Category: UPSETTING DAY

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UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Elf-Help for Coping with Cancer 🌭

There are two things that Christian book companies love: mythical creatures and puns. The popular series Elf-help has both! It’s a bunch of cheerful little cartoons drawn by the same guy who does Paddington Bear, mixed with advice for dealing with life’s little annoyances like:

Oh shit, they gave the Elves cancer? What does that even mean for an Elf? I’m definitely picturing adorable little peppermint tumors. What do Elves even know about medical care? Because I feel like they would do some dumb holistic crap, like try to replace chemotherapy with the Christmas spirit. That’s a recipe for one very dead cancer Elf. Or as Santa would call them, “The only good Elf.”

Can you imagine finding out you have cancer and knowing someone with the audacity to say,” I have a great resource that might help you feel better! It’s Elves! No, no, wait, the Elves also have cancer.” Will staring at a picture of an elf contemplating their mortality make you feel better?

If the haunting vision of a terminal Keebler mascot doesn’t cheer you up, the book also provides fun little platitudes about how maybe you should be psyched to have cancer. Maybe you should see cancer as a gift? What? Why is God giving such shitty gifts? Maybe God could have had a new car pop out when the elf used a biscuits and sausage gravy dispenser? Killing an Elf when you could easily squirt them out a gravy car is something Santa would do, God.

God isn’t mentioned in every piece of advice in the Elf-help books, but a lot of them are in general about how not to be mad at God for being terrible at choosing presents. Apparently, Elves are deeply religious. For the Christian God, too, not for an Elf God or some sort of pagan tree deity.

It’s so funny to me that a book presumably meant to cheer up people with cancer is like, “You probably feel like God has abandoned you, right? That’s probably your basic instinct, but what if, instead, you thought about these tiny, bald Elf children who also have cancer?” Spiritual uplift achieved!

Ok, maybe cancer just wasn’t the best topic for the Elves to tackle. Most of them die from polar bear attacks long before they finish treatment anyway. The point is, it’s pretty hard to make a fun book about cancer. However, there is a light topic they could probably cover with cute little cartoons in a non-depressing way. What else have the Elves helped with?

Ok, this is way less morose than a cancer diagnosis. Divorce rules! There are plenty of upsides to being able to legally end a bad relationship. It’ll be a lot easier to nail the tone of this one. Less bald children who should suck it up and be happy God gave them the gift of poison and more tips for getting your groove back by buying some slutty little Elf lingerie. Let’s see how it starts:

Shit, that’s so heavy. I don’t think these Elves are going to be enjoying themselves at all. Again, please remember these books are either supposed to be purchased by someone going through a divorce and trying to cheer themselves up, or by the friend of someone going through a divorce who thinks this will help them. Or maybe their friend just wants to give them a not so subtle hint. I guess there’s a lot of situations for which this book will be of no help.

The Elves are sick of hearing you complain, Tina. Suck it up, and thank God your husband was railing the mailman. A lot of the advice Elves have for dealing with divorce seems to be geared toward women and reminding them to relax and not gossip about their husbands. It’s another occasion where I’ve found a book that feels like it was written for one particular person who wasn’t taking their divorce well.

Look at that vicious Elven eye roll. That Elf woman is so sick of hearing her friend complain that Legolas had a fourway with Snap, Crackle, AND Pop.

The other advice this book repeats in different ways is that after a divorce, you shouldn’t get fat. You need that itty bitty revenge body to flaunt if you want to win your divorce, ladies!

One of the only pieces of actionable advice in any of the Elf-help books is to exercise. Almost all the generic advice is illustrated with Elves on stationary bikes or treadmills. These Elves are going to be so swole. They deal with every tragedy with fitness, and their vengeful God hates them.

There are male Elves in the divorce book, but it doesn’t have much to say about how to avoid buying Oakleys and panic-purchasing your favorite social media company for triple its value. It does call divorce “the death of dreams you once held dear” and shows a little Elf crying over his wedding picture. I’m sure that cheered whoever bought this book right up. I bet they were glad this Elf is fucked up too.

Well, that’s all you can say about divorce. Let’s see if there’s something a little bit cheerier anywhere in the Elf repertoire. Maybe an Elf-help With Solving Your Wife’s Murder, or Elf-help with Euthanizing Your Beloved Dog…

I’m sure this will deal with depression using the exact same amount of reverence it did for cancer. We’re going to start off immediately with a cartoon Elf staring out a window, looking haunted in a way that will make people laugh and wonder, “What has this tiny man done that’s left him so scarred? Does he have PTSD from the time he saw Tim Allen murder Santa?”

