Parody: The Crotch Psychic

[Screen fills with a starfield, and celestial music plays ("celestial" means lots of sitars, apparently). From below and offscreen a hand appears, zipping up the zipper on a pair of jeans that covers the screen. Light shines brilliantly from inside the zipper, forming the show's logo. Hold on the logo for a second, then it flips away to reveal a studio audience applauding. Our host Ricky Russell strides out from behind the curtains. He is short, squat, and looks like a smartly tailored mechanic.]

Announcer: Prepare to be astounded and amazed, it’s the Crotch Psychic!

Russell: Hi, everyone, I’m Ricky Russell, the Crotch Psychic. I’m here to listen to the parts of your body that you’re ignoring and to answer the questions that are crippling your love life.
[The crowd applauds again]
Let’s start right off with a few questions from our studio audience. You sir, do you, or your crotch, have a question for the crotch psychic?

Phil: Wow, yes, I sure do. My penis has been completely flaccid for almost three days. Three days, Ricky. I’ve never gone this long without a stiffy, and me and my wife Gloria are starting to get worried.

Russell: This sounds serious. First of all, when did you first masturbate?

Phil: Successfully? That would be June 23, 1991.

Russell: Ah, good, your penis is a Cancer.

Gloria: Really? But Phil’s a Sagittarius.

Russell: You can’t go by that, ma’am. It’s widely known that genitals can have completely different personalities from their owners, and those personalities must be carefully charted. Take Phil’s here, for example. Let me listen for a moment. (He kneels and presses the side of his face against Phil’s jeans front; Phil looks startled) Uh huh. Uh huh. Right. Really? Oh, well sure. I’ll take care of it. (He stands up) Gloria? The answer lies within you.

Gloria: What? Me?

Russell: Yes. You see, a Cancer penis thrives on the exchange of feelings. They need security and love to be wrapped in an environment of love and comfort. And that means blowjobs, Gloria.

Phil: (visibly cheering up) Oh, yeah?

Russell: Definitely. Cancer dicks need some regular hot tongue action to feel content. Phil’s penis desperately needs the feeling of you sucking it all the way down your throat while your hands stroke his balls.

Phil: He’s right! It’s working already! Welcome back, big guy!
[Audience applauds]

Russell: It’s simple if you just listen. Let’s take another problem. Excuse me ma’am, what can I do for you ladies?

Lucille: Hello, Mr. Russell. It’s my twat.

Russell: What seems to be the problem with it?

Lucille: It’s gone bone dry and won’t lubricate for anything. We’ve tried all of its favorites – oils, hand cream, whipped cream, pictures of Jessica Alba, nothing. It’s really causing problems between me and Gina, here

Gina: It’s a Libra, Mr. Russell.

Russell: Hmmm. Let’s have a listen. (He bends over and pushes his ear into Lucille’s groin) Well, hello little lady. What’s all the trouble, then? You don’t say? Really? More than anything, huh? That’s interesting. Yes, I’ll tell her. What? (He looks up to Lucille’s face and chuckles in an avuncular manner) It’s the cutest thing, she wants me to give her a kiss. Do you mind?

Lucille: Uh, I, I guess not. Honey?

Gina: Hey, he’s the psychic, right? (Russell smiles and grabs Lucille’s hips to plant a big smacker between her legs. Lucille gasps and runs her fingers through Russell’s hair)

Russell: (Standing back up to face a slightly glazed Lucille) The problem here is a simple one, I hardly had to ask. Lucille’s twat is a Libra, so right away I know that beauty, balance and harmony are important. Libra pussies have a great need to share, to be fair and impartial. They have a very active, outwardly radiating personality, and that’s why it’s drying up.

Lucille: I don’t understand.

Russell: By limiting yourself to Gina, you’ve bottled up your twat’s natural Libra expressiveness and generosity. What’s more, the dryness symbolizes the desiccation of your sex life. You need to open yourself to more things, more liquids.

Gina: So what should she do, Mr. Russell.

Russell: I think the fastest way out of this difficulty is for Lucille to blow me right away.

Lucille: But, I’m a lesbian!

Russell: My dear, your pussy knows what it needs. I’m only trying to bring the two of you together again, to the point where you’re perfectly in tune with its wants and needs and you’ll never need or call me again. But I don’t want to cause a rift in your relationship, and in fact I can see this as a potential bonding moment for you and Gina. You should both blow me, without delay.

Gina: (Taking Lucille’s hand) If you’re sure it will help

Russell: I don’t think I’ve been more positive of anything my whole life. Folks, while we’re doing what we can for Lucille, please watch this tape of a case I dealt with over the weekend in Calvaras County.

