Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

My doorbell rang.

I opened the door and a robed visitor accompanied by sitar music walked in out of the dimming twilight. The renowned mystic from the Far East part of the township, the fabled soothsayer, the seventh son of the seventh son of the seventh son, the oracle from just down the road; Swami Davis Jr. stopped by to give me his predictions for 2020. He knows little, but suspects a lot. He excels at predicting everything but the future.

The Swami has been indwelled by a spirit of divination and is a muse of unearthly clairvoyance. The Swami sees all, knows all and reveals all to those who proffer tribute. A savant of such gifts that within his psyche lie the limits of human understanding. As a fearless, feckless and foolish seer, he is without peer despite being hampered by unreasonable zoning laws discouraging the ancient Roman practice of haruspicy (divining the future by examining the entrails of recently slaughtered beasts). In an uncertain world, the Swami brings more uncertainty to light. Many have called him a bum seer and a purveyor of impaired prognostications, but at least one person (his mother) has called him “uncannily accurate.” Swami is a reader of palms and tea leaves — he takes an orange pekoe at the future. His crystal ball (a cracked bowling ball) is back from the shop after having its foreteller replaced.

“Swami Davis Jr., who illuminates the dark corners of our culture, whose knowledge is beyond compare. By contrast, Nostradamus was nothing more than a flawed speculator. Oh, wise Swami, thou vessel of infinite wisdom, who is omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent, tell me, your humble implorer, what the future holds,” I entreat, knowing that most of my future lies ahead.

Swami is a cowboy who rounds up predictions. He sees into the future by turning his car’s rearview mirror backwards. Even though he believes you can’t handle the sooth, here are his bold, yet intentionally vague, predictions for 2020.

A fundraising walk for pothole awareness will go into the hole.

Dr. Pepper and Mayo Clinic will merge.

Football will be eliminated during the Super Bowl as it interferes with the commercials.

The groundhog, in an attempt to be more accurate in its weather forecasting, will flip a coin.

You’ll once again fail to win the Nobel Prize in physics.

Sales of No. 2 foam hands will soar as fans lower expectations about the Vikings. A fan will be seen holding a “Wait until next year” sign at the team’s first home game.

It will be discovered that Shakespeare wrote “SpongeBob SquarePants.”

Something on the internet will be untrue. Inspired by this, a scientist will discover a way to harness the fake news on social media and turn it into enough electrical power to light the nation.

The federal government will eliminate the national debt by betting against the Timberwolves.

In the “Chuckles Bites the Dust” episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” children’s show host Chuckles the Clown attended a circus parade dressed as Peter Peanut and was shucked to death by a rogue elephant. This will not happen to you or anyone you know.

A lost and found clerk will tell you to get lost.

Minnesota will replace its Revenue Department with a GoFundMe page.

Man will fall while travel agent planned his trip.

Space aliens will deliver a message of peace and wisdom, but no one will know of it as it wasn’t on Facebook.

Feral shopping carts will cause traffic delays outside a big box store.

Local city’s motto, “What now?” proves that not every city needs a slogan.

The stock market will crash on your brother-in-law’s couch.

The Swiss Army knife will add a Netflix blade.

Just over 99.9% of what celebrities do or say will continue to have no relevance to your life.

All TV series will be in five-minute episodes to ease binge watching.

You will display wisdom by making your lone New Year’s resolution to do the things you’re already doing.

Spring will officially become a part of winter.

Your Magic 8-Ball will tell you to grow up.

In order to increase its thickness, the phonebook will spell out phone numbers.

The weather will persist in not caring what you think.

The future will be so bright that you’ll need to squint. It’s a pie crust that needs to be filled sweetly.

What went around will come around. Tomorrow will be another day — probably last Tuesday.

Each day is borrowed. The good times will roll.

Al Batt’s column appears every Wednesday and Saturday. It has been moved to Thursday this week because of the New Year’s holiday.