Elf-help For Overcoming Depression suggests that depressed people “observe children at work and play.” Because nothing makes someone feel better than parents at the park telling you to stop creeping around their kids. “Oh, you’re sad? And the Elves said my kids would make you feel better? I’m calling the fucking police!”

I feel like this book is the most elf-aware. By that, I mean it knows the Elves aren’t helping in any way. In fact, they’re actively making the recipients of these gifts feel worse. I say that because this is the only self-help book that advises you to go out and buy more self-help books. It even illustrates an Elf buying a whole cart of self-help books without getting a pitying look from the cashier!

I can’t believe they named the example books U are good and SELF-HELPIN You when there were opportunities for fun Elf puns. The publishers came up with one Elf pun, and then they retired on Elf-help alone. That’s why the ’80s ruled. The 7 Habits Of Highly Elfective People. The Life-Changing Magic Of Repairing Shoes While The Shoemaker Sleeps, Who Moved My Cheerful Little Hat? I’m giving those to the Elf-help people FOR FREE.

The other Elf-help tips for depression include the classic “maybe depression is good, actually?” Depression teaches you so much about yourself, like how long you can stand to go without showering because the silence of your own mind is petrifying. Also, what is the saddest meal you can possibly stand to consume? Plain bread with ketchup? Boiled noodles with absolutely nothing else on them? Raisins? You’ll never know without your good friend Depression.

Other hot depression tips include asking for a miracle! Keep in mind what we learned about God earlier, though. You can’t ask for a specific miracle, and odds are, you’re not getting the gravy machine. If you try to cure your depression by asking for a miracle, the lord might respond with the miracle of cancer, his most generous gift. Use with caution.

Does…does that help? Can you relate to Dobby better, knowing he, too, has faced the pain of divorce? Wait, I just thought of someone these books could definitely help, people with an elf crying fetish. If these books are your kink, you’re welcome!

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This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Aaron Croston, the unicorn who struggles with Seasonal Affective Disorder.

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UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: TikTok Shrimp Dance Man 🌭

Quick, there’s no time. I need to warn you about the TikTok Shrimp Dance Man. Don’t say his name out loud. It will only summon him. Keep calm, read this article straight through once, and then delete it from your email forever like it’s a coupon for one free conversation with Twitter founder Elon Musk.

When the TikTok shrimp dancing man was first brought to my attention, I knew I had to learn absolutely everything about him. He’s out there somewhere in the world, and if I don’t know exactly how to avoid him, he could find me and dance little shrimps sensuously across my tongue in front of an audience of horrified yet titillated shrimp lovers.

The shrimp dance is this guy’s whole deal. His TikTok channel is full of him doing this over and over again to men and women of all ages. Every time he plays the same song, “Earned It,” from the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack, both in the restaurant and in the TikTok. He’s like the Jeepers Creepers monster. Whenever the song begins, it means he’s on the prowl.

Everything about the shrimp dance is so aggressively horny, but the song is really what disturbs me the most. It’s such a horny song that the music video includes women in pasties and assless underwear making a human centipede. It’s so horny that the bar youtube has that tells you when people rewound to jerk off takes up the entire video. That is a level of horniness that shouldn’t be applied to shrimp.

When the shrimp dance man cranks up the Fifty Shades soundtrack and stalks around the tables looking for his next victim, the people in his restaurant cheer. They’re so aroused by the aggressive shrimp dance they’re about to experience that they’re filled with joy. The man has somehow converted a seafood restaurant into a horny shrimp perverts’ Medieval Times. There’s a bachelorette party atmosphere to the whole thing, but if you went to a strip club and asked for it, they would throw you out. You would be excommunicated from Chippendales for your dark crustacean desires.

There’s only one place on earth where a man will brush your teeth with shrimp and then give you a chloroform hug for your pleasure. It’s called Mr. Barbas Marisqueria or Mr. Beard’s Seafood Restaurant. It seems to have decent reviews on Google, and somehow, not a single one of them says “this son of a bitch shrimp danced me. He took little shrimps and danced them into my mouth while pelvic thrusting my chair. Ten stars, I mean one star.”

