The Konformist

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September 2003

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Confessions of a Celebrity Lingerie Psychic

by

Carvel Jones

CarvelJones@Aol.Com

Last summer, while in an airport in Honolulu waiting for a flight back to L. A., I had a vision. Pamela Anderson’s panties hovered before me. I heard a voice from some Hollywood Angel high up in the clouds of heaven, beckoning me to do a psychic reading on them. Seeing all sorts of wondrous stuff in the beatific crotch panel of the Baywatch star, I made sure to jot down a few inspirational notes, then looked around at the other travelers buzzing about. It would be way too tempting to abuse this new talent of mine. I mean - god...I pictured myself going straight to the nearest bar and offering to do a psychic reading on some attractive blonde’s panties hoping to impress her and get a date. No way. I had to keep focused on the higher purpose the angels hinted that I would soon fulfill and resist all temptations.

When I got to L.A., I started to do some reality checks (you may think that doing a reality check in that town is impossible but I tried any way ). I described the undie vision I had in Hawaii to someone that I know who writes for Hustler Magazine. He thought I was really on to something. With confidence boosted, I started bragging to friends that I could psychically read Britney Spear’s bra. Even Shakira’s (but between you and me, I’d rather take her bra off than psychically read it). Some of them thought that I had truly gone off the deep end, no doubt from being exposed to the strong Hawaiian sun and 151 Rum that was in ample supply there. Yet in spite of the concern over my supposedly endangered sanity, I continued to field test what I assumed was my god given talent. I honestly thought Britney was seriously depressed by what I saw in her bra. Sure enough, shortly thereafter I saw in one of the tabloids a front page article on her problems with cocaine addiction. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I really saw it coming in her undies.

One evening, somewhat impressed by my National Enquirer verified clairvoyance, I centered and grounded myself. I closed my eyes and tried re-tuning into Pamela Anderson’s panties tucked safely away in some Malibu bureau drawer (For ethical reasons I have chosen to read underwear not on the person at the time of the reading-clean or unclean doesn’t matter however). I psychically knew what was going on in her private life simply by scanning her undies with my third eye. I saw much uncertainty (which psychically manifests as a greyish dark blue color) about who she appeared to be in front of the cameras compared to who she really was off the set. I saw much sadness and emptiness as well. In other words, I sensed a big ol’rift in her heart-in spite of all that spiritual silicone that has been pumped into her boobies over the years. At first it felt like I was invading her privacy. But I then reminded myself that in the age of Homeland Security and the passing of the Patriot Act in Congress, nothing is private anymore. With John Ashcroft in mind, I persisted in reading psychically Pammy’s undies all in the name of National Security. I wasn’t in it to get a boner. Oddly enough I started to see her heart chakra (wheel of light) which is an energy center situated right in the cleavage area on women and between those pecs of steel on men. I saw that Pamela wanted to do something more in line with what U2 frontman Bono has been doing, i.e., getting more politically involved, trying to help alleviate the suffering of others and the like. Could Pammy do it to? Like with Britney’s bra, -I do hope this undie prediction comes true.

When I saw this luscious dimension revealing itself in the warp and woof of Pamela’s 100% silk panties, I no longer felt like I was some psychic paparazzi prying into the private lives of pop stars, trying to get his etheric rocks off. I felt that this was the higher cause that I first heard and saw during the vision in the airport. I felt that perhaps by starting in the bargain basement, in this case the lingerie department, I could climb higher to the spiritual penthouse in the sky so to speak and start reading wigs, hair extensions, toupees, hats and even crowns and see what noble things even the sleaziest of celebrities aspired towards, maybe see what was really cooking in their brains for a change. What do you think? Was I kidding myself? Was I seeing Pamela’s panties through rose colored binoculars or what?

Now I must put on my high hat and lay some fancy jargon on you to sort of try and explain how I can psychically read celebrity lingerie. A good psychic tries to read the energy or ‘vibe’ in an object or person. These vibes are stored not only in clothing, but also in one’s home, where they work, in the car, in the mattress, etc. Sometimes the energy a psychic reads can be seen. Other times it can be felt and sometimes it can even be heard. I primarily feel the energy first-sometimes it is heavy, other times light. Sometimes my breathing gets shallow and other times it doesn’t. Then I start to see what the energy looks like-usually it takes on some color or colors. Sometimes these colors have texture-sometimes the colors fill in some form-like the outline of a person, a building, or perhaps an animal. When I saw the uncertainty in Pamela Anderson’s panties-it felt somewhat heavy-then it changed and I could see the muddy bluish grey colors that indicate indecision, confusion, etc. I also saw some old anger leading me to believe that she’s secretly fuming that the porn tape of her and Tommy Lee got out of their bedroom. I saw her anger as a dark red color in one of her thongs that I flippantly scanned one evening.