[Lucille and Gina argue as the camera pans to the big screen and we see Russell outside an expansive farmhouse]

Russell: I’m at a farm just outside Angel Camp, California, to address the problem of Mr. Jackson Bryson, millionaire and cattle baron. [A graphic of a piece of stationary spins out from the side to fill the screen] Mr. Bryson’s anguish was brought to my attention by a letter from his wife Carla, who writes

Carla’s voice: Dear Mr. Russell. We’ve been watching your show for two years, and we’ve been very impressed with the way you’ve solved all those problem peckers. My husband used to think you were a scam artist, and that you just picked cases you knew you could solve, but over the years we’ve become convinced. The reason I’m writing is that tragedy has struck at home. Jackson’s prick has lost its will to live. We’ve been trying the remedies that we’ve heard you advise so many times, but it just doesn’t seem to be working. Can you help? God bless you, Carla Bryson.

[The letter folds away and we see Russell in a well-appointed room with expensive furnishings. He is sitting by the bedside of Bryson, a frail man who looks about a hundred years old. Standing on the other side of the bed is a stunning brunette wearing a halter top and crack-hugger shorts.]

Russell: Mrs. Bryson, what can you tell me about Jackson’s penis?

Carla: Oh, Mr. Russell, it’s been terrible. No matter what we do it just lays there like a little worm. It used to be so tall and strong, like a big worm!

Russell: What have you been doing to help?

Carla: Well, we watch all your shows, and we bought your book “Swallow and Thrive,” so I followed the health regimen you have in the back. Every morning I wake up early, bathe and oil myself, and make breakfast, then I bring it in here and pull down his sheets and suck him off.

Russell: And does it respond?

Carla: At first it does, but right after he comes it just goes limp again. Then he eats breakfast and goes out to work. The other boys I dated didn’t do that! It’s just so sad!

Russell: Is that the only time?

Carla: Oh, heavens, no! When he comes home for lunch I’m on him at the door, gulping away. Lately at night he tries to hide in the bathroom but you can open those doors with a penny, you know? But his poor thing barely twitches, it takes me almost an hour to get a spurt out of him, and by then he’s wheezing and clutching his chest and his left arm is all crooked.

Russell: This does sound serious. Let’s have a listen. (He lowers his heads to Jackson’s crotch; Jackson screams in his sleep and tries to curl up and roll on his side but is easily held in place by Carla) Hmmm. I yes? In English, please, thank you. Yes, that’s better. (Carla clasps her hands, rapt attention on her face) Ah, I see. That explains a lot, thank you. Carla?

Carla: (Rushing around to sit next to Russell) Yes?

Russell: You’ve been doing exactly what Jackson’s poor prick needs. But it needs more. (Behind them, Jackson can be heard whimpering) At his advanced years, it takes a special effort, but I think you’re just the special girl to do it. Are you?

Carla: Oh, yes, Mr. Russell!

Russell: What I want, and what his prick wants, is for you to double your efforts. Suck on him in the middle of the night, and meet him out in the fields during the day. You need to remind his prick that it has a job to do and appeal to its Calvinistic nature.

Carla: Excuse me?

Russell: It’s a workaholic, Carla. It expects to pull its weight, but it’s been coddled and allowed to rest far too often. Tell me, does Jackson have any other dependants? (Behind them, Jackson’s hand rises weakly before falling back to the bed)

Carla: No, I’m his only relative.

Russell: How difficult for you. I’m afraid that the responsibility for his health and his financial holdings falls squarely on you. Suck him hard, Carla, no less than seven times a day. Don’t let him stop you, either. He’s a proud man, he won’t want to admit his weakness. You may need to tie him down to do it right. Surprise him in the dead of night. If you have any attractive girlfriends, ask for their help. He’ll be right as rain in no time.

Carla: (Throwing her arms around Russell and burying his face in her cleavage) Oh thank you Mr. Russell! I will! I will!

Russell: (Muffled) And please call me in a week, I’d like to come check you out. Check up on you! I’d like to check up on you. And Jackson, of course. (The camera shakes for a moment and Russell looks just above it for a second. A silent one-sided argument is seen.) My cameraman would like to check up on you too, preferably Thursday night around 10, if that’s all right. We just don’t want you to feel you’re all alone, Mrs. Bryson. (He turns to the camera) And now back to the studio.

[Cut to the studio, where a relaxed-looking Russell is standing onstage.]

Russell: That’s all we have time for, but please be sure to tune in next week for another episode of Crotch Psychic! And stop by our website at for more tips on how to keep in touch with your crotch! Must be over 21.

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