we did all the running – but this wasn’t good enough for her. The longer the situation has gone on, the harder it is to see a way out.

“Our daughter and my elderly father have also heard nothing from our son. He has cut himself off from the whole family. But I know that as soon as someone dies he will want his share of any inheritance.

“Dr. Kim, I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

 — Cut Loose

Dear Loose:

It sounds very much like you’ve come across the dreaded “Poontang Over Parents” situation.  In these situations, it’s often a terrible thing when your son chooses the former option, but as much as I make light of the problem, it’s not at all a nice thing.

The part of your letter that bothers me is this:  “I know that as soon as someone dies he will want his share of any inheritance.”

Right now, you’re being stiffed from the love and joy one should expect from grandchildren — fucking hell, it’s the only upside of having your own kids in the first place — and there’s only one way to head off this little bit of avaricious spite.

Actions have consequences, and your asshole of a son (and the bitch he’s hooked up with) will need to learn this lesson ASAP.

You and your husband should prepare a joint Last Will & Testament now (I’ll explain the “now” in a moment).  In it, make sure to specify that Loving Son will get nothing, nada, bupkes  from your estate, ever, and your daughter and her family (whom you love and who loves you back) will get it all.  Be sure to explain why, in as scathing or hurt tones as you can manage (your lawyer will doubtless be able to offer good advice thereon).

Then send him a copy (with receipt signature required, to prove that he actually got it).  Don’t put a cover letter with the will;  just let the thing stand all by itself.

Yes, this may exacerbate the situation, but let’s be honest here:  how much worse can it get?

And why should you do this now?  Simply put, if you do it later, the little shit may contest the will, claiming that you and your husband were “mentally impaired by advanced age” or whatever the legal term is, so it’s in your best interests to make that a non-issue.

I am truly sorry that you are being put through this, but right now there’s not much else you can do.  Pleading with him to change his behavior will just give the Bitch Girlfriend satisfaction.

By the way, I’m accepting your assertion that their behavior is indeed unwarranted.  If it turns out that you or your husband said or did something unpleasant to the girlfriend, then you are the ones seeing the consequences of your actions.


“Dear Dr. Kim”

“Dear Dr. Kim:

“I’m an elderly actor, and I’m told that I’m still quite ‘hot’ (whatever that means) and certainly, I seem to have no problem attracting women, in many cases a lot younger than myself.

“In fact, that seems to be my major problem.  Many years ago I was more-or-less happily married to a woman who was also quite ‘hot’ — I certainly found her to be so, which was in no small part why I married her — and we had two sons, both now in their middle age.

“The problem really is that when I was a young man, I was quite certainly attractive to women not my wife, and I strayed quite a bit, so to speak, when opportunity presented itself.

“Anyway, when I confessed my indiscretions to my wife, she tossed me out and divorced me.

“All that’s in the distant past, and I’m happy to say that we have remained friends despite all that trouble.

“I kind of wish that I hadn’t got divorced, in fact.  While I’ve had no end of willing bedmates since…

“Dr. Kim, what’s your take on all this?”

Dancer, London UK

Dear Dancer,

Your problem is not that you strayed;  hell, when faced with a plethora of warm, moist and willing female pudenda, few men are able to resist that siren call.

Your problem — a rookie mistake, in one of mature years — is that you admitted said indiscretions to your wife.  Now that that bullet has passed through the church, so to speak, it remains only for your mistake to be made known to other men, and here’s the advice:

Never, ever admit to your spouse that you inserted your phallus into any extramarital orifice.  Unless you are actually caught in flagrante delicto — and by that, I mean in the very act of making the beast with two backs (as a former Shakespearean actor, you are no doubt familiar with the source of the expression) — no man should ever admit to infidelity.

Of course, with modern technology, such a denial may be impossible — ask ex-President “BJ” Clinton — and if the doxy gets pregnant, the same technology may also compel an admission and doom your marriage.

But otherwise, keep shtum  and deny, deny, deny.  Ignore the advice of (mostly female) agony aunts that you’ll feel better after you’ve got things off your chest or “come clean” [sic]:  you won’t, as you discovered.  If the conscience thing is that strong in you, the time to exercise it is prior- and not post insertion.