Soon after, I compiled a list of target celebrities to read: Eminem, Anna Nicole, Mariah Carey, Michael Jackson, (I try my best to stick with female celebrities but will make exceptions when I think that the sexual status of the person is in question and/or endangered) and briefly tuned into their underwear. I made detailed scribbles of what I was seeing-literally behind the scenes and thought, ‘what a great way to show people what is really going on with these movie stars and musicians and what not’. In Eminem’s case, I started to see his past lives. Meaning lives he has lived before this current one as the beyond Platinum selling Potty Mouth Rap Geek of the Universe. I saw him as some low ranking Nazi soldier (what would be the German equivalent of a Private) in his past life-I mean the images played out on the 8 Mile movie screen of his underwear (I think he wears boxers instead of briefs although I’m not so sure because I didn’t want to delve that deeply into the details). Much of the ‘anger’ that is expressed through his violent and obscene lyrics stems from this past life as a Third Reich flunky I believe. In that life, I sensed, he didn’t have a chance to speak out like he wanted. I think he expected to work his way through the Ministry of Propaganda and hobnob with Goebbels but didn’t even get a jackboot in the front door. So now, in this life, MTV and VH1, not to mention his record label have given him the full go ahead to do what he couldn’t do in his prior life. As I was reading Eminem’s underwear, I flashed a scene from a music awards ceremony where he walked down the aisle with hundreds of Eminem look-alikes following obediently behind. Universal Soldiers indeed. For me that was all the proof I needed of his past life of wanting to cheerlead the fascist youth brigades while crying the blues that he couldn’t be King of the Aryans like Hitler and couldn’t mass bad mouth anyone who wasn’t blonde haired and blue eyed like he does now in his current incarnation.

Well, that sure was a disturbing undie read and I had to break out of my trance state and take a long drink of light encoded water before I came back to my senses. Was I hallucinating? Was I really seeing the truth tucked away in some bottom drawer? Would I ever be able to ask Eminem’s PR people who would be the only ones who knew for sure?

After Eminem, I chose to read Anna Nicole, that behemoth bombshell of vacuity. I chose her because she seems to be comfortable with letting her fans in on her private life by allowing cameras to follow her around where ever she goes, even into her bedroom. I honestly had the hunch that she wouldn’t mind if I sneaked a peek at one of her full figured thongs tucked away in a nook in her boudoir. In fact, if the technology existed, she probably wouldn’t mind if I was able to beam what I saw with my third eye into every television set in the world. Having this kind of ‘go-ahead’, I closed my eyes and tuned in (but believe me.I did not get turned on). The first impression I received from one of Ms. Nicole’s negligees is that she is a pretty young soul, meaning she hasn’t had very many earth lives. This was my gut feeling anyway. She seems to need all the attention, not to mention money that she is receiving as most newcomer souls do. New souls tend to occupy large bodies because they want to fill as much space as possible and so others will see them. I think she’s probably a loving and caring person underneath all of that glitz covered cellulite. I came to this conclusion because I saw a warm rose color emanating from a pair of her panties, ones I believe she was wearing during her appearance on the Howard Stern t.v. show. (I would like to suggest to her that she burn all lingerie that she chose to wear during her previous marriage.) So while many people would opt to laugh at Anna, I would like to offer this psychic perspective and say that she is probably an all right, decent person even if there isn’t anybody apparently ‘home’ behind those porch light eyes. Let’s hope she sets up some kind of legitimate charity for runaway teenagers, battered women, those with eating disorders or something like this. Perhaps she will inspire others to do so as well. I would like to see the genuine compassion I saw in her panties expand out into the world in unimaginable ways, engirding the earth with her love and caring.

Well, I could go on and on about the many many celebrities and their underwear that I have read in the way described above: Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone, Julia Roberts, Cher, (a friend I owed money to forced me to read Rosie O’Donnell’s jockey shorts-a most gruesome experience!). However I want to confess that I want to eventually branch out and start reading professional athletes’s jockstraps, jogging bras and the like. Maybe I can predict who will win the World Series by scanning a cup or two. Who knows? Then, with moral standards still intact, I want to move on to more noble things like reading politicians’s and religious figures’s undies-you know...Bush's boxer shorts, the Pope's canonical pajamas. But for now, knowing what is really going on with the movie stars, below their sequin encrusted belts, will have to do. Stay tuned for more revealing Carvel insights. Ta Ta and god bless for now!

Carvel Jones can be reached at: Carvel Jones@Aol.Com

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