I’ve scoured and translated every shot of the menu I could find, and there doesn’t appear to be a sensual shrimp onslaught listed for sale. Maybe you can’t legally sell this type of experience? My best guess is that it’s something off the bar menu because the shrimpees are usually fed a clear shot at the end of the dance by the shrimper.

Mr. Beard also recently expanded his shrimp dance offerings to include a less invasive version of the shrimp dance that involves the customer licking a beer bottle he offers them and then sucking a shrimp from the top. I can’t imagine wanting attention bad enough that I’m willing to perform in public for seafood like a baby seal, but apparently, there are women out there who are so, so into this. All of the top comments are thirsty as hell to clap their flippers for the shrimp man.

“Where is this place at” is the only acceptable comment on these videos. I also want that information because I can imagine a scenario where I walk into a seafood restaurant excited for a nice meal. The lights dim, and suddenly, everyone is looking at me, my nightmare. Then a man comes over and touches my food with his hands, double nightmare. The food is being slapped against my lips aggressively. I pass out. I die of seafood mortification.

Imagine you didn’t know about the shrimp dance, and suddenly it was happening in front of you. Would you try and rescue the person being shrimped, or would your flight instinct kick in? Honestly, I’m not going to lie; I know who I am. I would trip a toddler to escape this man. I would yell, “This baby looooves shrimp!” and yeet them right into that cowboy hat as I sprinted away.

The performance is slightly different every time, so you can never prepare yourself for what’s about to happen. The mystery is part of the torture. Sometimes he sensually stirs salsa while wrapped around the shrimpee as if they’re recreating the pottery scene from Ghost. Sometimes all subtlety is abandoned, and it’s just a lot of pre-shrimp chair humping.

To add another layer to the horror parfait, Mr. Beard posted a few behind the scenes TikToks of himself preparing food in his kitchen while topless, wearing flip-flops and daisy dukes. Every single step of the food preparation process has to be sexy, health code be damned! You think Mr. Beard has read health and safety regulations? This man has only ever read one thing, and it’s The Kama Sutra, But With Shrimp.

The seafood horniness brand runs through all of Mr. Beard’s marketing. They don’t post the shrimp dances on Instagram, instead opting for a deceptively normal-looking social media campaign that involves close-up pictures of the food the restaurant offers. However, the captions on those pictures read like a book with shirtless Fabio on the cover. “Doesn’t your mouth water? Fill yourself with flavor directly from the sea, come and enjoy the best dishes; here I wait for you (address of the restaurant).” This is something a siren calls to a sailor she’s trying to drown.

When the shrimp dance man is not shrimp dancing or pantless stirring, he’s the owner and chef at Mr. Beard’s. When he’s not posting shrimp dance TikToks, he has a pretty typical online presence that includes a lot of gym content and some hustle culture bro power speeches about never giving up, following your dreams, and working hard. That would seem to imply that dancing shrimp is his dream, but it’s actually not. His dream is to own a restaurant; the shrimp dance is his golden cage.

In an older Tiktok, Mr. Beard explains that the shrimp dance is just something funny he did for a friend once that went viral on social media. Suddenly he had people coming into his restaurant begging for the sexy shrimp dance. He was a struggling restaurant owner, and it brought in business, so he danced for them. My God, did he dance. The shrimp has given him everything, and yet it’s also the bars of his fishy prison.

Even after scouring social media, running captions and TikToks through Google translate, and consulting with several seafood psychics, I still have questions about the Shrimp Dance Man, the kind of questions that can only be answered by visiting him in person and experiencing the terror of his art. Welp, it looks like those questions will have to remain forever unanswered. I’m not an idiot. I’m not wandering into that dark basement alone. You’ll shrimp dance me when I’m DEAD.

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UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Ambush Universe Reese’s Puffs

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Upsetting Day: Pregnant in Heels 🌭

In 2011 Bravo premiered a new TV show that fit perfectly with their station slogan– Bravo: This is Why Women Deserve It! The show was called Pregnant In Heels, and it was about New York City’s most famous pregnancy concierge. What does that mean exactly? In the pilot, Rosie Pope explains it like this: “Women are bitchy anyway, so take a rich bitchy woman and put a baby inside of them, and then you’ve got my client.” That is a real quote!

