It has always been generally accepted that magic gets the ladies wet. Nobody knows why. It's perhaps the greatest mystery of the past five to six thousand years. Sadly it seems that things which are generally accepted to be true are often lies wrapped in the untruth.

I'd never had much luck with the ladies, so I bought a pack of cards. I was a natural. Within a month I was able to bend space and time.
After I'd had six months to perfect my art I asked a young lady out to dinner. Like a sucker she agreed. After an acceptable to pleasant meal we went and sat on the beach to look at the stars. She seemed to know a lot about the constellations, but she may have been talking out of her arse.

As the moon reflected the light of the sun onto her already pale face I could see that she was almost beautiful. I'd never get a better chance to get inside her. I could tell that I hadn't impressed her at dinner and there was little chance of another date, so I pulled out a pack of 54 regular playing cards, including two jokers. I asked her to pick one and then put it back in the deck.

Immediately I told her that it was the Seven of Clubs. Confident that this display of the supernatural had aroused her I leant in for a kiss. Maybe it was the garlic on my breath, maybe I'd said the wrong card, whatever the case she pulled away.

As my self esteem fell by four points I decided to try some stronger magic. I laid three cards on the sand and asked her to tap on them twice. Upon the final tap the moon turned black and the sky rained blood. Her memories reversed and the sea caught fire. Time folded in on itself and the wind went blind. Positive that I was in, I slid my hand up her skirt. She slapped me right on the face. Women just don't like magic.

Jermaine, Brighton.

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