Bryan Greene

Valentine's Day.

Bummer."

At its peak, the Psychic Friends Network was pulling in over a million calls a month.

And again, at $3.99 a minute, that's a lot of money to find out who your soulmate might be.

And on these extremely expensive calls, it's not like the stranger on the other end of the phone was going to tell you John Jones from marketing is likely to be your husband.

No, no, they were probably just good talkers, would run you around in circles and then give you an answer like, I think they'll be tall.

And while we're on the subject, a little piece of advice.

Don't sleep on the short kings.

I'm with you, short kings.

Listen, I'm six foot two, but I'm with you.

I'm with you.

But generation after generation, decade after decade, year after year, our ancestors continued to seek out psychic medium help.

Through countless uncovered scams, zero positive scientific evidence,

and no leading authority or organization to point to for legitimacy, the psychic craze continued into the advent of radio and eventually television.

Our insatiable need for answers unknown continued unabated, and the late-night infomercial explosion was about to turn the faucet of cash into a waterfall of riches.

Enter Miss Cleo.

Miss Cleo really is the face of the psychic craze.

Her name wasn't Miss Cleo at all.

It was Uri Del Harris, and she wasn't Jamaican.

She grew up in Los Angeles, went to an arts high school, and was a playwright before she became a fake TV psychic.