What you need to understand about Rosie Pope is that she hates this job and she is terrible at it. She opened a store in 2008 that offered “cutting-edge maternity fashion, but also a welcome environment that includes cupcakes, mocktails, and gangsta rap if the mood strikes!” (It never struck). Pregnant in Heels began filming in 2010, so at the time, she had at most two years of experience in her field. Today she’s no longer a pregnancy concierge; she works as a luxury real estate agent, which is great because you can’t make a building cry.

You’re supposed to find the women Rosie works with ridiculous, but it’s surprisingly easy to root for a terrified pregnant woman and unsurprisingly difficult to root for a woman who charges them $500 an hour for her services and then viciously insults them both to their faces and behind their backs. Often, Rosie comes into a situation where a client has asked her to help with a problem. This is usually insane, sure, BUT Rosie could theoretically help with it. Instead, she always finds something else the client is unconcerned about and chooses to “fix” this “real” problem instead. If she was on the Titanic, she would recommend you leave the lifeboat to get a teeth whitening.

The funniest example of this is an episode in season 2 where the client is terrified of childbirth and wants Rosie to help her mentally prepare for the process. Rosie’s response is to tell the client to get rid of her dog. To be fair, the dog does eat a baby doll’s face as if Rosie slathered it in chicken grease before coming into her apartment. It is incredibly hilarious to watch Rosie go, “What if that was your baby!” as if they don’t understand that babies shouldn’t get mauled by dogs.

“If this dog won’t stop eating babies, it needs to go!” Rosie says as if these people are keeping friggin’ Grendel in their house instead of a Yorkie. She brings in a dog trainer, and it turns out the dog is not a monster. It just really likes dog toys which is what a baby doll seems like. It’s also, let’s say, within the realm of possibilities that one of the show’s producers did slather the baby in chicken grease.

There’s also the terrifying case of a woman who just wants Rosie to design a maternity wedding dress for her. It’s a very simple request, but Rosie takes one look at her and asks, “How much weight have you gained during your pregnancy?” The client, Robyn, is dealing with gestational diabetes, so Rosie takes this as an invitation to go into her kitchen and start pulling food from cabinets. This is the scene where I really started to hope she would get crushed by a piano like a Looney Tune.

After finding “gasp” a single cupcake, Rosie returns with a nutritionist and makes Robyn start an exercise routine at nine months pregnant. Surprise, Robyn hates it and feels like shit. Robyn successfully gets married and gives birth to a healthy baby boy, and Rosie manages to take one final parting shot at her in the update at the end of the episode.

At this point, you might be asking yourself why would anyone ever do this show? With something like Bridezillas, you punch a few cakes, and they pay for your wedding. These people have money. They can afford dignity, yet they still let Rosie into their homes. My theory is that for the two years the show was running, Rosie’s services became such a status symbol that her clients were willing to put up with pretty much anything. In a world where the woman with the largest statement necklace is the alpha, Rosie’s clients look like this.

Also, while the expectant mothers occasionally have perfectly reasonable demands for Rosie to completely ignore, they do sometimes ask for crazy stuff. One couple had Rosie exorcize their haunted nursery. Another woman wanted an oil painting of herself nude on horseback while pregnant, but unfortunately, she gave birth early and had to settle for a nude painting of herself and her baby on horseback, the standard nude oil painting scenario:

Sometimes they come to her with a fairly normal request like, “Help us name our baby,” and Rosie finds a way to make it unbearable. The woman rocking the Flavor Flav necklace above calls herself a “branding expert” and sees choosing a name as “choosing her baby’s brand.” Most of the parents I know only want one brand for their baby, and it’s called quiet and never poops, which is a terrible name.

Rosie assembles an expert think tank to brainstorm names with the couple. It includes a linguistic expert, a brand expert, a poet, and a baby blogger, not a baby that blogs, unfortunately– an adult woman who blogs about babies. Also included on the panel is her assistant LT who always wears one-third of a wig sideways on his head.

The brilliant names this genius think tank comes up with include Asher, Brody, Tucker, and Miles. Rosie then arranges for a focus group of hiring managers to see if they like the names. They all give the name Brody a ten-minute standing ovation. Rich people love Brodies. In the end, the baby is named Bowen Asher, which does have a certain brandness to it. I can see it as a brand of low-calorie whisky or inflatable glamping bubbles endorsed by David Hasselhoff. Maybe a hunting lodge where women often go missing.

