Psychic Pool Party: July 19th and August 16th in Vienna, W.Va., at 303 38th St., off Grand Central. You enter through outside gate on right, to pool in back. (Bring your own trunks. No nekkidness.)

The party is sponsored by professional psychic Rhonda Newhart (no relation to Bob is presumed). She will be one of two psychics giving readings for 20 bucks a pop. But they are supposed to be 20-minute sessions, which is cheaper than wrapping yourself in aluminum foil and hanging out on your roof all night. This is from 1 to 7 p.m. Afterwards, everybody will be working on their cannonball — though, maybe not. Nobody mentioned how deep the pool is.

You are allowed to bring your own food, drink and water wings. For more details, call  (304) 482-6359.

The people with the fliers wanted him charged with murder, which naturally carries a stiffer penalty than the charge describing the crime he appears to have committed.

It was a curious thing. They seemed like nice people. They were fine with handing me a flier, but didn’t appear too interested in handing out fliers to the black men directly ahead of me. I didn’t sit at the curb and watch them all night, but in the short time I did watch, I only saw them approach whites.

Of course, by Saturday, Charleston had other things to think about.  A gunman believed to be Desmond Clark killed Na’Lisha Gravely at the West Side Taco Bell then hid from police for nearly a day. He was arrested and not too terribly surprisingly, he’d had lots of run-ins with the law, but few lengthy convictions.

Watching the comments section of the newspaper has really added a dimension to The Charleston Gazette and I’ve paid attention to what’s been said about the ongoing story.

The Gazette has gotten plenty of interesting comments, but a number, I’ve been told, didn’t make the cut. There are rules for commenting. You have to behave yourself and at least try to be civil. You have to watch your mouth, so to speak. Otherwise, your comment doesn’t get printed.

There are a lot of angry people out there. News of the death of a child is hard to take and a senseless murder in broad daylight should always provoke outrage, but the tone of some of this anger, I think, runs deeper than just outrage over the commission of crimes. It’s skin deep.

No answering machine. No voice mail.

Jesus picked up on the fifth ring. He was glad to talk to me, glad I called. Evidently, not a lot of people had called. He told me about his books.

“I have seven of them,” he said, “almost eight, but the eighth one isn’t really supposed to be part of the Bible.”

Eight books also would throw off the box-set packaging of calling them “The Seven Tiers of Life.”

He said, “It takes nerve being me. This wasn’t what I planned.”

At 44, he didn’t start out to be a religious figure, prophet or supernatural being. Sixteen years ago, God came to him while he was sitting in a chair and told him he had a very special purpose.

“It about scared me to death.”

Like the previous Jesus, his younger brother, he had a day job. Jesus told me he used to be a sautee cook at a country club in Oklahoma City, but he gave that up. It was a good job. He liked it, but he needed a change.

The proof of his divinity is in the fact his mother is named Mary and GPC brand cigarettes conform to his initials. Jesus is also known as Greg. God also granted him a couple of miracles, both as rewards and proof of his nature. The movie, “The Lion King,” was made for him. Hallmark cards also were inspired to name October 20th, his birthday, as “The Sweetest Day.”

“God has been very good to me,” he said. “He’s given me everything.”

Jesus seemed like a pretty nice guy, maybe a little paranoid with some of his talk about a new world order, but he was friendly. He talked about giving love to receive love and being good to each other — the kind of stuff people talk about, but don’t actually do. He promised to send me a copy of his book.

“I got my brother to do the drawings in it,” he said. “Jeff is a really good artist.”

Dear Editor,

Thank you for accepting my letter.

This letter serves as a proper introduction to me, Jesus Christ, Father of Man. I am Big Brother to Jesus Christ, Son of Man.

I am hereby announcing my Second Coming.

I am writing this letter in order to make my Second Coming public.

I will give interviews to the first ten.

Moreover, I have proof. I have written seven books which I call the Seven Tiers of Life –the epilogue to the Holy Bible.

My Mom’s name is Mary. Also, the GPC cigarette are a sign from God, that what I say is true. They are my initials. Moreover, my birthday, October 20, is the Sweetest Day.

I am serious about this action I am taking. I have mailed this letter to 100 newspapers.

It is inevitable that someone heeds my words, and accepts my invitation. Again, I will only give out ten interviews.

“I have come to bolster peace and righteousness, to establish the Kingdom of God, to rid the world of contempt and despair, and to fulfill prophecy.”

Thank you for your time, and I sincerely look forward to meeting you.

I have also enclosed my Preemptive Eulogy and the Unifying Prayer.

Sincerely Yours,

(Jesus)

If I was looking for a sign, I found it. I guess tomorrow, I’ll call Jesus (he left a number) and see how he’s doing. I wonder what the lottery is up to this weekend?

