Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin
Psychic Karate Novels by Ryan O'Laughlin

Vlad predicts the outcome of the Presidential election

Greetings, students!

With so much biopsychosocial brainpower I apply so commonly toward violence, a few of my fans have asked me who I endorse for President. In wrathful retaliation, I punched a few of them using psychic karate. 

Their surviving kinsfolk, in an act of contrition no doubt, sought to clarify the question. Given my qualifications relevant to identifying assholes, they wanted to know who I thought would win this shit-show. 

Before I give you the answer, I think it's important we spend a minute talking about psychic karate. 

At this point, many in the mainstream still think it is simply a means to punch a motherfucker from a safe distance. I can assure you, there's nothing safe about psychic karate. You really have to put yourself out there. Often, crotch-first. Let's practice, shall we?

Okay, stand up. That's right, spread your feet. Make sure you have a good 6 to 18 inches of clearance beyond your fingertips as you extend your arms in every direction. I'll wait while you test it out. 

Good. Okay, now, I want you to take your shoes off.  And your underwear. Don't question the master!

Right, then. Lift your heels off the ground, so that your entire weight is being supported by your calves, upper thighs and ass muscles. Your legs, at this point, should look and feel like the legs of a T-Rex, but not green. If your legs are green, stop and call a doctor. 

Anyway, I want you clap your hands together and rub those palms. Rub them good and hard, all the while thinking about Richard Nixon and Margaret Thatcher having a cocaine-fueled three-way with a racist orangutan. At this point, I know you've been thinking about this scene for at least a solid year, so no excuses! As your digits generate heat, I want you to really meditate on all the finger-banging going on in the aforementioned fantasy. Heat that shit up.

Now, with your legs quivering from the tension at this point, cup your hands against your generative family crotchal nethers and shout, "OSAMACHENEYWHITNEYBOBBYMOMARHERBERTWALKERDON!"

This intonation will channel all the kinetic tension from your hands and lower body muscles up through your urinary tract, blasting the environment with a cone of psychic karate that will render assholes stunned. Victims within this cone of effect, which may range from anywhere between 15 feet or 70 miles in length, depending on your skill, will experience a sense of intense social awkwardness. If you're well-practiced at this technique, they may also vomit white blood cells, teeth and fire ants to the point of possible death. 

I call this move, "The Terradon."

Two things to note about this technique. First, due to an inability to target which assholes get the smack-down from your psychic karate, use this only in poorly-populated areas or political rallies. Second, I never said you had to take off your pants, though I find your dedication to the craft admirable, if not perverse. 

Anyway, back to the question at hand. Who wins the election? Simple! It's soon-to-be-former Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly. Seriously. I'm not joking. Literally everyone else on the planet loses the election, regardless of who takes office. I've seen it, using psychic karate. She's the only one of us who comes out on top from this thing. For reals.

Don't get mad at me! That's how seeing into the future works. If you happen to have a problem with my analysis, I suggest you form an angry mob in front of me inside of a 70-mile cone so I can address your concerns personally.

Thank you kindly for your kind attention.


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