So, it’s extremely clear that Rosie is winging it through the entire show, but it’s not just her inexperience as a pregnancy concierge that makes her seem like a grifter to me. She has a very unusual voice that combines an English accent with a little bit of a lisp. She sounds like the inspiration for Anna Delvey. All of the things about her past are very cool and also very vague. She says her father was a ballerina, and her mother was a doctor/scientist. Then she randomly drops early in the season that she “used to be a baroness.”

Rosie’s client wants to ask her boss, Lord Wedgewood, to be her baby’s godfather. This seems like a bad idea to me because Lord Wedgewood has full Hulk Hogan hair, and I think it would confuse a child.

Rosie seems to think that because he’s a lord, he’s related to the royal family, which isn’t how that works. All of her advice on how to properly pop the question to Lord Hulk Hogan involves things that are at the top of the Google search results for the phrase “What do British people like?” Rosie says she should ask him over tea and dress like Princess Diana. This is Britain 101. I thought she was going to start explaining that there’s a huge clock named Ben that everyone is wild about over there. “Maybe charter a ship and take him colonizing!”

Apparently, when questioned later about her “used to be a baroness” comment, she said that “the British royal family and all that craziness is almost more difficult than anyone could understand.” Then she gave a rambling answer that ended with her mother denouncing her title for political reasons, which I guess would be a huge deal. Sources who fact-checked this said, “It’s giving George Santos.”

The show was very of its time. I know the pitch was “SuperNanny meets Real Housewives,” and it delivered that energy. It had a mean, maybe British lady yelling at nude rich women about their baby being too young to horseback ride. The fact that it didn’t have 100 seasons on Bravo is a miracle. They were creating a pipeline where they could funnel women through The Millionaire Matchmaker to Pregnant In Heels into Real Housewives and in ten years, they would have created a whole new series of shows for the same women. Divorce Diva, 2Millionaire 2Matchmaker, Casket Bedazzlers. Cradle to grave, the Bravolebrity lifecycle would be complete!

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UPSETTING DAY

Upsetting Day: Orson Scott Card’s Lost Boys

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Upsetting Day: Seth Speaks – The Eternal Validity of the Soul 🌭

Imagine you’re the type of person who wants to take advice from a ghost. In 1963, a science fiction and fantasy writer named Jane Roberts suddenly discovered the lucrative ability to channel an all-seeing being from another dimension who had lived through several reincarnations on Earth. And all that being wanted to do was write self-help books. So, damn, whatever’s going on in his post-life dimension must be pretty dull. I like to think that after I die, I’ll be too busy racing go-karts and eating nothing but Red Lobster Cheddar Bay biscuits to fix people’s sad human lives, but apparently, this ghost has time on his hands.

The loser ghost’s name is Seth. So not only are people taking advice from a ghost, but I’m pretty sure it’s a ghost who got kicked out of Heaven for skateboarding. Seth just doesn’t sound like the name of an all-knowing being to me. If I were channeling a ghost and he said his name was Colton or something, I would swipe away and look for someone more majestic and old-timey sounding like an Agamemnon or a Sky Senator Moff Profoundo. Seth is the name of someone who died playing Pokemon cards.

Despite his lame name, people loved the Seth books. Somewhere around 25 books have been published in total, and a lot of their ideas are considered the backbone of New Age ideology. Specifically, Seth focuses on the theory that thoughts create reality. This is a very convenient approach to life for people born into privilege because it means they created their reality by thinking good, and if homeless people wanted to eat, they should simply be better at thinking good!

Don’t worry; I’m not going to bypass the Robert F. Butts of it all. Did you look at the picture of that book and not notice the “notes by Robert F. Butts.” Shame on you.

Robert Fabian Butts was Jane Roberts’s husband, and after Jane passed away, he kept mysteriously finding more and more Seth material Jane had lying around. You see, Robert couldn’t just start channeling Seth himself because he and Jane had been saying for years that if anyone else claimed to be channeling Seth they were lying because he would only talk to Jane. Essentially they trademarked the ghost.

Luckily a little thing like the only person alive who could talk to him dying didn’t deter Seth from sharing his wisdom with the world. Jane passed away in 1984, and in 1995, Seth was still publishing his best work. You would think he’d run out of pearls of wisdom after 20 seth-quels, but number 22, The Magical Approach: Seth Speaks About The Art Of Creative Living, is a real humdinger.

