Bryan Greene

Best to you.

I hope you have a great holiday week.

Until next time, I will say, I do say, and I must say, goodbye.

I have it.

It's the summer of 1997, and I've just finished a shift at the restaurant.

I run home to smoke some really bad weed out of my beautiful three-and-a-half-foot graphics glass bomb.

When I'm firmly in my own universe, I go to the kitchen to prepare my sacrament, donuts and a family-sized bag of Lay's potato chips, because, you know, salty and sweet is a stoner's best treat.

I run upstairs to flip on my 24-inch RCA color TV.

In a pre-DVR universe, late-night basic cable was about as entertaining as it got.

And I, a young, budding, mediocre comedy podcaster, was the master of this domain.

I knew every channel, every television show, every late-night talk show host and every late-night talk show guest.

I didn't miss a moment of Core TV or MTV.

But this night was different.

I saw her for the very first time.

This woman.

Talking to dead people in a fake Jamaican accent.

Her name was Miss Cleo.

She wasn't the first TV psychic, but she's one of the most notorious.

The company she worked for, PRN, they made millions and millions of dollars.

using the image of Ms.