The Paranormal-ly Retarded

It’s that time of year again. School’s back in session, football’s in full swing, and the few people that actually give a shit about the NHL are emerging from their parent’s basements in anticipation of the new season. That means it’s fall, bitches, and while leaves migrate to the south and birds drop dead from branches, the mentally retarded everywhere are using Halloween as their excuse to dress up as pop culture icons and get extremely shit-faced. What does this mean for you? Well, if you like parties where all the girls come dressed (or underdressed) as Lindsay Lohan and the only way to tell them apart is how far their camel-toes hang between their legs, then you, sir, are in for a treat. As for the rest of us that prefer our women to have class and be less full of AIDS, we generally like to sit around in the chill air telling ghost stories, visiting actual haunted houses, and shitting our pants in fear to A&E’s Paranormal State (or is that just me?).

Kristen Bell: so classy, and so not full of AIDS.

I am a sucker for the paranormal. Let’s just get that out there. I’m not sure if it’s the cheap scares or the “wonder” of the unknown, but I love ghost shows and haunted houses. The funny part is that I don’t even believe in half that shit. I’d love to believe in it. Hell, I’d love for it to be real. But to be honest, I’m the dude in the group that goes to the haunted house and starts screaming, “You’re not real you pussy-ass ghosts and if you are real, then Scott Baio fucked your mom!” Then I play the Misfit’s Last Caress, hoping beyond hope that something will show it’s face. It never does.

The face that fucks dead people’s mothers.

But why? Why isn’t there any evidence? There are literally dozens of “real life” ghost shows on television, and yet not one has ever captured a real ghost on film. Sure, stuff has been thrown around, lots of “strange” noises have been heard, and people have even been temporarily “possessed” or “attacked,” but yet no actual hard proof has ever turned up. What the fucking fuck?

Let’s look at a show like Paranormal State. The set up: a group of students from PSU go to locations where supposed paranormal activity is taking place. They place about a million cameras at the site and then go to work, trying to figure out who the ghost is, where it’s from, what it wants, and, most importantly, if it could have sex with any person on earth who would it be and why? Then, when the ghost has finally debated for hours over Charlize Theron or Hillary Clinton, they whip out their proton packs and positron discharge all over those ghostly fuck’s faces.

Ghost Hunters, on the other hand, is the story of two dudes who plunge shit from toilets during the day and then plunge shapeshifting shit from people’s attics at night. The show has a similar premise: go to a paranormal hotspot and find the sneaky dead bastards that are ruining late-night booty calls. The only difference is that Ghost Hunters just visit an area and try to prove that ghosts are indeed there. They really don’t do anything about it except tell the owners to call a priest and stick their dick in the sand and pray…or something like that.

While both shows are slightly different, they do share one important thing in common: neither has ever captured a paranormal spirit on camera/film/etch-a-sketch. Odds are that if you place a camera in every room at every possible angle that you’ll catch something eventually. Well, the odds must hate ghost investigators because we’re nearing the 200 year anniversary of the first photograph and we still ain’t got shit.

Much like any recording device, the Etch-a- Sketch is a true ghost repellent.

Now, you may be asking yourself, “But there’s video of tables moving and cups being thrown and Linda Blair fucking herself with a crucifix. Isn’t that enough evidence?” The short answer is no, you dumb fuck hillbilly. I want proof. I want solid, indisputable proof that yes, the paranormal exists, yes you can finally talk to your dead grandparents without having to slit your own writs first, and that yes, I should probably stop mocking demons about how they must be closet-homos since they’re always so damn angry about life. Forget those stupid white orbs in still photographs that guys who have never been laid claim to be proof of the dead; let’s see a full motion video captured by CNN of that Japanese chick from the Grudge. Hell, I invite them to show up at my place right now as long as they give me time to get out my camera before they rip my soul straight out of my ass.

Honestly though, for beings that make a living after they die by haunting crazy people non-stop, you’d think they’d be starving little camera-whores just begging for attention. Instead, as soon as the film starts rolling, they all run and hide as if Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd just popped in to say hello. It simply makes no sense.

Here’s a test for you: next time you’re in your place of dwelling, turn off all the lights, any appliance that could make a sound, and kick your pets out in the backyard for just a few minutes. Now, sitting there in complete silence, make a note every time you hear a “strange” noise. Ghosts? Probably not. No matter where you live, no matter how old your house is, there’s always going to be something making a slight noise or weird vibrations in your ear. Whether it’s the foundation creaking, an old wooden board in your floor expanding or contracting due to slight temperature changes, or even the wind or a bird on your roof, chances are that “silence” you’re sitting in really isn’t going to be all that silent due to the natural world around you. This is why I think all those shows “fail” in trying to prove that the paranormal actually exists. Most of the places these shows visit are extremely old, and they use that as backing evidence that there would be more spiritual activity due to the countless people that have died there over the years. The truth is, however, is that the older a building gets, the more noises it’s naturally going to make. You’re visiting an old mental institution that’s been abandoned for thirty years? That’s not some long-dead crazy dude making those scratching and thumping noises in the hallways, that’s just mice in the walls or something falling apart.

I'm under ur bed, humpin' your mattress.

To the guys and gals from Penn State: I’m really not hating on you. In fact, I think you all have awesome jobs and I’d even sign up to be on the team if given the chance. I’d love to be the skeptic disbeliever in your group, always providing the audience with a reasonable explanation. And if I couldn’t find a reasonable explanation to something? Well, I’d own up and honestly express my confusion and inability to comprehend what I saw. Fair deal, right? The same goes out to you Ghost Hunters and everyone else out there with the sweet employment of trying to explain the unexplained. But until I actually see some real proof (like a ghost inside one of those floor traps used in the movies), I will continue to bust your balls in a critical yet loving way.
What’s that old saying? The simplest explanation is often the right one? I think the next time we’re all thinking about whether or not that growling noise coming from the basement might be Satan’s flatulent asshole, we should just use Occam’s Razor to slice through the television and film bullshit that’s bloated our imaginations to the point of stupidity.

Happy Halloween.