Vacationing at home can be an exotic experience. Staying in Charleston during your vacation, you still have the opportunity to be a tourist, to watch. I don’t mean watching your neighbors. That’s probably illegal and will likely end in incarceration (or even annihilation). No, you want to watch strangers. You want to see people you wouldn’t normally see. You want to gawk and stare at people who aren’t certain what their legal rights under the circumstances might be.

Hang out at the Greyhound Bus Station or Yeager Airport in Charleston, say. It’s at its best late in the evening when those flights come in from God-knows-where and everybody just wants to get to a cab, a hotel, then to a bar. It’s fun just to listen to people jabber in those crazy accents from far-off, romantic places. Like Cleveland, Detroit, Pittsburgh.

For those not willing to make the trip up to Yeager, you can also hang out stand by the back lot at Charleston Civic Center when there’s a show in town. Sometimes you get the circus with elephants and Spanish-speaking acrobats doing flips out on the hard top. Other times, you get to watch an army of roadies unloading palm trees, sand and other crap for Kenny Chesney’s dressing room.

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There is always plenty to see… and if you decide you want to mingle with the authentic people of the city, go to Slack Plaza, hang out at a table with the cream of the crop of Charleston’s active loafer scene. Bring a lunch and plenty of change to hand out.

Episode 1: Wild Life

Part of what I like about living in Charleston is the parks. Charleston has a number of great places to take the kids, hang out, shoot hoops and watch the local fauna.

To quote my father, “You’ve got a lot of damned squirrels.”

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While the squirrels at Joplin Park are probably the most pleasant (meaning they’ll leave you be), I enjoy the company of squirrels at Coonskin Park. What makes the squirrels of Coonskin different? What makes them that much fun to be around?

The squirrels at Coonskin park are fat little balls of fur — seriously and morbidly obese rodents. While other squirrels jump from limb to limb and from tree to tree, the squirrels at Coonskin lumber from picnic table to picnic table and garbage can to garbage can looking for spare Cheetos, an extra sandwich or maybe just one more hotdog. They fight over discarded Funyons and the crumbs from the bottom of a KFC bucket.
This is intelligent design in action.

Visiting with the squirrels is a little like hanging out with old fraternity brothers on Sunday afternoon, after all their money is gone. It’s sad, in a way, that they’re broke, but funny to watch them look under the couch for food.

Your best bet is to keep your distance, but as a precaution keep a ketchup packet or a bag of peanut M&Ms in your pocket. You may need to barter to escape.

1:30 p.m. Meet and Greet at his place. Yoga will be served.

2:30- 3:30 Presentations and discussion about global warming, free energy, suppressed sciences, anti-gravity, world grid implosion, alternative health, save taxes.

4 p.m. Badminton tournament, followed by pay-for-your-own Chinese food and maybe a couple of movies.

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I want to point out they do not account for time between 3:30 and 4 p.m. This makes me wonder. What are they hiding? What happens from 3:30 to 4 p.m.
Anyway, if you want to go, drop me a line and I’ll forward the appropriate e-mail.

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Normally, that would just about freak me out. I’ve been reading a book on the end time movement in popular culture and big religion called “Have a Nice Doomsday: Why Millions of Americans are looking forward to the End of the World.” Some of them are looking forward to the end of the world and believe that gets staged in the Middle East. A few look like they’re quietly pushing for it to happen.

McGovern doesn’t appear to be one of those guys. He was one of the analysts critical of the war in Iraq and publicly questioned Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfield on his statements about Weapons Of Mass Destruction. He has called for the impeachment of President Bush and gone head to head with some of the neocon mouth pieces. Interesting guy…

He’s a pretty polarizing figure… Anyway you can catch him twice next week. The first time is at West Virginia State University at 7 p.m. Wednesday. The second is at Grace Bible Church, Thursday at 9 a.m. Both events are sponsored by Seneca 2. I have no idea who Seneca 2 is.

I’ll buy a lot of things, but not big foot.

This is the only West Virginia Big Foot I know of. You can catch him on re-runs. Mostly, it’s been low-grade weird based on curious timing.

Tax forms were due yesterday and the circus came to town. The two are unrelated, but feel similar for some reason. Across the state, a chicken processing plant was raided by immigration officials. The raid also includes four other states. Between the five, 100 people are expected to be charged. Meanwhile, Smiley’s Pancake House in Jefferson burned down. Four illegal immigrants were picked up during the course of evacuation of the hotel, the battle to save the place and whatever investigation went along with it.

On the local blog front, Barbie girl got a stain off of her shirt.

It’s been kind of like that.