I’m not going to lie; you can see some of the ghost’s creative struggles in this one. There is a lot of filler. Long, boring notes about what the day they channeled Seth was like written by Mr. F. Butts, dream journal entries, and a whole section on predictions Jane made about the future that are stunningly underwhelming. For example, she once predicted that some paintings her husband sold to a restaurant would still be hanging in that restaurant. Incredible. Fucking absolute wizard shit.

The prophet looked to the sky and pronounced, “Egg carton.” The people were in awe. Jane interpreted these predictions as things that happened to her later in the day. A friend wrote her that they were moving to Alaska, so that’s snowball machine and snow shoes? Another friend got a job at a grocery store which sells…cereal? Condoms? Pringles? Yes, to all, but they also sell egg cartons! Can you believe that? And if you’re about to sleep with a milk man named Mike Stove, Seth has some bad news about how that’s going to go.

I think Jane’s predictions mostly pertain to her life because a central component of Seth’s philosophy is that all time exists at once, and you already have all the information you need to make your life great. If you get cancer, that’s entirely your fault. If your Uncle dies and leaves you eight million dollars, that’s because you thought positively about your Uncle’s death. Good job!

Seth’s revelations are difficult to read because they sound so much like a shopping list for a high school theater production designer. Also they are aggressively useless. Telling someone “Milk man” will never be helpful. Telling someone “Don’t believe Milk man’s lies, his blood is the key” might save their life. There are also notes from Jane interspersed and notes from Robert about Jane’s notes, and several appendices to reference. All of the verbose language, notes, and appendixes are sort of a smoke screen to make you think wow, this sounds really smart instead of, wow, this is really poorly written. This ghost is druuuuunk:

Seth often spells out words or emphasizes things strangely to underscore how much of an interdimensional ghost he is. He refers to Jane as “Ruburt,” which I thought for a long time was him passive-aggressively calling her husband Robert the wrong name. That would have been so cool. I would have more respect for Seth if he were playing dickish power games with his channeler’s husband. “Snow shoes? Egg carton. Cuck F. Butts (underlined).”

Seth takes some time during this book to criticize Jane for not thinking positively enough about the illness that would eventually cause her death. Remember, according to Seth, it’s entirely up to you if you want to contract the rheumatoid arthritis that also killed your Mother at a young age.

It’s kind of wild that a multidimensional being would speak standard English so well. I always thought communicating with ghosts would be difficult because they would be all, “doth thou wishest to feel better? Then simply gaze upon thine inner desire to be less of a little bitch.” Seth uses big words and repeats himself a lot, but other than that, his modern English is amazing. If my grandpa came back from the dead to call me a pussy for suffering from a debilitating illness, this is exactly what it would sound like.

The book also features some of Butt’s original artwork. It’s generally pictures of things from his dreams that he interprets as prophetic or meaningful in some way which sucks because his idea of meaningful is “prominent triangle — maybe gift.” It’s also very clearly just a fun way for Robert to get his artwork out there. He mainly paints men and women who look like department store mannequins from the extra thick neck department.

He created the 1940 “Captain Marvel” character in 1968 and then again in 1980! He’s not sure if they are related, but if they are it’s definitely magical. Yet somehow this work of art inspired people so much that Seth’s teachings are still thriving today. The Seth Center in New York teaches online classes on everything from lucid dreaming to losing weight with Seth! Yep, this ghost hauled his ass back from the afterlife to do what Richard Simmons can do without dying.

Seth teaches that we are all reincarnated interdimensional consciousness. He also teaches no fatties. This work spoke to so many people because it was the first time a cult was available through the mail. Somehow no one had thought of this scam before, and it really resonated with a lot of people who wanted to be told what to do by a ghost.

Jane used Seth’s money to fund her and Robert’s other artistic pursuits. Robert always refers to his occupation as “painter,” but since I have seen his paintings, I’m going to assume he wasn’t making a ton of money off of that. The Seth Center is selling some of his original artwork of Seth for $450, along with comments from Seth about the work. (He called it gauche).

Jane was also a prolific poet and author. Her writing included a fictional series called Oversoul Seven And The Museum Of Time, which she described as a fictional continuation of the ideas from her non-fiction work by Seth. Man, you didn’t even have to try to do cons in the ’60s. She basically said this time, it’s not the ghost writing the book; it’s me making it up! And everyone was fine with that? This truly was the golden age of scamming people into paying for a ghost to be mean to them.

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