Things are getting dangerous, disaster has been narrowly averted by myself and my intrepid team of paranormal researchers* as we attempt to prove and disprove--once and for all--several vague but terrifying methods to conjure unclean spirits in the safety of your own bedroom, attic, or crawl-space.** Following the ten catalysts as told in Thailand legend, we have already explored Lasik surgery, bending over, Chinese food, ouija boards, and umbrellas. Now, we continue to walk the perimeter of the ghoulish lips ever further toward the mandibles (and subsequent bowels) of oblivion, the abyss, and serious discomfort.

6. Brushing your hair at midnight while staring into a mirror

My hair is barely long enough to warrant combing (I keep it close-cropped because I like to self-check for ticks weekly***), so I needed those brave-hearted enough in the PM audience with long, flowing locks to experiment with brushing, styling, possibly the use of extensions, then report their results for analysis. Unlike the American version sans hair-brush, this method does not require the chanting of the words "Bloody Mary," "Candyman" or "Heath Ledger's bloated, fly-blown corpse that's worth more dead than it ever could've been with a pulse." The instructions were to just stare and brush. If nothing otherworldly or insanity-inducing occurred in the first 30 minutes, you could flip the lights on and off or shine a flashlight in your face to create an eerie mood. Ominously enough, only one person replied (a young, haunting-prone woman named Karen, who had already been visited by the sexually molestive spirit of Captain Kangaroo while attempting the umbrella method), leading me to believe all others who attempted this dark ritual of proper hair-care did not live to tell the tale...

"I brushed my shiny, luxurious hair while looking in a mirror under a single candle. For like a fucking hour. All I got was soft hair, so I said, 'Fuck it,' went back to my pottery wheel, and started potter-ing again. Suddenly, the room went dim and "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers began playing from somewhere in the room. The scent of dirty dancing then filled the area around me, and I felt a pair of arms reach around me from the back. A man slowly raised one of my arms and ran his hand down it, touching my armpit, which made me start laughing because it tickled. He got pissed, called me a "baby," and left. I had invited Whoopie Goldberg over earlier to hide in my closet with a night-vision camera and see if anything came out, and this is what I got: (That's me at the pottery wheel.)"

First of all, it should be noted that Karen is an insomniac, takes several medications for a battery of psychiatric disorders, doesn't eat much, and habitually abuses both cleaning supplies and vibrators. That being said, there is no reason to discredit her experience other than the picture, which was obviously Photoshopped. Truly a macabre turn of events indeed. Possibly the ghost of Patrick Swayze from the future?**** A warning to America that watching Road House and Point Break with a bag of Fritos and a rental dog****** is still the most fun you can have for under $10.

As I mentioned, this was the only field-study I received as a result of everyone else being horribly killed by the ghosts they summoned and were unable to dispel by brushing their hair in reverse. I posted the bulletin again, assuming that one successful response per attempt was enough to stretch this article out enough for publication. Unfortunately, I was totally wrong. Apparently all my fans are so frightened from the results of the first manifestations in this series, they didn't want to stay up all the way 'til 12am to brush their hair, knowing that if a ghost did appear, it would keep them up at least another hour, making the morning alarm for work all the more painful. Luckily, Karen still couldn't sleep, and "Dr. Phil" was a rerun, so she tried again...

"It was the 23rd of January, and I was eating Raisin Bran for the first time. Near midnight, I stopped reading on page 23 in the new Cosmo. I brushed my hair, and on the 23rd stroke I didn't feel very good, so I stopped. My tummy felt all diarrhea-like, and I looked at the side of the Raisin Bran box--23 grams of fiber! I had to SHIT!!! I ran to the bathroom and took a 23-inch-long poop. Yes, I measured. It took 23 times to flush that fucker. I went to sleep because I was so tired from all that pushing. I had nightmares of Jim Carey trying to kill me all night. No ghosts though, I guess because I never got to 100?"

Well, that wasn't really very helpful at all. You need to stop watching free movies on Comcast On Demand and take a couple Tylenol PMs or a Sominex. I saw that movie too and Jim Carey plays a saxophone. I don't understand why someone decided he was a serious dramatic actor. I'm personally holding out for Larry the Cable guy in the movie version of The Kite Runner, Martin Lawrence as MLK, or maybe something with Dane Cook and Jessica Simpson set at Costco. The bizarre occurrences of the number 23 present in places where other numbers are absent is truly paranormal though. Chicago Bears kick-return specialist Devin Hester is number 23 and shit the bed this season, Dr. Pepper soft drinks allegedly hold 23 flavors--yet I've never seen anyone drink an entire can, and I was 23 when 9-11 went down. Coincidence? I don't know, how many letters are in that word? 11. Not 23. There's your answer.

*People I haven't talked to in like ten years who responded half-heartedly to my intrusively numerous myspace bulletins

**Contacting the dead should not be attempted in a living room due to possible interference from the electro-magnetic spectrum utilized by satellites, HDTV, DVD players, and Betamax porn--whether functional or not

***Lyme disease runs in my family

****My sources***** assure me he will surely die a terrible, painful death of pancreatic cancer this year

*****Jerry

******Actually owning a pet is a full-time responsibility and not recommended for any readers, nor is marriage, owning property, or buying any box of instant oatmeal pouches that isn't a variety pack

Next: Something involving graveyards and maybe a cat.