Gospel Train!

Hi Folks,

I see a lot of Gospel Magicians. I see a lot of misguided souls, floundering around in horrible desolation.

Okay, I'm here to help you folks, just like the Good Lord did for that donkey in Jericho.

So can you give me an A-MEN?



I CAN'T HEAR YA!



NO, MAKE IT FUCKING LOUDER, YOU CRETINS......



Okay. That's better. Amen.



Well then.



Let's get something straight. I have performed for the last one hundred and sixty six Popes consecutively, plus a few others, long before that, and the only trick they actually like is the card on forehead. I don't know what it is, but they just love that trick.

I've tried all the other Gospel Magic classics, MOST OF WHICH I INVENTED BY THE WAY, like my classic routine, 'Gambler versus Lay-Reader', or my standout effect, 'Out of this Universe of Sin and Redemption and into the Arms of Christ Jesus Our Lord'.

All of these have fallen flat. Time and time again. I once performed a carefully prepared transubstantiation routine, involving red and white jewels, for Martin Luther, AND I DIDN'T EVEN DO IT IN LATIN, but it still fell flat. That man had no sense of humour, and his shit smelled really terrible. Ventilation wasn't great in those days.

But just do one stupid schmuck trick, and they'll want to have your Christian babies. Forget the Cups & Balls routine which tries to explain the Holy Trinity. Only closet-gay Pastors like that shit, and that's only because they're in denial.

I have a Gospel Magic book coming out, it will be a PDF, limited to 25 copies at $5,000 a pop. Paypal the usual address.

BS

Sherpa Through Card? IT'S MINE! [Part the first]

Hi Folks,

Way back in 1172, I was living in what is modern day China. I was working as a court magician, and everything was hunky-dory. They couldn't get enough of my act. I did the rice bowls with colored rice. I did the egg bag with a thousand year old bird's egg. My final loads were steaming dim sum, that when cut open, revealed a thousand honey ants, which crawled into the hot oil at my command. These were then consumed by the cognoscenti of the imperial court, and my fame grew both steadily and lucratively for nearly forty years.

By that time, I had recently married my 173rd wife, whose name translated as "Radiant Peach Blossom With Hands Like Dextrous Spiders". Imagine my shock and disgust, when Mr Temujin, (you folks probably know him as Genghis Khan), came riding into town. 

Well, the first thing he did was to cast around for a concubine. Of course, he asked in all the best places, and in 'The Joyful House of Recalcitrant Nuns', he very nearly made his choice. But just as he had lashed "Gorgeous Moon With The Two Perfect Pancakes" to his horse, a sudden shout came from the perimeter fence. 

The future map of Western Europe and America hinged on what happened next, by the way.

Behold! A strange and muffled figure appeared at the picket line, begging for an audience with the Grand Khan. Nobody knew his name. Nobody saw his face. Nobody, except Mr Temujin, ever heard his voice. Nor did they hear the tinkle of gold ingots, as they were lavishly showered upon the sandy tent floor.

And as nobody identified this individual, I think it is safe to say that he was in no way shape or form Barry Solayme, nor Hang Pan Chien, as I was then known. To suggest such a thing would be both wrong and cruel. I am an old man, now, and I will not brook such insolence.

No, as my wife, "Radiant Peach Blossom With Hands Like Dextrous Spiders", was led away that evening, to join the great harem of Genghis Khan, I wept bitter tears.

Those tears increased considerably as his most majestic Khan, Mr Temujin, forcibly wedded me to his half-cousin, whose name translated as "Wall Eyed Calf Who Enjoys Mime Acts". They were tears of gratefulness, you understand. For as we were sent into exile, to the frozen plateau of Tibet, I learned her second name: "Minx Who Sucks Marrow From The Stubbornest Bone". 

She was my second favorite wife.

(The wall eye only showed when she took the glass one out. God, that was a gift in so many ways.)

****************************

Jizz-Monkeys at the Cafe

After reading these cretins work themselves up into a feeding frenzy over Peter Nardi, yes, Peter Nardi for fuck's sake,

http://www.themagiccafe.com/forums/viewtopic.php?topic=539697&forum=218&136&start=120

I have the following news bulletin:

IT"S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS YOU STUPID CUNTS.

Despite the fact that Alakazam refuse to stock the CUNTOMATIC, WANKR, or ANY OF MY BOOKS, they are one of the few decent companies out there.

Peter Nardi may have stolen all his ideas from yours truly, but if you ask him for a refund he'll fucking give you one. He might not choose to do it through the medium of the Magic fucking Cafe, however. I'd leave that to some unprofessional shit-wit like.... well, take your pick.

Thank you, MagicKatie, fierce consumer watchdog for the unwashed. Thank you, JackMagic, valiant righter of non-existent wrongs and defender of hypothetical victims. Why don't you two just go after a business with poor ethics and and a track record of bad service?

Now, let me think....... Oops, that's right, if you attack WMS you get banned!

BS

Card in a fucking box already.

Hi folks,

Well, last year, we had this:

And this:

But, AND IT'S A BIG FUCKING BUT, many years ago, we had this:

And then this guy came along:

And then this guy showed up:

And they then blazed a trail to the situation we find ourselves in today: COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FUCKED UP OUR OWN FUCKING ASSES.

Why improve on genius? Oh, yeah, it's because people like this ....

 

... don't know what the fucking hell they are doing. Never mind the "routine". What a switch! My grandmother could switch her left tit for a cabbage better than that. Just watch that guilty fucking switch. If he gets that box into his chest any further it would result in a male mastectomy, which in his case would probably count as corrective surgery. And then watch the rest. And then take a fucking shotgun, and blow your own brains out.

"Good work," says the underwhelmed shopper, when witnessing this half-baked, poorly performed shit. The next effort is treated with the silent contempt it deserves. By a child. 

Whereas, "Oh Jesus Christ, it's a fucking miracle," thinks the audience, when watching Tommy Wonder, "I have just cum."

If you are thinking about making a box, or if you know someone like Matthew Wright ,who has just done this:

http://vimeo.com/83464157

Then, please, just fuck off. And go read a book. Or have a wank. Or anything else you fancy. Just no more fucking card to boxes. 

BS

[And yes, I know the card in box predates Tommy Wonder. I fucking invented it in 1672. I showed it to a certain monarch, in fact, but that's a different story.]

********************************

P.S. Thanks to Craigie, I can show you a beautiful piece of comedy magic!

Who would have thought that David Penn would have taken so much effort to play this wonderful joke on the magic community? Well done, David, you spared no expense. Thanks buddy!

ECKWIVOAK!

Yes Folks,


I always thought that the word "equivoque" was pronounced accordingly. Kinda like "eckwivockay". Only more Frenchified.


No. I was wrong.



Thanks to the handsome Craig Petty:

I now know that it is pronounced as........

ECKWIVOAK!

Now lick your frigging fingers. Tools.

BS