Sadly, Madame Zsa Zsa, mediuum to the great and good, is tired, and has fallen out with Johnny Two Rivers, her favourite spirit guide. Doubly unfortunately, she has a private consultation with Psy, the YouTube hero and latterday UK No 1.
‘I feel a spirit. Are you there? Tell us your name’
A piping just about male voice came through.
‘Hi! I’m Michael Jackson.’
‘Who he? Ner hear o him. Oh yeah, weild rookin white man.’
‘I’ve heard of you Psy.’
‘You dead. How you hear?’
Zsa Zsa. ‘The dead have ears everywhere.’
‘Micah Jackson sure have ears everywhere. Lest of his face too. It orr over prace.’
‘I’m here to help you, Psy.’
‘How you spose herp me? I star, you dead.’
‘Psy, listen. You need to change your costume.’
‘Woyo min? I rike costume. My sister design, make it fo me. Molon.’
‘Psy, you look like Liberace. You even have his hair.’
‘At reast my hair mine, unrike you face. And who Riberace?’
‘I mean the single breasted jacket with the spangles on the lapels…’
Another voice. Deeper, blacker, more aggressive.
‘Listen, bro, yo a rap star. Yo all gotta look the part, bro.’
‘Who the her are you?’
‘Tupac Shakur, bro.’
‘I heard of you! Yo got shot! An I expected to forrow you example? I don’t think so. Ge out of here, dead boy. Anyway, I rike my crothes.’
Another voice. Tennessee accent.’
‘Uh huh. I like ‘em too.’
Zsa Zsa was confused. ‘Who are you spirit?’ she asked. Her voice quivered uncertainly.
‘Elvis Aron Presley, ma’am. Sure am pleased to meet you.’
‘Ervis Presrey! You my hero!’
‘Thankya kindly. I surely do preciate that. Uuh huh, am all shook up.’
‘Ervis Presrey make joke for me! I famous now! I allived!’
Thin high pitched voice again.
‘You may want to work on the dancing…’
‘Well, sir, I have to disagree with Michael here. I like it. Yer sure got the leg wobble real good.’
‘See, you rooser Micah Jackson! Wha you know?’
‘OK. What about the costumes for the backing dancers. You may want to work on those. Maybe lose the boys’ pyjamas and the girls’ little baby doll child clothes…’ The pause lengthened, then, ‘Sorry, I got lost there. You know, maybe a few werewolves or something.. How about some zombies… Or something.’
‘Pay no attention, son. I like em real fine. And your clothes are just fine too. Those cavalry stripes on the jumpsuits. I like ‘em real fine.’
‘Yo dood, I ain’t dissin ya none nor nothin, you bein The King an all. But he’s supposed to be a rapper! Where da bling and the bitches in tight hotpants shakin their booties? He ain’t no real rapper widout them!’
‘I not a dead lapper if that woyo min. An you no say bad things bout my dancers. They all cousins. Wha you know, anyway?’
Zsa Zsa channelled sounds of scuffling, muttered curses. That had never happened before. A fight between channelled spirits. Perhaps she was not losing her touch after all.
Psy beamed. ‘I rike you. You sensible woman. You want to be my manager?’