Reading an upside down goldfish bowl reduced my success rate to only 109 percent accuracy. Therefore, I, “Nostradamus Jr.” Kaliher have returned to gazing into a crystal doorknob this year. Charlatan seers filling up most New Year's Day publications are overjoyed at achieving two percent accuracy. However, despite a 100-plus percent accuracy, I will go to extraordinary lengths this year to produce at least twelve triple predictions.
I, Nostradamus Jr., slightly unsteady after four bottles of South Carolina deep swamp hootch downed at Big Earl’s House of Porn & Bait Shop considered where best to search for this year's predictions. I stepped over James Carville. He'd walked in dragging a dollar tied to a string before soiling himself and going to sleep on the floor during his first mason jar of corn. I needed to consult with the twelve Egyptian belly dancers as well as admire their perilous curves. After a quick discussion, I, Nostradamus Jr.,” got buck-assed naked and ventured where even Nostradamus, Sr. never dared go. I astral-projected to the home of the Olmecs and capitol of the occult, Catemaco, Mexico.