This is good:
Was there ever a more transparently fraudulent money-making scheme than the “psychic industry”? Most of the psychics I am [dimly] aware of operate out of tiny fleapits in run-down shopping arcades, or do guest readings in the upstairs rooms of Edinburgh pubs between 1pm and 4pm on weekday afternoons. If I had the gift of second sight, you can be fucking sure I wouldn’t be reading people’s palms in the Felcher and Firkin for a fiver a time; I’d be making thousands of pounds an hour on Betfair from the balcony of my villa in the Seychelles, watching a naked girl try to mix a pina colada with her free hand. No, wait; two naked girls.