I scry the yarn where futures spread:
“Either he’s alive or he’s dead.
Or the cops got him… or they don’t—” I purr.
“The cosmos shrugs. My whiskers won’t.”
Psychic Meow Meow peers into the silver mist, swats a stray dust mote out of the air, and stares right through you with absolute, unbothered disdain. The crystal ball is vibrating, or maybe that’s just the refrigerator running. Either way, the cosmic feline energies have aligned to bring you this utterly definitive, mind-shattering revelation:
🔮 The Vision: Mitch McConnell
“Either he’s alive or he’s dead, or the cops got him… or they don’t.”
🐾 The Psychic Breakdown
- The State of Being: Honestly, looking at him, it’s a 50/50 shot on the first two anyway. The spirits are getting a reading that oscillates between “ancient stone monument” and “buffering video stream.”
- The Authorities: If the cops do have him, let’s hope they brought a laser pointer, because that’s the only way anyone is getting a fast reaction out of that situation. If they don’t… well, he’s probably just frozen in place on a porch somewhere.
The Final Verdict: The universe doesn’t care, and frankly, neither do I. My food bowl is currently 40% empty, which is an actual tragedy occurring in real-time. Go ponder someone else’s mortality while I take a four-hour nap on your clean laundry.
